Today in NOTL: Another mild day, with noon temps of 77F/25C, a light breeze outside, and sunny skies. Beautiful!
It's nearly Labour Day. School is already in session in many areas, and soon to begin here. I loved teaching, though I dreaded the first day of school as much as any student. Once I got past the first days of meetings and paperwork, though, I was in my element.
The worst days of school were ALWAYS the days of teacher meetings, when the administrators talked endlessly about the new trends they wanted us to incorporate into our teaching. Bleech. Most of the administrators in our community had only a few years of classroom experience; one honest principal, discussing his evaluation of my teaching, shrugged and said, "Let's face it: I can't tell you how to be a better teacher. I only taught three years before I became an assistant principal." He was still a rookie teacher when he was placed in charge!
I remembered that when I was watching The Talk last week. One of the guests was a woman who was violently opposed to the practice of 'last hired, first fired' when it came to teacher layoffs. "Why get rid of the most enthusiastic and energetic teachers?" she asked, and that does sound reasonable - until you think about the ramifications.
New teachers are undeniably younger than veterans and probably more energetic and enthusiastic. Do these make them better teachers though?
Let's move the discussion from the classroom to the hospital. New doctors are certainly younger and probably more enthusiastic and energetic than doctors with 10 or 20 years experience. Does that make them better doctors? Would you want a rookie surgeon operating on you?
As a veteran teacher, I didn't have the starry-eyed enthusiasm I had as a rookie. Instead, I had the competence and satisfaction of many years of successful teaching. I was enthusiasm, but I used it differently.
When I was a young teacher, I was more rah-rah in my approach and tried to get the students on board through the power of my own excitement and delight. Over the years, though, I learned how to generate THEIR enthusiasm not by being rah-rah myself, but by using discussion and activities and the sort of tricks and techniques good teachers learn - by experience and experimentation.
When I was a young teacher, the students' apathy and resistance had me gritting my teeth and promising myself a good cry when I got home. As an experienced teacher, I used their own apathy and resistance to break through to hope and willingness.
As an experienced teacher mentoring newbies, I know that 'last hired, first fired' is in the best interests of the students. Are their apathetic older teachers counting time to retirement? Certainly, but they are far fewer in number than the Talk's guest would like to indicate. Youth vs. experience? I'll take experience every time.
But school administrators and 'experts' are pushing this idea: "Let's keep the young, enthusiastic teachers and get rid of those fuddy-duddy old teachers who are locked into outdated teaching practices.' Administrators and education 'experts' certainly know the value of an experienced teacher, so why are they promoting this idea?
It's not about merit, though they may push that idea. It's not about excellence, either, or the welfare of the students.
It's about money. Although teacher salaries lag behind that of comparable professions, new teachers begin at the bottom of the pay scale. It's cheaper to employ a force of inexperienced teachers than to attract and retain a force of teachers with years of hard-won classroom expertise.
Like everyone else, schools are hurting for money. Where can they economize? The easiest way is to reduce the payroll - fewer teachers and fewer veterans. And who will suffer? The children, as always.
I was very disappointed to see this process promoted on The Talk. I hope people won't be fooled.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Today in NOTL: Warm with scant breezes, our high today 81F/27C with rain expected later.
You have to wonder about people.
We enjoyed a lovely visit this week with our friends Stacy and Diana. Good company, lots of laughs, you know how it goes when friends visit.
As the conversation ebbed and flowed, talk turned to movies and Stacy recommended some movie or other to me, which I rejected as one that would make me cry. She denied that it was a sad movie, but I explained that movies needn't be sad to make me cry.
Which brought up the infamous Big story. You may have seen the Tom Hanks movie, Big. My sister loved the movie and urged me to see it. "It's a comedy," she told me. "I know how you love comedies." Trusting her, I watched the movie - and cried from start to finish. I found it incredibly poignant.
I was right, too. Just last week, channel surfing, I stopped on a show that looked interesting only to find myself getting verklempt. "What is this rot?" I thought, checking the online tv guide. Big! I knew that movie was sad!
Anyway, I explained all this to Stacy, who shared that she had cried at Toy Story 3. "Kids' movies are the worst,' I agreed, and she warned me not to watch TS3, as it has a sad part. I figured it would; those movies always do.
But Stacy was driven by the memory of that movie. Knowing I would never watch Toy Story 3, she began recounting the scene in which the toys end up on a conveyor belt to an incinerator and, being moved to their destruction, clasp each other's hands in solidarity. As soon as she began speaking, I knew what was coming would not be good. "Stop, stop!" I said. "Don't tell me or you'll have me in tears!" I was already tearing up.
Too late. Having begun the tale, choking back tears, she continued. Hardly able to speak, she finished the story, clasping her hands as the toys had in the movie. "No! Stop stop!" I begged her frantically, dabbing my eyes.
But no. She was gulping, I was gulping, the tissues were flying. Across the room, however, I looked up to see both Diana and Deborah convulsing with laughter. Deb's face was red with suppressed howls and Diana was shamelessly laughing aloud as Stacey and I fought to control our sobs.
Which brings me to my point. You really have to wonder about folks...
You have to wonder about people.
We enjoyed a lovely visit this week with our friends Stacy and Diana. Good company, lots of laughs, you know how it goes when friends visit.
As the conversation ebbed and flowed, talk turned to movies and Stacy recommended some movie or other to me, which I rejected as one that would make me cry. She denied that it was a sad movie, but I explained that movies needn't be sad to make me cry.
Which brought up the infamous Big story. You may have seen the Tom Hanks movie, Big. My sister loved the movie and urged me to see it. "It's a comedy," she told me. "I know how you love comedies." Trusting her, I watched the movie - and cried from start to finish. I found it incredibly poignant.
I was right, too. Just last week, channel surfing, I stopped on a show that looked interesting only to find myself getting verklempt. "What is this rot?" I thought, checking the online tv guide. Big! I knew that movie was sad!
Anyway, I explained all this to Stacy, who shared that she had cried at Toy Story 3. "Kids' movies are the worst,' I agreed, and she warned me not to watch TS3, as it has a sad part. I figured it would; those movies always do.
But Stacy was driven by the memory of that movie. Knowing I would never watch Toy Story 3, she began recounting the scene in which the toys end up on a conveyor belt to an incinerator and, being moved to their destruction, clasp each other's hands in solidarity. As soon as she began speaking, I knew what was coming would not be good. "Stop, stop!" I said. "Don't tell me or you'll have me in tears!" I was already tearing up.
Too late. Having begun the tale, choking back tears, she continued. Hardly able to speak, she finished the story, clasping her hands as the toys had in the movie. "No! Stop stop!" I begged her frantically, dabbing my eyes.
But no. She was gulping, I was gulping, the tissues were flying. Across the room, however, I looked up to see both Diana and Deborah convulsing with laughter. Deb's face was red with suppressed howls and Diana was shamelessly laughing aloud as Stacey and I fought to control our sobs.
Which brings me to my point. You really have to wonder about folks...
Monday, March 7, 2011
Lundi Gras: Bread Pudding!
Today in NOTL: Cold and clear, with noonish temps of 22F/-5C under sunny blue skies. Gorgeous day!
I've been having quiet fits here, as I've had trouble getting into the blog lately. Turns out I was logged in under the Absolute Jeanius blog, argh. Quite a relief to have that figured out!
So: today is Lundi Gras, the day before Mardi Gras... and my family and friends back home will be partying hard, I'm sure. Here, not so much. We'll probably have pancakes tomorrow. *half-hearted confetti toss* Let's see....parades, parties, ***king cake***, beads on one hand.....on the other, a pancake. No contest, imho.
Anyway, if you're not going to a Mardi Gras parade, don't worry. You can enjoy a little New Orleans right in your own home. Here's a recipe for traditional bread pudding, the kind Mama used to make. Note: it's best with French bread, and a great way to use stale bread.
I've been having quiet fits here, as I've had trouble getting into the blog lately. Turns out I was logged in under the Absolute Jeanius blog, argh. Quite a relief to have that figured out!
So: today is Lundi Gras, the day before Mardi Gras... and my family and friends back home will be partying hard, I'm sure. Here, not so much. We'll probably have pancakes tomorrow. *half-hearted confetti toss* Let's see....parades, parties, ***king cake***, beads on one hand.....on the other, a pancake. No contest, imho.
Anyway, if you're not going to a Mardi Gras parade, don't worry. You can enjoy a little New Orleans right in your own home. Here's a recipe for traditional bread pudding, the kind Mama used to make. Note: it's best with French bread, and a great way to use stale bread.
Bread Pudding
1 loaf stale French bread
1 cup raisins
2 cups milk
3 eggs beaten
1/2 cup melted butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon cinnamon
1/2 cup brown sugar
Oven 350*F. Brownie pan (8x8, 9x9 or so) buttered.
1. Tear the bread into little pieces into a mixing bowl. Keep some larger bits for the top.
2. Pour the milk over the bread and let it soak.
3. Stir the bread, which will break down a bit. That's ok.
3. Stir the bread, which will break down a bit. That's ok.
4. In a separate bowl, mix remaining ingredients and combine with bread mixture.
5. Pour into buttered pan and add larger bits to top, pressing into the mixture. It's ok if the surface isn't completely smooth.
6. Bake about 40 minutes or so - top will be browned and set.
7. Serve warm or cold with hard sauce, ice cream, whipped cream, etc.
Hard Sauce
Hard sauce is basically a runny frosting, imho.
1/2 cup softened butter
1 1/2 cups confectioner's sugar (icing sugar)
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 or 3 Tablespoons liquor, enough to get the consistency you like.
1. Cream the butter and sugar.
2. Add the vanilla and liquor.
Serve over bread pudding.
Rum, whiskey, bourbon, Southern Comfort - all make a lovely delicious sauce. Mmm.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Finally, An Explanation
Today in NOTL: Cold with occasional flurries and a high of 19F/-7C. Brr!
Today is Monday, when we normally do our blogtalkradio show, but we're on hiatus. Too much going on, so we're taking a break.
Yesterday in my reading I came across an interesting article that explains so much for me. Drs.Justin Kruger and David Dunning are psychologists at Cornell University. In 2000 they won the Nobel Prize for their report, "Unskilled and Unaware of It: How Difficulties in Recognizing One's Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated Self-Assessments."
Basically, their studies demonstrated that not only do unskilled people overestimate their ability, they also fail to realize it when they have failed. Remember those American Idol rejects who storm from the audition raging that their brilliance was unrecognized? Case in point. (Remember Dubya? Case in point.) Highly skilled people, however, tend to underestimate their ability, probably because the old axiom, 'The more you know, the more you realize how little you know" is true.
The article linked above is a good read. You can read the report here, if you like scholarly research. Either way, it makes for some interesting reading.
Today is Monday, when we normally do our blogtalkradio show, but we're on hiatus. Too much going on, so we're taking a break.
Yesterday in my reading I came across an interesting article that explains so much for me. Drs.Justin Kruger and David Dunning are psychologists at Cornell University. In 2000 they won the Nobel Prize for their report, "Unskilled and Unaware of It: How Difficulties in Recognizing One's Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated Self-Assessments."
Basically, their studies demonstrated that not only do unskilled people overestimate their ability, they also fail to realize it when they have failed. Remember those American Idol rejects who storm from the audition raging that their brilliance was unrecognized? Case in point. (Remember Dubya? Case in point.) Highly skilled people, however, tend to underestimate their ability, probably because the old axiom, 'The more you know, the more you realize how little you know" is true.
The article linked above is a good read. You can read the report here, if you like scholarly research. Either way, it makes for some interesting reading.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Snow Day!
Today in Notl: Cold with a high of 22F/-5C. The blizzard passed us by, we are expecting about 2 inches/5 cm in all. Lucked out!
I'm mindful, as I look at the weather today, of how bad it could have been. Years ago, I went to New Jersey to live with a community of sisters so that I could discern whether their life was for me. The convent was situated midway up a wooded mountain, while at the foot was the printery where we worked to support the convent and the shrine's mission. We were located in NW New Jersey, and the winters were ROUGH, particularly for this Southern lass.
One day, the snow began coming down and there were blizzard warnings, so the office shut down early. Two of the nuns remained to close things down with the business manager and I set off on foot back to the convent.
It was perhaps a ten or fifteen-minute walk on a snow-free day, but it was cold so I took the shortcut across a large open field, admiring the view of the shrine and convent. I made good time at first, but it wasn't long before the snow really began to pick up, increasing dramatically very quickly.
Suddenly, I was enveloped in white. Being a voracious reader, I had read of blizzards and tales of hapless travelers caught in snows so heavy they couldn't pick their way across their own back yard to the safety of their homes. I'd read of snows so thick that those out in it couldn't see their hands in front of their faces, and I thought that was a figurative expression intended to mean 'really thick snow.'
Now, however, I realized what all that meant. As the snow fell around me, it felt as though the very air around me was opaque, as though I were wrapped in cotton batting. Instantly I lost all sense of direction, not knowing where the convent was, where the office was, where *I* was in the field.
My feet were like lead; unfamiliar with that amount of snow, I was lifting my feet to clear the snow, carrying a mound of heavy wet snow atop each boot. Looking down, I couldn't make out my dark boots, though I could feel the snow as it topped them and slid down inside, wetting my already cold feet. I lifted my hand to see, and indeed, it was as I had read: I couldn't make out my hand at the end of my arm stretched before me.
I prayed as hard as I had in my life. I knew that the convent was situated in a clearing and that behind it were wooded trails and that the mountain was heavily wooded only a bit beyond the field. Of course, the nuns knew where I was, so that was comfort. If I came to trees, I reasoned, I'd try a different direction till I came back to the open.
Sure enough, I came to trees. Had I reached the heaviest wooded area up mountain? I turned and encountered more trees. I tried again and found open ground so stumbled along.
I say stumbled because I was exhausted. I was breathing hard from the exertion of lifting so much snow with each step as well as from the effort not to panic. However, having reached an open spot, I felt that if I continued walking along the open edge, it would lead me to a building - the deserted shrine, the outdoor chapel, the office, or the convent. At that point, I didn't care which it was; any would offer welcome shelter.
Finally I encountered short growth - a hedge. That meant I was near the convent. Hedges ran along the road up the mountain and lined both the drive to the garage as well as the garage to the visitor parking lot. If I headed back to the woods, the hedge would guide me back in the other direction toward the convent. I was hugely relieved!
Stumbling along and sometimes within the hedge, I found my way to the garage, but my knocks and calls got no answer. No matter, though. By walking close beside the building, I found my way to the front door and opened it to glad cries.
Instantly I was surrounded by my worried sisters, who took off my coat, scarf, hat and gloves. They wiped the ice from my lashes and brows, sat me down and removed my shoes. One flew to my room to get my slippers, another found a towel to dry my cold wet feet, another pressed a cup of hot tea into my hand.
Looking up, I saw that several of them were heavily bundled themselves. Worrying for my safety, they had determined to search for me themselves. I had been gone over an hour.
When the snow had begun to pick up, the nuns decided to return to the convent. They'd scanned the mountain but couldn't see me through the snow and surmised I'd already reached the convent. When they got there and realized I hadn't made back, their surprise had turned to concern and then fear as the minutes ticked by.
As it turned out, that hedge saved me from heading into the wooded gardens behind the convent. One of the sisters, a Minnesota gal, observed my footprints filling quickly in the snowfall. Had I not found that hedge and followed it, she told me soberly, I could have been lost for many hours in the acres of woodland gardens. She didn't have to say anything more. I knew I'd had a fairly close call.
So as we watch tv and see the reports coming in from around the country, I remember my one-and-only blizzard experience and sip my coffee gratefully.
Art today is a few of the pendants going to a jewellery party this weekend. If you are in the GTA or within an hour or two of Niagara and would like to host one of Deb's parties, let us know!
I'm mindful, as I look at the weather today, of how bad it could have been. Years ago, I went to New Jersey to live with a community of sisters so that I could discern whether their life was for me. The convent was situated midway up a wooded mountain, while at the foot was the printery where we worked to support the convent and the shrine's mission. We were located in NW New Jersey, and the winters were ROUGH, particularly for this Southern lass.
One day, the snow began coming down and there were blizzard warnings, so the office shut down early. Two of the nuns remained to close things down with the business manager and I set off on foot back to the convent.
It was perhaps a ten or fifteen-minute walk on a snow-free day, but it was cold so I took the shortcut across a large open field, admiring the view of the shrine and convent. I made good time at first, but it wasn't long before the snow really began to pick up, increasing dramatically very quickly.
Suddenly, I was enveloped in white. Being a voracious reader, I had read of blizzards and tales of hapless travelers caught in snows so heavy they couldn't pick their way across their own back yard to the safety of their homes. I'd read of snows so thick that those out in it couldn't see their hands in front of their faces, and I thought that was a figurative expression intended to mean 'really thick snow.'
Now, however, I realized what all that meant. As the snow fell around me, it felt as though the very air around me was opaque, as though I were wrapped in cotton batting. Instantly I lost all sense of direction, not knowing where the convent was, where the office was, where *I* was in the field.
My feet were like lead; unfamiliar with that amount of snow, I was lifting my feet to clear the snow, carrying a mound of heavy wet snow atop each boot. Looking down, I couldn't make out my dark boots, though I could feel the snow as it topped them and slid down inside, wetting my already cold feet. I lifted my hand to see, and indeed, it was as I had read: I couldn't make out my hand at the end of my arm stretched before me.
I prayed as hard as I had in my life. I knew that the convent was situated in a clearing and that behind it were wooded trails and that the mountain was heavily wooded only a bit beyond the field. Of course, the nuns knew where I was, so that was comfort. If I came to trees, I reasoned, I'd try a different direction till I came back to the open.
Sure enough, I came to trees. Had I reached the heaviest wooded area up mountain? I turned and encountered more trees. I tried again and found open ground so stumbled along.
I say stumbled because I was exhausted. I was breathing hard from the exertion of lifting so much snow with each step as well as from the effort not to panic. However, having reached an open spot, I felt that if I continued walking along the open edge, it would lead me to a building - the deserted shrine, the outdoor chapel, the office, or the convent. At that point, I didn't care which it was; any would offer welcome shelter.
Finally I encountered short growth - a hedge. That meant I was near the convent. Hedges ran along the road up the mountain and lined both the drive to the garage as well as the garage to the visitor parking lot. If I headed back to the woods, the hedge would guide me back in the other direction toward the convent. I was hugely relieved!
Stumbling along and sometimes within the hedge, I found my way to the garage, but my knocks and calls got no answer. No matter, though. By walking close beside the building, I found my way to the front door and opened it to glad cries.
Looking up, I saw that several of them were heavily bundled themselves. Worrying for my safety, they had determined to search for me themselves. I had been gone over an hour.
When the snow had begun to pick up, the nuns decided to return to the convent. They'd scanned the mountain but couldn't see me through the snow and surmised I'd already reached the convent. When they got there and realized I hadn't made back, their surprise had turned to concern and then fear as the minutes ticked by.
As it turned out, that hedge saved me from heading into the wooded gardens behind the convent. One of the sisters, a Minnesota gal, observed my footprints filling quickly in the snowfall. Had I not found that hedge and followed it, she told me soberly, I could have been lost for many hours in the acres of woodland gardens. She didn't have to say anything more. I knew I'd had a fairly close call.
So as we watch tv and see the reports coming in from around the country, I remember my one-and-only blizzard experience and sip my coffee gratefully.
Art today is a few of the pendants going to a jewellery party this weekend. If you are in the GTA or within an hour or two of Niagara and would like to host one of Deb's parties, let us know!
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Today in Niagara-on-the-Lake: Cold and cloudy, with a high of 27F/-2C and a few flurries expected.
This morning we were discussing the story behind the movie, The King's Speech. The writer had been given permission from Queen Mary, the wife of George VI, to make the movie provided that he waited till after her death. Little did he know that would occur some 27 years later! But he was faithful. I find that more inspiring than the story of the king's stutter, actually.
I was quite pleased that I knew George VI's wife had been the Queen Mum, not having been reared with familial interest in the doings in Buckingham Palace. George VI took the throne after his brother, Edward VIII, abdicated to marry American divorcee Wallis Simpson. Being American, that much I knew, lol.
Talk turned to the romance of Edward and Wallis - the woman for whom a man gave up the crown. Talk about romance! Deb noted the difference between him and Prince Charles, who noted he wanted to be Camilla's tampon. Where has nobility gone??
Channel surfing yesterday, I caught part of Maury, a daytime talk-show. I had thought that it was a cut above the Springer show, which capitalizes on the lack of class and decorum one finds among some people - the ones who lack proper upbringing, education, and refinement. However, the few minutes I caught consisted of Maury reading paternity test results.
Apparently a fellow had fathered his lady's two children, despite some confusion as to whether his brother was dad of the younger one. He ranted a bit about what a slut she was, while embracing his brother. Apparently he felt it was ok for his brother to be with his lady, just not ok for the lady to say yes.
Next up was a fellow who'd apparently impregnated a whole gang of women, as they'd said he had to his denial. His fiancee, undaunted by the prospect of marriage to a man who was so indiscriminate as to have six children by five women, began to rush the stage in a yelling match NOT with the scumbag she'd agreed to marry but with the women he'd used and abused - !
I am appalled by the glorification of coarseness and crass behaviour I see on tv. Saturday Night Live had some black singer last week, and the dancers were just - disgusting. More disgusting was the way he behaved, some stupid male-supremacy pantomime I suppose.
Why do women and girls tolerate this sort of thing? I understand lack of self-esteem, but I can't believe women gain esteem from men like the zeroes I've seen on such tv. *shudder*
Yesterday I spent time making mini-pendant watercolours only to discover I have run out of the pendants for the mini paintings! Argh. Back to it today, this time making watercolours for the pendants I HAVE!!! Will have pics tomorrow!
This morning we were discussing the story behind the movie, The King's Speech. The writer had been given permission from Queen Mary, the wife of George VI, to make the movie provided that he waited till after her death. Little did he know that would occur some 27 years later! But he was faithful. I find that more inspiring than the story of the king's stutter, actually.
I was quite pleased that I knew George VI's wife had been the Queen Mum, not having been reared with familial interest in the doings in Buckingham Palace. George VI took the throne after his brother, Edward VIII, abdicated to marry American divorcee Wallis Simpson. Being American, that much I knew, lol.
Talk turned to the romance of Edward and Wallis - the woman for whom a man gave up the crown. Talk about romance! Deb noted the difference between him and Prince Charles, who noted he wanted to be Camilla's tampon. Where has nobility gone??
Channel surfing yesterday, I caught part of Maury, a daytime talk-show. I had thought that it was a cut above the Springer show, which capitalizes on the lack of class and decorum one finds among some people - the ones who lack proper upbringing, education, and refinement. However, the few minutes I caught consisted of Maury reading paternity test results.
Apparently a fellow had fathered his lady's two children, despite some confusion as to whether his brother was dad of the younger one. He ranted a bit about what a slut she was, while embracing his brother. Apparently he felt it was ok for his brother to be with his lady, just not ok for the lady to say yes.
Next up was a fellow who'd apparently impregnated a whole gang of women, as they'd said he had to his denial. His fiancee, undaunted by the prospect of marriage to a man who was so indiscriminate as to have six children by five women, began to rush the stage in a yelling match NOT with the scumbag she'd agreed to marry but with the women he'd used and abused - !
I am appalled by the glorification of coarseness and crass behaviour I see on tv. Saturday Night Live had some black singer last week, and the dancers were just - disgusting. More disgusting was the way he behaved, some stupid male-supremacy pantomime I suppose.
Why do women and girls tolerate this sort of thing? I understand lack of self-esteem, but I can't believe women gain esteem from men like the zeroes I've seen on such tv. *shudder*
Yesterday I spent time making mini-pendant watercolours only to discover I have run out of the pendants for the mini paintings! Argh. Back to it today, this time making watercolours for the pendants I HAVE!!! Will have pics tomorrow!
Monday, January 17, 2011
Getting Better All the Time...
Today in NOTL: Sunny with a few clouds and cold, with today's high 22F/-5C. *shiver*
So it's been a tough couple of weeks with this cold/virus making the rounds; I think some of us have had two bouts of it. Bleech! We seem to be peeking out from under though, finally.
It's hard, though, when you're not able to keep up with the work you do b/c you're ill and you're NOT getting that regular paycheck from the 9-5 grind everyone complains about. We love what we do, but quiet days mean no income. It's a real tightrope to walk when things get slow as they have each year around this time.
The idea of blocks - that if we're working hard to walk in trust, affirm the good, etc., and NOT seeing prosperity then something is keeping that prosperity from us - is a sticky issue. The Law of Attraction and the Power of Positive Thinking notwithstanding, a lot of folks who are working those are not getting the results the high-powered sales folks like the Secret teachers are - or anywhere close. That's ok; after all, you can only sit in one chair or live in one house at a time, eh? Thoreau would say any more than that is superfluous.
Still, many spiritual workers mention that they *should* be seeing more satisfying results of their spiritual work than they have. To me, that points to one of the problems right there: they're flowing energy to the lack of satisfying results. Nevertheless, we can always take some action to increase the good in our lives, so I asked the Angels about it, specifically for my abundant life.
I got an interesting response; basically, they told me to let go the old stuff I was carrying around. I instantly did a forgiveness check, as forgiveness (or the lack thereof) is a huge block to good. Instead, they directed me to my former career as teacher and I realized they were right.
I loved teaching. I loved my classroom, I loved creating activities for my students, I loved my practice as a learning therapist helping kids to read better and improve their grades. I loved being with other teachers and talking shop. I loved visiting teacher stores and picking up bright posters for my classroom.
Being a teacher was never a job for me, it was an integral part of me. I said 'I'm a teacher' the way other people say 'I am in the Who's Who' or 'I have won two Oscars.' I was proud to be a teacher and took, my first year, a wonderful woman as a role model, Catherine D. She was gracious and well-spoken, she never raised her voice, she commanded respect from the students and faculty simply by being the person she was. To my rookie eyes, she was the consummate professional and I strove to become a consummate professional in my own right.
I think I did. I kept myself in the classroom - my laughter and sense of fun, my stubborn refusal to back down from the hard aspects of teaching or to tolerate disrespect, my idealism - but I added her gracious manner of dealing with parents and students, refusing to be drawn into anger, comporting myself with the dignity appropriate to a position which placed me of necessity in the role of model to my students. I am proud of my work in the classroom, proud of my ability to establish rapport and trust with students of all the races in my class.
It's hard to let that go. When I must introduce myself, I always refer first to the fact that I am a former classroom teacher and second to the fact that I am one of the Angel Ladies.
And the Angels pointed out I was clinging to the past. I am not a classroom teacher anymore; I do not have a private practice as a learning therapist.
So I thought about that and decided to do a brain dump. This is a test-taking strategy I used to teach my dyslexic/test-phobic students: as soon as you get the test paper, use the back of a sheet to write formulas, lists, processes, anything you are afraid you won't remember. Once you get it onto paper in usable fashion, you are free to answer the actual questions on the test.
In my case, as I make the techniques, tips, and strategies that made me successful in the classroom available to others who can use them, I free up energy for other aspects of my life.
As a learning therapist, I used to create organizers for my students all the time, putting information in a meaningful structure for them or creating a structure they could use to organize information helpfully. Now that I'm creating art, I decided to use my expertise to create an organizer for artists and crafters who offer a variety of products. I called it the Art Genie, lol.
I'm working now on a guide to assist people in creative problem-solving, to 'thinking outside the box,' if you will. Following that will be a creative writing guide to help folks who have a story get it out of their head and onto paper and other guides and ebooks of successful techniques I've used in and out of the classroom over the years.
I'll let you know the results. No art today, but here's a beautiful shot of the local clock tower in the snow, taken by Tom and posted on the weather website.
So it's been a tough couple of weeks with this cold/virus making the rounds; I think some of us have had two bouts of it. Bleech! We seem to be peeking out from under though, finally.
It's hard, though, when you're not able to keep up with the work you do b/c you're ill and you're NOT getting that regular paycheck from the 9-5 grind everyone complains about. We love what we do, but quiet days mean no income. It's a real tightrope to walk when things get slow as they have each year around this time.
The idea of blocks - that if we're working hard to walk in trust, affirm the good, etc., and NOT seeing prosperity then something is keeping that prosperity from us - is a sticky issue. The Law of Attraction and the Power of Positive Thinking notwithstanding, a lot of folks who are working those are not getting the results the high-powered sales folks like the Secret teachers are - or anywhere close. That's ok; after all, you can only sit in one chair or live in one house at a time, eh? Thoreau would say any more than that is superfluous.
Still, many spiritual workers mention that they *should* be seeing more satisfying results of their spiritual work than they have. To me, that points to one of the problems right there: they're flowing energy to the lack of satisfying results. Nevertheless, we can always take some action to increase the good in our lives, so I asked the Angels about it, specifically for my abundant life.
I got an interesting response; basically, they told me to let go the old stuff I was carrying around. I instantly did a forgiveness check, as forgiveness (or the lack thereof) is a huge block to good. Instead, they directed me to my former career as teacher and I realized they were right.
I loved teaching. I loved my classroom, I loved creating activities for my students, I loved my practice as a learning therapist helping kids to read better and improve their grades. I loved being with other teachers and talking shop. I loved visiting teacher stores and picking up bright posters for my classroom.
Being a teacher was never a job for me, it was an integral part of me. I said 'I'm a teacher' the way other people say 'I am in the Who's Who' or 'I have won two Oscars.' I was proud to be a teacher and took, my first year, a wonderful woman as a role model, Catherine D. She was gracious and well-spoken, she never raised her voice, she commanded respect from the students and faculty simply by being the person she was. To my rookie eyes, she was the consummate professional and I strove to become a consummate professional in my own right.
I think I did. I kept myself in the classroom - my laughter and sense of fun, my stubborn refusal to back down from the hard aspects of teaching or to tolerate disrespect, my idealism - but I added her gracious manner of dealing with parents and students, refusing to be drawn into anger, comporting myself with the dignity appropriate to a position which placed me of necessity in the role of model to my students. I am proud of my work in the classroom, proud of my ability to establish rapport and trust with students of all the races in my class.
It's hard to let that go. When I must introduce myself, I always refer first to the fact that I am a former classroom teacher and second to the fact that I am one of the Angel Ladies.
And the Angels pointed out I was clinging to the past. I am not a classroom teacher anymore; I do not have a private practice as a learning therapist.
So I thought about that and decided to do a brain dump. This is a test-taking strategy I used to teach my dyslexic/test-phobic students: as soon as you get the test paper, use the back of a sheet to write formulas, lists, processes, anything you are afraid you won't remember. Once you get it onto paper in usable fashion, you are free to answer the actual questions on the test.
In my case, as I make the techniques, tips, and strategies that made me successful in the classroom available to others who can use them, I free up energy for other aspects of my life.
As a learning therapist, I used to create organizers for my students all the time, putting information in a meaningful structure for them or creating a structure they could use to organize information helpfully. Now that I'm creating art, I decided to use my expertise to create an organizer for artists and crafters who offer a variety of products. I called it the Art Genie, lol.
I'm working now on a guide to assist people in creative problem-solving, to 'thinking outside the box,' if you will. Following that will be a creative writing guide to help folks who have a story get it out of their head and onto paper and other guides and ebooks of successful techniques I've used in and out of the classroom over the years.
I'll let you know the results. No art today, but here's a beautiful shot of the local clock tower in the snow, taken by Tom and posted on the weather website.
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