I don't think I scarred any young children and some may have even had some fun in this first week of early childhood music education, despite my pianist's suggestions that I be more peppy. I have a strong reaction to such comments: they were the reason that I dropped music education years ago and I think, regardless of the age being taught, are misguided. Teachers should be genuine. As I grow more comfortable I will show authentic joy without the worry of the lesson plan. I'm already having fun, but certainly less so if it is under scrutiny. I write this and say it to myself as I segue to my other work of the day and week, that of being a mentor to other teachers. It is so important to be taught as a teacher.
This afternoon I headed way way way out into Queens on the F train, 90 minutes away from home to a busy suburb with gas stations, fried chicken, Halal restaurants, and even a funeral home with a lawn. I found the school building which housed MS358Q, along with two other schools with similarly codified names as is common in New York, and spent nearly two hours meeting with a group of middle schoolers about to embark on a journey of cello playing. They will be in a class of 14. We had individual interviews with them to see how interested they really were and to give them an idea of what to expect. They were all excited about getting their cello. And yes, it's pretty cool!
What a joyful thing novelty is; embarking on something new, and not yet feeling the pangs of insecurity and disappointment. And after these, the triumph of perseverance in the face of doubt. There are so many ways to grow and grow more. I get to be the one growing. And at the same time and from the awareness this affords me, I get to guide another, in fact many others, on the same path.
Thursday, September 28, 2017
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
Inertia
Inertia. Of habits, of words, of gestures, of expectations, of time. I may think that it's about stepping into the inertia of others, but really it is my own. There is a lot of it in the city. Somebody throws a ball and another is left scrambling for it, tossing helter skelter to yet another. It piles up over the course of a day, week, month, year. Neck ties in a flurry, umbrellas competing for space, boots covered in salt, the heat of one body adding to the heat of another in a crowded subway car. Where does another person stop and where do I begin?
Friday, September 8, 2017
Sky in NYC
Since coming back from Alaska, I've really wanted to get hiking again. I scoped out the Greenbelt on Staten Island and was planning to go there today, but when I realized it would take over 2 hours each way to get there and couldn't leave until 2:30pm, it was no longer desirable.
Instead I left my phone, put on my hiking gear, took my good camera, and went for a 3-hour "hike" to the East River via Morningside and Central Parks. I had previously said that New York is about people, but this walk made me realize that it is also beautiful for it's own sake. And it was also an opportunity to reflect on the importance of that quality in a place. Sometimes New York feels very transactional, and as a person living here, I start to feel that I am merely a part of transactions. I am hired by someone and exist for how I can serve them. Or I hire others or pay for their goods and they only exist for what they can give me. We stop seeing one another as anything more than what we can offer and somehow we become objects. And so in this city, it seems very important to remember our humanity, and for the space itself, to see its beauty beyond the transactional quality of the buildings and modes of transportation. "Hiking" to enjoy the surroundings. Not to get anywhere or burn calories, but to be outside in a space, appreciating it.
The sky is still there and still beautiful, and only because we see it and think it is so.
Instead I left my phone, put on my hiking gear, took my good camera, and went for a 3-hour "hike" to the East River via Morningside and Central Parks. I had previously said that New York is about people, but this walk made me realize that it is also beautiful for it's own sake. And it was also an opportunity to reflect on the importance of that quality in a place. Sometimes New York feels very transactional, and as a person living here, I start to feel that I am merely a part of transactions. I am hired by someone and exist for how I can serve them. Or I hire others or pay for their goods and they only exist for what they can give me. We stop seeing one another as anything more than what we can offer and somehow we become objects. And so in this city, it seems very important to remember our humanity, and for the space itself, to see its beauty beyond the transactional quality of the buildings and modes of transportation. "Hiking" to enjoy the surroundings. Not to get anywhere or burn calories, but to be outside in a space, appreciating it.
The sky is still there and still beautiful, and only because we see it and think it is so.
 |
| over Morningside Park, Harlem |
 |
| in Central Park |
 |
| Central Park |
 |
| Central Park, Jackie Onassis Reservoir |
 |
| sky reflected in windows |
 |
| Park Ave |
 |
| East River |
 |
| East River, Brooklyn |
Wednesday, September 6, 2017
Silent Questions
It's a new year. I've started the second year of teaching many of my students. Not only is it great to be able to see familiar face again, but having a second year allows me to reflect on each of them and to think about where we might be headed, or what would be valuable for each person. It's also really cool to see growth happening, even after some time away from one another.
For one, it's establishing an assumed respect in the lesson. For another, artistry. For another, inspiration through their natural creativity. For another, to find an asset in their sensitivity, rather than a weakness. Before I started teaching this afternoon, I wasn't completely clear on what each might be. But it became very clear for most after seeing them again and having time together again. There are still a few that I'm curious about, wondering where we might be going. I wonder what will happen if I am open in every lesson throughout the year to silently asking this of all my students. What do you need? What are you asking me to help you with?
Monday, September 4, 2017
Finding Alaska in the City
Having had a fair amount of time away from the city, I am seeing it in a new way, seeing the things that are less desirable about it. It's hard to get away from people, hard to find the time to hike a trail, hard to take time away from computer activities or to get outside. And then there is the balance of workers in NYC, the people that sweep up the prepared salad that I spilled on the street, the doorman that delivers my packages to my apartment. It's a strange irony that progressive liberals are the ones that benefit the most from lower-paid workers. In Alaska, everyone does what they need done. No outsourcing of cleaning, food delivery, childcare. Perhaps you might need to hire someone to pave your private road because you don't own the necessary machinery or skills, but that's a different sort of outsourcing. The elitism of New York City, is not one of it's finer points. Nor is its push to make everyone work work work. We become little cogs in someone else's scheme, regardless of our status. Alaska, so free!!!
My brush with nature today was a run through Central Park. It was covered in picnics and strollers, children, families, older people, anyone hoping to take advantage of the incredible weather and a day off from work. And there was something nice about that, too. The challenge wasn't bears or slippery tree roots, but slow walking people holding phones or ice cream and piles of garbage stacked against the curbs.
New challenges, and still a good way to live, but the magic of New York as the place to be has worn off. What does one need to survive or to thrive? There are so many answers to that, so many ways to live that are valid and rewarding and beautiful. And as much as I loved the openness, it would be foolish to ignore that that quality still exists in the closed space that surrounds me, to to shut out the possibility of enhancing it here. Of what does it consist? Time to talk to others, courtesy of space for others, strength in establishing my own limits and needs so that I may be more giving.
My brush with nature today was a run through Central Park. It was covered in picnics and strollers, children, families, older people, anyone hoping to take advantage of the incredible weather and a day off from work. And there was something nice about that, too. The challenge wasn't bears or slippery tree roots, but slow walking people holding phones or ice cream and piles of garbage stacked against the curbs.
New challenges, and still a good way to live, but the magic of New York as the place to be has worn off. What does one need to survive or to thrive? There are so many answers to that, so many ways to live that are valid and rewarding and beautiful. And as much as I loved the openness, it would be foolish to ignore that that quality still exists in the closed space that surrounds me, to to shut out the possibility of enhancing it here. Of what does it consist? Time to talk to others, courtesy of space for others, strength in establishing my own limits and needs so that I may be more giving.
Sunday, September 3, 2017
Honeymoon, Alaska, back to NYC
This morning we returned to New York after a 2 week-plus honeymoon to the Pacific Northwest and Alaska. We hiked, saw family, grew in many ways, and even slept in for a few days here and there.
After flying to Seattle, the next day we drove over to Wenatchee National Park, and did a night of car camping to test out our stove and gear. The following day, we did what turned out to be a very strenuous 1-day hike to Robin Lake, via Tuck Lake, and camped next to a cool alpine lake. Another day of hiking and camping in Wenatchee (and no bears yet) and we drove down to Portland where we ended up crashing at a cousin's house and seeing the solar eclipse in Mollala, OR. It was hosted by the Mollala Public library which supplied free eclipse glasses, camera obscura making, and music. (This in contrast to the many events at $200+ across the state. Go public libraries!) Totality really was cool. I'm not an eclipse-chaser yet, but it was way cooler than I thought it would be.
We went to downtown Portland for a night, then drove up to camp in Olympic State Park near Seattle and then did city things for 2 days. Pike Place Market, Space Needle, and the incredible Chihuly Glass exhibit at the botanical gardens. I've loved the look of Chilhuly glass, but never had the opportunity to fully appreciate his artistry and the way it reflects and pays homage to the things he loves in life.
And then to Alaska! The first big adventure was Denali. We had originally just thought to car camp there and hike around, but as we started to research their website, it became clear that they really encourage and inform people about backcountry camping and hiking. There are no trails, just topo maps, and you make up your course, telling them only what unit (large area designation) in which you will be sleeping. You are out there with wildlife, and although we started simply, this was still a growing experience. We followed the East Fork Toklat River bed through gravel and learned how to (and that we could) cross rivers. In Denali we literally got our feet wet, and through their great park organization and rangers, learned to step beyond our fear (well, a bit) and become immersed in the wild.
We meant to camp more, but it rained a lot. The first night after Denali we found a last minute room at the Black Bear Saloon. I think these rooms are usually for people that shouldn't drive home. but we loved the bed and hot showers. We (Andrew) drove through the rain, through a three-mile tunnel to Whittier (only way to get there is this single-lane tunnel that controls traffic in and out, and is shared with a train), and went to Seward for beautiful rainy views of the ocean. And then we drove, by way of a salmon river viewing, to my Uncle Dave's home in Kasilof, which overlooks the Kenai Nature Preserve. The next few days we went, sea kayaking with otters, and went on several hikes, sometimes muddy sometimes glacial, and every night indulged with a warm bed, the outdoor weather being too wet and unpredictable to camp when such a nice option was available.
And we listened to AM, and observed people's reactions when we said we were visiting from New York City (one man said, "Oh I'm sorry.") This is a land of hunting, and fishing, and owning a plane in order to get to certain places (there are hardly any roads, and some towns are not connected to the rest of the state). It's a place of having freedom to do what you want, and not owing anything to the government. And it's a place of space (no billboards), of isolation, of time. The internet doesn't reliably work, and thus Blockbuster lives on.
And so it was a shock to come back to New York, which is not a place of any of these things. But the value of New York is it's people. And sometimes that's good and sometime people forget themselves and others and it's a challenge. In Alaska, it is so much easier to avoid those slips. There isn't often an occasion. One can be alone with nature so so easily. It was wonderful to be there and I think we would love to get back again, just to remember a different way of living that cannot, despite the many many ways of living that are around us in this city, be lived here.
After flying to Seattle, the next day we drove over to Wenatchee National Park, and did a night of car camping to test out our stove and gear. The following day, we did what turned out to be a very strenuous 1-day hike to Robin Lake, via Tuck Lake, and camped next to a cool alpine lake. Another day of hiking and camping in Wenatchee (and no bears yet) and we drove down to Portland where we ended up crashing at a cousin's house and seeing the solar eclipse in Mollala, OR. It was hosted by the Mollala Public library which supplied free eclipse glasses, camera obscura making, and music. (This in contrast to the many events at $200+ across the state. Go public libraries!) Totality really was cool. I'm not an eclipse-chaser yet, but it was way cooler than I thought it would be.
We went to downtown Portland for a night, then drove up to camp in Olympic State Park near Seattle and then did city things for 2 days. Pike Place Market, Space Needle, and the incredible Chihuly Glass exhibit at the botanical gardens. I've loved the look of Chilhuly glass, but never had the opportunity to fully appreciate his artistry and the way it reflects and pays homage to the things he loves in life.
And then to Alaska! The first big adventure was Denali. We had originally just thought to car camp there and hike around, but as we started to research their website, it became clear that they really encourage and inform people about backcountry camping and hiking. There are no trails, just topo maps, and you make up your course, telling them only what unit (large area designation) in which you will be sleeping. You are out there with wildlife, and although we started simply, this was still a growing experience. We followed the East Fork Toklat River bed through gravel and learned how to (and that we could) cross rivers. In Denali we literally got our feet wet, and through their great park organization and rangers, learned to step beyond our fear (well, a bit) and become immersed in the wild.
We meant to camp more, but it rained a lot. The first night after Denali we found a last minute room at the Black Bear Saloon. I think these rooms are usually for people that shouldn't drive home. but we loved the bed and hot showers. We (Andrew) drove through the rain, through a three-mile tunnel to Whittier (only way to get there is this single-lane tunnel that controls traffic in and out, and is shared with a train), and went to Seward for beautiful rainy views of the ocean. And then we drove, by way of a salmon river viewing, to my Uncle Dave's home in Kasilof, which overlooks the Kenai Nature Preserve. The next few days we went, sea kayaking with otters, and went on several hikes, sometimes muddy sometimes glacial, and every night indulged with a warm bed, the outdoor weather being too wet and unpredictable to camp when such a nice option was available.
And we listened to AM, and observed people's reactions when we said we were visiting from New York City (one man said, "Oh I'm sorry.") This is a land of hunting, and fishing, and owning a plane in order to get to certain places (there are hardly any roads, and some towns are not connected to the rest of the state). It's a place of having freedom to do what you want, and not owing anything to the government. And it's a place of space (no billboards), of isolation, of time. The internet doesn't reliably work, and thus Blockbuster lives on.
And so it was a shock to come back to New York, which is not a place of any of these things. But the value of New York is it's people. And sometimes that's good and sometime people forget themselves and others and it's a challenge. In Alaska, it is so much easier to avoid those slips. There isn't often an occasion. One can be alone with nature so so easily. It was wonderful to be there and I think we would love to get back again, just to remember a different way of living that cannot, despite the many many ways of living that are around us in this city, be lived here.
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