now isn’t that special

As if it’s not bad enough that adjuncts are bearing half of the teaching load at most community colleges, at ~ 1/4 of the pay.

Good thing they have unions so that their voices can be heard and they can at least exert SOME kind of power over the. . .

Oh, yeah.

Nvm.

(All of the adjuncts in this country should quit. Or we should at least declare a day of protest, or a week. Let’s see how many colleges and universities are unable to meet their obligations to their tuition-paying students. Let’s see whether THAT collective voice can be heard.)

there but for the grace of music lessons go

Only Daughter had her first “orchestra concert” tonight. She actually asked me not to go. She took some violin lessons as younger youngster, and feels that the exertions of the 6th grade ensemble are, in a way, beneath her.

I went anyway.

(As a pointed aside, they’re not. Beneath her, that is. She had 5 teachers in 4 years because they kept moving away or graduating from college or taking so many out-of-town gigs she would have one lesson a month so she learned 1/4 what she should have, and absolutely nothing about how to read music much less how to understand what she was hearing.)

The orchestra did a fine job, all things considered. It was noted that there were approximately 75 musicians “on stage” and approximately 65 versions of any given note at any given time, but what’s a person to do?

One of the directors stood up at the end to thank all of the parents for going that extra mile (really? it’s “extra” now? shouldn’t it just be part of what everyone should be expected to do if they want to be a living, breathing, feeling member of the universe?) to support their children’s efforts to learn to play a musical instrument.

Okay, fine. Thanks are good. I’m fine. Really, I am.

Then he talks about the benefits — to the brain, to the person, to society, to the importance of students learning to communicate that which cannot be said in words; I start to think, okay, so he’s not a total doofus. But no, I “forgave” him too soon.

Wait for it. . .

“Maybe if more children learn to be thinking, feeling members of society, fewer of them would be flying airplanes into buildings.”

Oh. I had no idea. If only the terrorists had had music lessons.

=

 

Idiot.

 

But it’s not just that one thing

“I wish my moderate Republican friends would simply be honest. They all say they’re voting for Romney because of his economic policies (tenuous and ill-formed as they are), and that they disagree with him on gay rights. Fine. Then look me in the eye, speak with a level clear voice, and say, ‘My taxes and take-home pay mean more than your fundamental civil rights, the sanctity of your marriage, your right to visit an ailing spouse in the hospital, your dignity as a citizen of this country, your healthcare, your right to inherit, the mental welfare and emotional well-being of your youth, and your very personhood.’”

It’s like voting for George Wallace during the Civil Rights movements, and apologizing for his racism. You’re still complicit. You’re still perpetuating anti-gay legislation and cultural homophobia. You don’t get to walk away clean, because you say you “disagree” with your candidate on these issues.”

from Dough Wright, found on “Raising My Rainbow“

Babysitting 101

Yesterday I received an email from my department chair informing me (among others) that I had not completed the participation confirmation for my students. (Is that ironic?) These are college students, mind you, college students, and this would be not the first time, but the second time this semester I had to log in to our faculty center and click into each course number that I teach and then click on little boxes next to the student’s name confirming that they were coming to class and participating fully.

Today Only Daughter brought me her social studies test and told me I needed to sign it, even though she had a perfect score.

Any chance these two things are related?

Now I understand, first of all, that she’s in 6th grade, and secondly, that teachers want to know that parents are paying attention, and thirdly, that parents of students who might not be performing as well on tests might be needing to pay more attention to whether homework is getting done, whether the child is studying for tests, etc.

But would it be too much to ask that teachers encourage students who are doing well by showing their trust, and allowing the students the opportunity to be independent and self-disciplined without the constant checks? Last year I had to initial her planner EVERY SINGLE DAY, whether there was something written on that day or not. Is this how we teach independence and self-discipline?

As a teacher myself, with students of all ages from kindergarten to college, the biggest problem I see is that students aren’t invested enough in their own learning. Some of them do the work so as to be able to say they “did the work,” by which they mean “put in the time,” without any attention to whether anything has been learned or accomplished.

Is this really what we want to encourage?

With a couple of students this week I used an example from earlier years, when I would have First or Second Son sweep the floor. They would sweep, the floor would still be dirty, I would tell them “I thought I asked you to sweep the floor” and they would reply, “I did.” I would then have to point out that the purpose of the exercise was not the act (of waving the broom around over the floor) but the result (the floor is now clean).

Second Son is a natural musician. He played percussion in the marching band in middle school, and could ace every test. His best grade, though, was never higher than a low B, because he didn’t practice. I understand that teachers want students to practice, but presumably this is so that they can master their part. I also think that students who practice and who are less naturally skilled should get some boost to their grade if they perform less than perfectly on their playing tests. But if the student can already perform the assigned skills perfectly, why are we requiring that they practice more? Should the teacher maybe at least make the extra effort to give them something that presented a challenge so that the “practicing” wasn’t just a matter of “putting in the time”? What kind of lesson are we really teaching here?

As a piano teacher I never tell a student how long they must practice every day. I do, however, give them clear guidelines in what and how they should be practicing, and an estimate of approximately how long that should take. I then compare what they have accomplished that week with how much time they claim they practiced, and make adjustments. If they are learning everything in less time, I give them more to work on, or make things more difficult. If they are practicing a LOT and not accomplishing much, we either talk about what their practicing looks like to make sure it’s productive time, or I give them less or things that are less difficult.

The point, always, is what we want to accomplish.

I can’t help but wonder if more college-age students would be more self directed and successful if they grew up with people who cared about and were invested in their success, but only watched over their shoulders when there was a real need. I can’t think of anything that encourages independence more than telling a child that you believe they can do it, and then stepping back and letting them.

Maybe it’s just me.

 

Those darn trickers. . .

So much for the either/or aspect.

Sigh.

a new way to determine if you’re smart enough for college

In yesterday’s New York Times, Kelsey Griffith, a recent graduate from Ohio Northern University, is one of those featured regarding the cost of a college education and the lasting effects of student loans.

Ms. Griffith, 23, wouldn’t seem a perfect financial fit for a college that costs nearly $50,000 a year. . .But when she visited Ohio Northern, she was won over by faculty and admissions staff members who urge students to pursue their dreams rather than obsess on the sticker price.

Yeah, I bet they do.

“As an 18-year old, it sounded like a good fit to me, and the school really sold it. . .I knew a private school would cost a lot of money. But when I graduate, I’m going to owe like $900 a month. No one told me that.”

Yes, college is too expensive. Yes, some financial aid statements paint a rosy picture on the bottom line, but it doesn’t take a genius to notice that they’re doing so by requiring parents to take out loans, nor to recognize the difference between “grant” and “loan.”  And ultimately, it comes down to this: If you’re not smart enough to be able to figure out that borrowing $120,000 for college is going to result in a high student loan payment, maybe you shouldn’t be going to college in the first place.

Maybe, instead of having high school juniors taking ACTs and SATs we should just ask this question: You’re going to borrow $100,000 for your college education. The terms of the loan require that the balance is paid off in 10 years. Your monthly payments will most closely equal:

a) the price of a Happy Meal

b) the price of a new pair of jeans at Target

c) your parent’s mortgage payment

sounds about right

allllllllllll gone

Just withdrew the last penny from First Son’s college savings account, and spent a bit of my afternoon at the bank depositing most of the last of his savings bonds, all in preparation for his final tuition payment.

What’s the sound of an empty penny jar?

I’m feeling a little wistful (all those years of saving!), and, happy for him because it means he’s almost done, almost a college graduate, but Gulp! as we hope he gets a job in this market. Especially considering he will graduate with maybe a few hundred dollars to his name, many thousands in student loans, no vehicle, no apartment, etc. etc. College seems like such a big step from high school, but this really seems like the first step into the Great Unknown.

When Only Daughter was 3 years old, VERY 3 (which has always seemed to be a harder age than 2 to me), First Son was 14 and suffering from puberty-induced testosterone poisoning. I remember watching them each struggle with an overwhelming need for independence paired with an astute awareness that they just weren’t ready for it yet, and puzzling over how much the same they were.

Now Only Daughter is trying to conquer her fear of the Back Handspring while I make sympathetic and encouraging noises: you’ve done them before, you can do them again; you’ll stop being afraid when you’re not afraid anymore; you’ll do it when you’re ready; if you decide to do it at the beginning of the tumbling run try not to change your mind in the middle. At the same time, I know for a fact that there is absolutely no flipping way (ha!) I could ever do one.

Friends of my parents had a pool when I was a child. I was a really good diver. The friend decided he was going to teach me how to dive backwards off of the diving board, and I would be all game for it until I went up and stood there, facing THE WRONG WAY. I never could do it. Too much about jumping into the unknown.

Gulp.

There have been a few times in my life where I closed my eyes and lept. In each of those cases I ended up in a much better place. No reason to believe, I guess, that it won’t work out that way for them, and wonder why, even knowing this, that it’s still so hard for me to take the next one, whatever it may be.

on losing things, and realizing what you’ve lost when you find them

Realized this evening that the diamond stud that usually resides in my right earlobe was missing.

Had a vague recollection of something pulling on my ear earlier today, but knew I hadn’t put in any earrings this morning (because the diamond studs are in the 2nd hole, and never come out), so I didn’t pay any attention.

Was instantly quite upset, and quite surprised that I was quite upset.

I’m not really a “thing” person — it’s just jewelry, it’s just an earring. And not that big of a diamond or anything, so it’s not like we’re talking “family jewels” or anything. But I was upset. So while I turned on what I call the “drunk lights” (it’s a long story) in every room, and lay down on the floor and peered this way and that trying to see if I could see anything, and swept in corners and scritched through the contents of the dustpan, I kept wondering why I was upset.

I found it, after 10 or 15 minutes, which really isn’t all that long, considering that it COULD HAVE BEEN ANYWHERE. Have no idea why or how it came to be where I found it, or when it fell out of my ear. And even after I found it, I was still upset.

I think I know why.

First Husband, who wasn’t really all that good at buying me jewelry (an emerald ring from Kmart ofallplaces, for example), had bought them for me when I completed my doctorate. I had the second holes pierced for them so I could leave them in all the time.

I began my pursuit of my DMA when First and Second Son were 9 and 6. I spent 5 grueling years studying and practicing and teaching (visiting instructor position my last two years), thinking that at the end of it I would have the credentials to get a “real job” as a full-time, tenure-track member of a university faculty. Since everything else in my life that I had wanted and tried for and was qualified for I had pretty much achieved, this seemed like a gimme.

This has failed to happen.

Other good things have happened since then, but I am realizing these days that my current professional life looks an awful lot like my professional life did before I pursued this degree.

So what was it all for, one might ask?

Good question.

I am a firm believer that self-improvement and education in any form are only good things.

But still.

Nobody does this just for the sake of their own edification. At least nobody I know. Or nobody sane.

I had been reading The Street Sweeper over the past few weeks, but found its apparent lack of editing and generally dark and gloomy tone a bit much for my current state of mind (false imprisonment, Nazi Germany, etc. etc.), so I picked up Anne Lamott’s Operating Instructions a few days ago and have been tormenting Husband the past few days reading funny bits to him while he’s trying to get his work done. There’s a line that particularly applies, which I am kind of chanting to myself like a mantra right now:

. . .backwards is just as rich as forward if you can appreciate the circle instead of the direction.

It’s so true, and one of the hardest things to believe.

untangling the tangles

I mentioned a couple of posts ago that I was going to start a new project — one Goldberg Variation a week until the whole piece is learned.

Yesterday I started the first Variation.

But let me digress for a moment.

I’ve noticed over the past several months that when I’m feeling emotionally turmoiled (isthataword?) I turn to Bach. At the end of a particularly long day or in the middle of a stressful week or after a difficult or disappointing conversation or encounter, I find myself sitting at the piano, working my way through a Prelude or Fugue; musical Valium, if you will.

The past couple of days were particularly trying.

To spare you all of the gruesome details, let’s just say that a student of a colleague of mine at “my” college misinterpreted and/or misrepresented a very brief and casual exchange and the colleague, someone I like very much, and thought liked, trusted, and admired me, assumed the worst. And, rather than asking me what had happened, wrote me an email telling me how unprofessional and insensitive I was, and then blithely went about the rest of his evening, not getting my phone message, not reading my email. I, being the I-must-be-the-crappiest-person-in-the-world type, was awake until 3 a.m., and awake again at 6:30, and had a generally overwhelmed and in-the-overtired-induced-ozone all day Friday.

We exchanged a few emails after he FINALLY returned my call at 9:30 the next morning (15 hours after his message), and he apologized for jumping to the wrong conclusion, and for not asking me about it first, but I still generally felt like crap about the whole thing, but for gradually evolving reasons.

After I got over the self-loathing stage, I was angry, and had a few questions.

Why did this person so easily assume the worst? This isn’t the first time this has happened to me; it seems to be my superpower; I’d rather have another. I’ve always worked really hard, I’m fairly good at what I do, I’m organized and responsible and conscientious. This seems to have hurt me rather than helped me. I’ve actually been told that, as an adjunct, I “didn’t know my place.”

Anyway. . .

Even if things had happened as the student seems to have portrayed them, why is this automatically a bad thing? We coddle students too much, we treat them like customers rather than students; our job seems to be more about patting them on the head and making sure they feel good about themselves than about actually pushing them to achieve their best or challenging them when they don’t. This can’t be good for them, nor for society in general.

And, finally, why do I ALWAYS go so easily to self-critical, self-loathing, even when righteous indignation or outright anger is what’s called for? I think it’s a woman thing. I’m not sure, however, that it’s a good thing. Husband points out that he goes right to anger; he is much more efficient that way. I think it’s a guy thing, and I’m not sure that’s such a good thing either.

I always end up feeling like this: (from thisisnotthatblog.com)

when I should probably be feeling like this

So, back to Bach. . .(remember Bach?)

His music often seems like a tangle. It can take days to work out fingerings that allow you to navigate the passagework; and often there seems to only be one fingering that actually works. The melodic lines can be easily identified and unraveled when listening to a good recording, or even just by looking at the score, but making them audible can feel like trying to untangle a large skein of yarn after the cat has spent a night “playing” with it. A forest of whirls and knots and undergrowth. And then, often seemingly suddenly, the order is revealed, and everything clicks into place.

Maybe that’s why. Order from chaos, eventually, but always ultimately, revealed.

In a not-completely unrelated story, we were without power for around 18 hours because of “bad weather.” (We’re not really sure what it was, although it was a little windy and we live in the forest, and apparently 74,000 Consumers Energy customers were without power in Michigan today, so I guess we’re lucky that it’s back on “already.”) Anyway, nothing restores a sense of order like coming home from good Thai food and Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law in the same movie, to lights and heat and finally being able to clean up the kitchen.

Husband says that the clean kitchen is a sign of hope.

That makes sense to me, although I think the order-from-chaos thing helps.

I would post a recording of me playing the first Variation, but Husband thinks that recording it at 11:52 p.m. after a glass of scotch might not be a good idea.

He’s probably right.

Another time, then.