Goodbye and Thank You, China

Semester is over!

These past few hot and rainy weeks in Nanning, we've been preparing to leave. I have finished final exams, and most of our stuff--from lamps and cushions to blender and bikes--has new owners. Our friends will come to retrieve those things and say goodbye Friday morning before we head out to the airport.

Ten months we've been in China. It's the longest we've lived in one abode since launching our nomadic life 4 years ago. Life here has been charming and challenging. Sweet and soul-stretching. Exciting and unnerving.

campus lotus pond

If we were planning to stay here longer, I would embark on an immersion course in the language. The little bit of language study Dave and I did before coming wasn't nearly enough. At first it wasn't a problem. I am teaching in a university program that focuses on English, so we were surrounded by English-speaking Chinese people and ex-pats. Also, I made liberal use of my translation app.



You never know what you'll see when you're taking a stroll.

However, to be able to deeply connect to people--and to move around with ease--knowing more Chinese feels crucial. It got old relying on others to do some of the simplest things for us, like order take-out or buy a ticket to the movies.

Another challenge has been the food. While at first I fell in love with it, if I never see another dumpling, noodle or rice dish in my life I don't care! There is not enough variety in the diet for my taste. Well...there is variety if you're willing to eat mystery meat, duck feet, and organs. As Lee, Dave's 11-year-old tutee said, the Chinese eat everything.

Farmer's market butcher: you know it's fresh when...

We did enjoy our outings to the campus farmers market, a great place to buy fresh eggs, fruit and veggies at cheap prices. And we have found a few restaurants we like a lot...although our absolutely favorite one just closed down, perhaps a sign that our leave-taking is good timing.

The "egg lady" kindly posed for a picture.

Another sign may be the state of our apartment. It's a beautiful place with large rooms and bay windows (albeit barred) that look out over a lotus pond. And the ease of the 5-minute walk to class cannot be understated. However, Dave has named our bathroom "Little Shop of Horrors" because unidentified goop seeps from the ceiling down the walls. Sometimes we hear rats scurrying up there. And now when you run the water in the sink, it leaks onto the floor. Also, for months, water has been seeping through a wall in the office space. A maintenance crew came to look at it a few times, but apparently there is no remedy.

E-bike wackiness

This acceptance of things that my Western, middle-class culture might not endure has been part of the challenge and charm of China. There's a laid-back quality that's appealing. You even see it in the traffic. It might look chaotic, but generally people go quite slowly and weave around each other like a choreographed dance. That e-bike might be cutting off a bike or pedestrian, but everyone just sways one way or the other and doesn't change their pace. One move like that in California, and someone is likely to pull out a middle finger, if not a gun.

They take the afternoon siesta seriously here.

Today (Sunday) I was notified of a graduation ceremony Tuesday morning I'm required to attend. Two days notification of a major event would send many people I know into a tizzy. Here, two days is quite a bit of advance notice. I can't say I always go with the flow, but China has been teaching me to notice when I don't and what that says about me.

Popular in China!

Teaching in China has reached extremes of charm and challenge. The challenges have come with the bureaucratic minutia that I've alluded to in other entries and won't rehash here. Another challenge has been preparing lessons that build enough background knowledge of American culture so students can understand the material. In the course of teaching the book and film Wild, for example, I introduced the students to Adrienne Rich, Jerry Garcia, "therapist," Pacific Crest Trail, Minnesota, the term "beacon" as a light and a metaphor for a guidepost, and a few of Simon and Garfunkel's songs. There are always moments when I have to decide if I'm going to introduce a new term, drill down on one idea, or keep moving forward.

Whose name is whose?

For the most part, the students have been very patient with me! And I with them. We learn a lot from each other. And the notion that Chinese students are not "creative," I can now say with assurance, is bunk. They wrote some of the most wonderful poetry and memoir pieces. They created videos, sang songs, played music, and shared their visual art.

The student-created class magazine.

It's not that Chinese students aren't creative. It's that their middle school and high school years are drenched in study, with an eye to getting a good score on the gao kow, the 9-hour college entrance exam. Not many are encouraged in creative pursuits. But the human spirit being what it is, the students retain the impulse to create, to express their unique voices.

Students love these wacky phone apps!

Some admitted to me that they would like to pursue dancing, singing, acting and other arts but that their parents insisted they major in Economics or Engineering. I told these students that everyone has extra time: "Some play video games. Some play sports. You can use that time to write or dance or whatever it is you love." I gave the example of Khaled Hosseini who wrote The Kite Runner while working as a doctor, and William Carlos Williams who was also a doctor and a well-known poet.

One student last semester told me he wanted to be a filmmaker but his parents were making him become an accountant. After offering him the both/and spiel, I emphasized how lucky he is that today's technology makes filmmaking easier and cheaper than ever before. A few weeks ago, he sped up to me on his e-bike proclaiming, "Kate! Kate! I want to tell you, I'm making a movie! A full-length film. My friends and I wrote the screenplay." His eyes were alive with joy. If that's a mark I leave behind, what more could I ask?

Tina and me with smoothies, post-yoga.

China has left its mark on me, an impact that I probably won't fully process for a while. The biggest one has been my connection with Tina, our student assistant whom--as you know if you've been reading this blog--has become like a daughter to us. Leaving her is going to be rough. We have asked her to join us next month for a week in Bali. I'm praying her parents will allow it so we will squeeze out a bit more time together.

Dave and I would have loved to have traveled more in China while we were here. However, my breaks fell on Chinese holidays, which would mean traveling with crowds of millions. Also, there was the language issue as well as the fact that traveling in China is more expensive than traveling in S.E. Asia, which is deliriously cheap.

On my last break we slipped away for a few days to a resort in Malaysia.

Sepang, Malaysia

When we embarked on our experiment of living nomadically, I could not have foreseen all the incredible things we've experienced this year. Now we are headed for 2 months of travel in Indonesia and a month in Thailand, where I will run a writing retreat.

Thank you, China. I have a feeling we will return one day to explore more of what you have to offer.

 

 

First Month in China

Flowering lotus pond and campus seen from our living room window.

I asked Dave what three things he'd tell people about our experience in China. He said:

1. It's more organized and less chaotic than anticipated.
2. The food is amazing.
3. And so are the people.

A month in, I agree. But the first week didn't quite feel like that. It was shocking to walk into our campus apartment and see cockroaches crawling over the dead carcasses of their brethren, a rotting hole under the kitchen sink, black crud on the floor of the bathroom, stains streaking the walls. Etcetera.

After cleaning like crazy people, we fell into bed that night--feeling like we'd dropped onto a concrete sidewalk. I missed my memory foam mattress like never before. The cushion-less wood furniture in the living room was just as unyielding.

With the help of some new friends, we were able to buy cushions and pads. And the Dean came over to show us how to use the washing machine--although he wasn't sure about a few settings and laughingly said he usually doesn't do the laundry.

Dave rustled up some light blue paint and transformed our living room. The bedroom will be next.



A man of action.

Once things were clean and comfy, I began to appreciate the spaciousness of our place. And it has two bedrooms--one of which we use as an office and guest room (hint, hint).

 

comfy

Living on campus is great. With its food courts and canteens, two farmers' markets, sports fields, basketball and tennis courts, many apartments and dorms, it's like a city within a city. Everyone who works for the university--students, faculty, and staff--lives here, including retired employees. There are people of all ages around, including elderly and children. And on campus are schools (from preschool through middle school) for the kids.

The Chinese love exercise. On my way to class in the mornings (a five-minute walk), I see retired people playing volleyball and badminton. There are big sports fields here where people play on the equipment, kick balls around, practice Kung Fu, walk, jog, stretch.

In the evenings, groups of (mostly women) gather to "square dance"--which is more like line dancing to a boom box that's blasting anything from traditional Chinese music to pop songs.

Dancing like mama.

Soon I'm going to join one of the dancing groups. People tell me the women will show you the steps. They may laugh, but it's all in good fun.

People also ride bikes and motorbikes everywhere, which adds to the feeling that China = movement. All motorbikes here, by law, are electric. This has the pleasant effect of keeping down air and noise pollution. Some days are hazy here, but for the most part, it's pretty clean and green.

campus

just outside campus

We are in Nanning, in the southeast--just 100 miles from the Vietnam border. Yes, there's an active vibe here--but also a laid-back one. I was surprised to discover that siesta isn't just for Spanish-speaking countries; it's a thing here, too. From noon to 2 p.m.-ish, campus offices close down as do many businesses. I'm beginning to get into the afternoon peace and quiet. I even nap now and then, not my usual forte.

I'm finding I need the rest. My body and mind are adjusting to my new job: teaching creative writing, literature, and yoga to college kids. For three years, "going to work" has meant editing books in my yoga pants. It's been an adjustment putting on real clothes and being "on" in the morning.

Class on the American Memoir

For the most part, the students are eager, kind, and thoughtful. "Class discussion" isn't what I'm used to; they don't like to talk unless called upon. However, when I structure discussion and activities using my bag of tricks (such as letting them write or talk out ideas with a partner before talking to the whole class), they get into it. They also love games and role playing.

With Charles, the son of our new French friends
who are here for the husband's postdoc.

My colleagues have been great, sharing information with us, showing us around and inviting us over. For mid-Autumn festival, we went to a mooncake-making party at the home of Li Ji (an administrative assistant) and Sophie (who runs a campus preschool).

Li Ji playing a song for the kids.

 

Weighing the dough and rolling into balls, mooncake-making preparation.

We were also invited to a mid-Autumn festival meal, where everyone participated in making pork dumplings. All the food was delicious--except the snake, which according to Dave was too spicy. I couldn't get past the fact that it still had the skin on. More suitable for boots than appetizers, if you ask me.

Soup, greens, two kinds of chicken, dumplings and snake.

After dinner, Peter made us tea at his special tea table. A connoisseur, he pulled out many little packets of tea, some of which had been aged for years. We sipped and compared ala wine tasting.

Everywhere we go, the food is fantastic (and cheap). We are especially fond of Nanning's dumplings and noodles.


Fat noodles with bits of fried pork.

 We're happy to have discovered a music scene. Paul (from Liverpool) and Ricky (from Singapore) play at an ex-pat bar on the weekends--and they have opened a café called the Ukulele Club, where they plan to run music and literary events.

At the Queen's Head.

Walking around the parks, you can hear lots of music, too. Much of it's from boom boxes, but sometimes you stumble across live instruments.

People's Park

One of the greatest joys for us has been getting to know Tina, our student assistant. She has helped us with so many things, from getting wifi and opening a bank account, to shopping for specific items, to translating labels so we can figure out if we bought, say, toothpaste or hemorrhoid cream!

 

We gave Tina one of the mooncakes we made.

She's extremely bright and capable. We've spent so much time with her that she's beginning to feel like our adopted daughter.

You've probably noticed that most of the Chinese people I've been talking about have English names. Many choose to use one with foreigners, a name that is similar to their Chinese name. I'm taking Mandarin lessons and hoping that once I learn to speak it well enough I'll be able to call them by their Chinese names. And maybe I'll have them use mine: 凱特 (Kǎi tè).

I feel like I have a million more things to say about China, even though it's been only a month. Stay tuned.
 

Upon Not Returning to School

With Candice (a former student who became
a friend and colleague) at her housewarming party.

My whole life I've been either a teacher or a student. As my friends fill their Facebook pages with pictures and stories of the return to school, I've become acutely aware that this is the first fall in more than forty years I'm not returning too.

Yes, at 50 it's an early retirement. I'm not retiring in the classic sense, though, which is reflected in the word's etymology: French for withdrawing into safety and seclusion.

In fact, my leap into retirement has been the opposite: relinquishing our home to live a traveling life. Not seclusion but reaching out into the world by immersing in experiences and writing about them.

And then the unexpected: seizure, brain tumor, surgery, healing. What timing. If I'd been going through all of this while having to think about what to do with my classes ... and to make sure my medical benefits stayed in tact ... and to plan to enter the semester partway through ... Well, that just would have been no fun for me or the students.

This timing has been amazing for other reasons. Instead of being in Hawaii this fall, we are in the Bay Area for my treatment and recovery. So I'm getting to spend time with some of my colleagues, who are also good friends. This is softening the transition of leaving the professorial tribe.

The other thing that has happened is this: As news has spread about my health, former students have been inspired to contact me, flooding me with appreciation. Many didn't even know I'd planned to retire. This conversion of forces is a thing of beauty. I'm feeling the love. Big time. I've received many special messages.  Here's one that especially touched my heart:

Dear Kate,

I don't get on Facebook much, so please forgive me for being behind, but I now understand you've been through quite an experience. I'm glad you are healing well and hope you continue to do so.

You might not remember me, as you've probably had hundreds of students since we were last in touch, but to this day I cherish having had you in my life. To borrow from The Artist's Way, you were a champion of my creative self-worth, and to borrow from a credit card commercial, that's priceless! All the while, you were always a model on how to soak up life, even in hard times, of which you've had more than your fair share. I don't understand life, but because of you I better understand how to love it.

If I inspired one person to love life, I'd say my days of teaching have been well spent.

Are you Excited? Frantic? Scared? (The One We Feed)

"Are you excited?"  That's what many of my friends ask me when I mention we will be leaving to travel the world in less than two weeks.

Also:  "Are you frantic?"

And:  "Are you scared?"

For the most part, my answer to all three is "No."  Here's why:

Excited?

Actually, the answer is "yes and no."  I think this is because I'm seeing every bit of life as part of the journey.  So I'm not waiting for the journey to start.  I'm experiencing it now.  And when we step on the plane June 2 to fly to Australia, I think it will feel less like being shot out of a cannon and more like turning a page.

There are so many things to be excited about right now:

Bon Voyage Mode

I'm excited about all the get-togethers with friends. Many of these were planned prior to our decision to travel, so they have serendipitously turned into bon voyages.  And I find myself cherishing this time with friends since who knows when we'll meet again?  Knowing we are leaving adds an extra sweetness.  But of course, even if we're not leaving, we never know what the future holds.  So perhaps the trick is to always be in bon voyage mode!

Dave's surprise birthday party in bon voyage mode

Gifting Mode

I'm also cherishing gifting stuff to friends and strangers.  Yesterday, when Dave and I went to the home of friends for dinner, we brought them our fireplace accoutrements and a set of china I knew I'd never use.  These friends have just bought a new home (with three fireplaces!) and are very much in the nesting mode.  We knew these items belonged in their house.  It was lovely to see them happy about the gifts and to know pieces of us will be incorporated into their lives.

One of my friends posted on Facebook that he wanted camping equipment.  Dave said, "How about I give him mine?  I won't be using it."  So the other day, the friend came over to collect the tent, backpack, and various other equipment.  He stayed for a beer, and we had a rich and fun conversation.  Probably the most amazing conversation we've ever had. 

I've been giving books to friends I think would like them.  And recently I posted on Facebook, To keep or toss my yearbooks, that is the question?  And two high school classmates mentioned they lost their yearbooks, so I am going to mail a couple to each of them.

I'm learning that gifting stuff in a meaningful way is a powerful human connector.  This is part of the journey that, yes, I'm excited about.

Relishing-the-Page-I'm-On Mode

I've also been relishing my last days of teaching, including bringing a bottle of champagne to my final creative writing meeting, and hanging out in my office during finals week so students could come by with their papers and to say goodbye.  One student brought me flowers, and several brought me heart-felt cards.  It was so gratifying to see that many of them were inspired to write and live more richly as a result of my class.

There's nothing like champagne to make a meeting fun!  (I guess we all got a little blurry...)

As I posted on Facebook, here's how I felt the last day of class:

Yes I cried in the last class today, my last after all these years at SJSU. Yes my students gave an amazing poetry reading where we all laughed and cried and applauded. Yes I read a piece inspired by that very class. Yes we all group hugged. Yes it was more amazing than I ever dreamed it would be. Yes, my heart keeps expanding beyond dimensions I ever dreamed possible. Yes, I say yes to life.

Frantic?

Dave and I decided we were going to focus on our physical, mental and spiritual health during this time.  So we've been eating well, doing yoga, meditating, and getting a lot of sleep and fresh air.  Oh, and laughing a lot!

I believe this is why all of our preparations have been like buttah.  We take care of details when we are inspired to do so:  some packing, throwing something in the car to give to a friend, putting something on Craig's list to give away, confirming a flight, making a lodging reservation, communicating with a friend we're staying with.  And if things ever start to feel hard or jagged, we stop and come back to it later.  I have a list with some items to take care of--and when I look at it, I'm pleasantly surprised that I can strike off a few things.

Every once in a while, certain thoughts creep up on me like, Oh my god I'm going to forget something crucial!  Or Holy crap, what the hell are we in for?  Then I employ my best version of a yogi and watch that thought swim by.  I recently read that if you don't repress or act-out on a thought, it will dissipate within 90 seconds.  Ah, such freedom from my monkey mind!

Two tigers

Scared?

If a fearful thought enters my mind, my mantra is this:  I can freak out, or get curious.  Example:

Fearful thought:  Oh my god, we are going to be without a home!

Freak Out:  You'll feel lonely and lost! You're living too much on the edge! If you keep this up, you'll be homeless not by choice but for real some day!

Get Curious:  I wonder what new thing is around the corner?  I wonder what amazing people we will meet?  I wonder how we'll grow?  I wonder what new ideas of "home" we will foster and explore?


This reminds me of the the old Indian tale, in which a grandfather tells his grandchild:

"You have two tigers inside you.  One is love and compassion.  The other is fear and anger."

The grandchild asks, "Which one will win?"

He answers:  "The one we feed."

Grading Papers: The Life of an English Teacher

We all do it.

This morning I was curled up on the couch with my coffee and a stack of student papers to grade.  This scenario has been part of my life for many years.

Being an English teacher is like having perpetual homework.  In the mid 1980s, I was a high school teacher.  And everywhere I went--Sunday to my parents' house, a road trip, an afternoon at the park--I brought a stack of papers.  Not that I always graded them there.  Often I'd set my alarm for 3:30 a.m. to finish grading in a haze before I jumped in the shower.

I left teaching once, in 1989.  I said I was sick of grading papers. I got a job working for a computer publishing company.  Sitting in a cubicle under florescent lights from 9 a.m.-6 p.m. made paper grading look not too bad.  So after a year, I went to grad school and re-launched my teaching career as a college professor.

Over the years, I've tried all kinds of paper-grading tricks, such as:

* Standing while grading so that I don't get too comfortable and spend unnecessary time on the papers.   (That bombed.  It made grading feel too much like punishment.)

* Going to a cafe to grade.  (I found out if I'm going for comfort, I tend to prefer my own home.)

* Grading only in my office; never taking a paper home.  I found this not to my liking for three reasons:  1) It doesn't allow me to take advantage of one of the great things about the job:  flexibility.  I like that I'm on campus 2-3 days a week, which would have to be more if I graded only there.  2) After teaching, I am often not in the head-space to grade.  3) Before teaching, if I'm frantically grading papers, I walk into class agitated. I prefer to walk slowly to class, hot tea in hand, meditating on being open to whatever comes up. 

* Having my students write 3 strengths and weaknesses on the last page of their paper.  They are usually spot-on.  And then I don't have to write out the obvious; instead, I write "yes!" next to their comments. 

* Stapling a grading rubric to a paper and checking-off the strengths and weaknesses.  But I'm such a verbal communicator that I found it hard to replace words with checks.  A supposed time-saver became an extra step.

* Instead of correcting grammar and spelling errors, I mark an X next to the error.  I then return papers and have students (in small groups) find the problems and fix them.  If they can't figure it out, I help them.  Usually they can fix 95% of the errors this way.  And it saves me huge amounts of "editing" time.

* Having students share first drafts in small groups.  They read aloud their papers, and the group discusses questions on a worksheet.  The writer listens and takes notes.  This is one of the most successful ways to assure better quality papers because I'm honoring the writing process.

* I also have students reflect on the experience of having written by completing these statements:  "I discovered...", "I was surprised...", and "I wonder..."  We then go around the room and have each person share one insight.  This isn't a time-saving device, but it often has some amazing results that get me psyched to read their papers.

However you slice it, though, paper grading takes time.  It has its ups and downs.  It can feel like a psychological drain, but it can also be powerfully rewarding.

This morning, for example, I was reading student papers reflecting on campus literary events they attended this semester. One student wrote about poet Mark Heinlein, and how--as a result of watching Mark in action--the student feels he has found his tribe:

"I have always wondered if I was one of the only people to look at some of the smallest things in life and think about them as being something bigger than face value.  Sometimes I thought I just over-analyzed and thought about things too much, but after hearing Mark speak, and also being in a creative writing  class and getting to know Professor Evans throughout the semester, I realized that I am not alone."

This is my last week of teaching.  I'm wondering who I will be now with no stacks of papers looming on the coffee table, with no student voices resonating in my head and heart as I read on the couch, coffee in hand.

Most of my teacher friends would answer that I will be free to do more of my own writing.  This is true.  And yet I know this:  much of what I will bring to my own writing as I move to the next chapter of my life will be touched by those thousands of students whose words I responded to with my own.

Teaching and the Butterfly Effect

Chaos Theory tells us that the movement of a butterfly's wings can affect weather patterns on the other side of the world.  Henry Adams offered similar idea when he said that "teachers affect eternity; they can never tell where their influence ends."

Here's a potent example that happened, poignantly, just a few weeks before I leave teaching:

Kirubel and me

First:  A woman I met twenty years ago in a poetry class--Carmen Gimenez Smith--was coming to our campus as a visiting writer.

As so:  I taught her memoir, Bring Down the Little Birds, in which Carmen explores her mother's interior life by writing her mother's imaginary journal entries.

And then:  I assigned my students to write three journal entries as though they were written by one of their parents.

And then:  When my student Kirubel started to write from her father's point of view, she realized that she knew his stories, but not his feelings.

And so:  She sat down with her father to talk about his rough childhood in Ethiopia with a cruel step-mother.

As he talked:  He began to illuminate his feelings more keenly.  While he could not excuse his step-mother's abuse, he realized she had been so young--only 19--when she became his step-mother.  And in short order she gave birth to eight more children.  As he spoke, he began to feel like he wanted to call his mother who was now old and ill.  He hadn't talked to her in years.

As so:  He called her. 

And:  Across continents, they talked for a long time.  Son told Mother how he felt.  Mother told son she'd always wanted to ask for forgiveness but didn't know how.

Later:  Kirubel's father told her he felt lighter, freer.  He was glad that he and his mother had talked about something that had been weighing on them both all these years.

And three days later:  His mother died.

And so:  The butterfly flapped its wings in a poetry class.  Twenty years later--through the empathic gift of stories--a daughter has connected more deeply to her father.  And her father can rest knowing there is nothing left unsaid.

Affecting Eternity: Thoughts Upon Leaving Teaching

Teachers affect eternity.  They never know where their influence ends.  - Henry Adams

*

When I was student teaching high school in the mid 1980s, a student asked me to the prom.   That's how young I was.  (I told him he had to wrap his mind around the fact that I was his teacher.)

*

When I was student teaching in a middle school, I was so baffled about how to fill up a 50-minute class session that I read aloud all of Call of the Wild to the students.  That took at least a week.  (Who knew one day my sister would marry Jack London's great-grandson?)

*

When I was teaching in Japan and my six little charges couldn't sit still another minute, I'd do one of two things:  1) Turn on Madonna's "Holiday" and dance with the kiddies around the room, sing-shouting the lyrics together, or 2) Take out a long rope, tell each kid to hold onto one of the knots interspersed down the length of the rope, and then take them on the three-block walk to a convenience store where each could pick out one snack item, as long as they asked for it in English.

*

"I aspire to try to be a teacher to my young fans who feel just like I felt when I was younger.  I just felt like a freak.  ... I want to free them of their fears and make them feel that they can make their own space in the world." - Lady Gaga

In one of my frosh comp classes, students were writing about important events in their lives.  One guy wrote about going to a Lada Gaga "Monster's Ball" concert wearing exactly what he wanted to:  a sparkly blue dress.  He was scared at first, but then dancing to her music made him feel more and more brave until he felt, bursting with happiness, that he was one of her "little monsters."

*

In my Queer Arts course, one girl in the class talked about how she came out as a lesbian as a sophomore in high school, and then was elected homecoming queen her senior year.  We loved looking at her yearbook pictures of homecoming:  the homecoming queen, escorted by her girlfriend.

*

Last August, on the first day of the semester, I checked my phone during class break.  My sister had called to tell me my mom had passed away.  I knew it was coming.  Mom had Alzheimer's and hadn't spoken in over a year.  Two days prior, I'd spent the day with her.  Lying next to her on her bed, I massaged her, I played Hawaiian music (her favorite), and I talked to her about all my good memories of my childhood.  I also told her the new semester was starting.  A retired school nurse and writer, she liked that we had in common educating and writing.  Perhaps that's why, after the break, I finished teaching my class.  I was kind of numb but I couldn't think of what else to do.  I didn't have my car with me (I'd taken the bus to work), and Mom was in good hands with my sisters 45 minutes away.  I told my T.A.--a graduate student--what had happened, just in case I needed to step out.  I made it through the rest of class.  Afterward, my T.A. said, "I'm so sorry about your Mom, Kate."  I looked at his young face and thought about how sweet he was, and how being in your twenties is a different animal than being in your 40's.  Then he said, "I understand what you're going through.  I lost my mom when I was ten."  As we walked across campus, he told me the story of her illness, of his taking care of her.  What a gift he gave me that day--a reminder that we all have losses in our lives, and that some of us have our mothers longer than others. 

*

"It is the supreme art of the teacher to awaken joy in creative expression and knowledge." - A. Einstein

My mentor Gabriele Rico--the woman who sparked a flame in me for teaching, for writing, for poetry--died last week.  Everything I do is "stitched with her color."  My office is in the building where hers used to be.  I often feel her presence in that building, and in the classrooms where I teach.  Especially when I'm having my students do clustering or re-creation to awaken their inner geniuses. Gabriele believed everyone had powerful potential.  Her life was devoted to inspiring people to let their unique creativity shine. 

*

I'm retiring from teaching this year.  It feels like such a fitting time.  Recently I came across this "Love Letters" website and thought about how I would use it in a writing class.  This is how my mind has worked for years:  everything I encounter gets sifted through the how might students respond to this filter.  I sent an email to a group of my teacher friends telling them my ideas and giving them the link, and several wrote back enthusiastic about this new teaching idea.  One wrote:  "Oh Kate, you'll never stop teaching, a very good thing."

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During my first year of teaching high school, I saw a former English professor of mine who had been so enthusiastic and knowledgeable about Hemingway and Fitzgerald that I couldn't help but fall in love with them.  In fact, I had just taught "Hills Like White Elephants" and felt like I knew how to hook students into the story because of his teaching.  I had an impulse to run up and say something, but I wavered.  And then I thought, what the hell and did it.  I could tell it took him a minute to remember me.  And then I told him he'd had a big influence on me, which had enriched my teaching.  To my surprise, his eyes misted.  Then he said:  "Well, this is interesting timing.  I was just going to sign my retirement papers.  And before you stopped me what was going through my mind was this:  I wonder if what I've done all these years has really mattered."

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Here's an email I received last week from a former student:  I hope you remember me. ... I haven't seen you in quite some time, so I would like to offer my congratulations, as I know you were recently married! ... I am thrilled for you! Kate, you may not realize, but you have taught me so much about what it looks like to be an individual, to be unique, and to be comfortable in my own skin. My growing process could not possibly have been complete without your encouragement along the way, so thank you from the bottom of my heart.

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Why I'm Quitting My Job

1.  I feel like it!  I'm doing this all on intuition and from a place of pure joy.

Joy!

2.  One day I will die.  I intend to live the life I want to live.  Fully.

3.  Funny how I never thought I'd leave when I was digging my job, which I am for the most part.  I love my students.  I like the vibrancy of the campus.  I enjoy the classes I teach.  It just feels like time.  And how fabulous to be leaving not out of rejecting the old but through embracing the new!

4.  Maybe it feels like time because I have been in academia for 46 years doing thus in this order: Preschool, elementary, middle school, high school, B.A., teaching credential, student teacher, high school teacher, learning center tutor and administrator, M.A., Teaching Assistant, Lecturer in English and Education, student teaching mentor, English teacher in Japan, instructor at two community colleges, Ph.D., educational researcher, Assistant Professor in Education, MFA in creative writing, lecturer of English and Creative Writing.  It's been a beautiful ride.

What retirement can look like...when you're on Jam Cruise.

5.  Technically, I'm retiring.  I became eligible when I hit 50 last November.  Although I've never made much money as a teacher, I've had excellent medical benefits that will continue on in retirement. I can make money doing other things without losing those benefits.

6.  Of course I'm not retiring in the classic sense.  I'm moving onto the next part of the journey.  By opening up the space and time, all other kinds of fabulous possibilities will flow my way.  I'm already exploring some ideas--such as creating yoga and writing retreats in Maui and Santa Cruz.

Going with the flow...and enjoying anticipating what'll come 'round the next bend.

7.   I want to read every winner and finalist of the National Book Award, the Pulitzer, the Orange Prize, and the Nobel Prize. I've always read a lot, and most of my life I've read with this in mind:  how will we discuss this book in class?  It will be quite the experiment to read extensively without that disposition constantly churning in the back of my mind.

8.  I want to write.  I want to finish a book I've been working on for a while, and begin several others.  I want to expand this blog, my website, and my "Ask Dr. Kate" column.

Getting crazy with friends on the streets of New Orleans during winter break this year.

9.  I want to travel any time of the year.  I haven't gone on a long trip in fall or spring my whole life!  I want to continue to explore new places with Dave.  He'll take pictures, and I'll write.  We started journeying together more than three years ago--and in our new life configuration, the world is the limit. 


10.  But first, as soon as I've turned in the last grades of the semester--and perhaps ever--I'm going to open myself up to deep listening.  I'll put my ear to the shell of the world, to drink in the new, sweet sounds.  Sounds of being.  Sounds of possibility.

Other Mother

I was a deer-in-the-headlights graduate student in my late twenties when I first met Gabriele Rico.  She walked into the classroom the epitome of grace.  And then, over the course of that semester and years to come, she became my mentor, my friend, and my other-mother.

Gabriele when I first met her--in her early 50s (about the age I am now)

Her work on creativity was intellectual and profoundly intuitive.  She seduced me!  Because of her, I fell in love with literature, language, writing, and teaching.  She prompted me to honor--and really see--the amazement of my own creative possibilities.

Gabriele developed "clustering."  This book changed lives.

Gabriele invited me into her home to work with her on writing projects.  I remember looking at her life and thinking, this is what I want.  A life filled with people who thrived on creativity.  A home inspired by art, and infused with books and plants and love.  And flexibility of time:  to teach, to mentor, to write, to travel, to exercise the body and mind. 

And truly:  this is who I've become.  Gabriele is woven into the fabric of my life.

Gabriele has always been open to change and growth.  In her 50s and 60s, she learned to wind surf, to rock climb, to snorkel--and she became a true yogini.  She stretched herself physically, mentally, emotionally.  She led creativity workshops all over the world.  She traveled to more and more exotic places.  And when she was diagnosed with life-threatening cancer eight months ago--at the age of 75--she dubbed the experience an adventure.

With Simone, Gabriele's youngest daughter; check out the bracelets!

When I visited with her today, in spite of the pain medications she's on, she was still her loving, funny, astute self.  Two of her three daughters were there.  In the midst of a hug, she called me her "sixth daughter."  I said, "Wait a minute, I thought I was the fourth!"  And she laughed.  Her daughter Suzanne (who has written a lot about about her family's journeys) said, "There are at least a hundred daughters."  Now there's a legacy. 

One thing I come to expect being around Gabriele is that nothing is a surprise.  There are always serendipities that arise--"coincidences" that are a given when Gabriele is around.  Today's was this:  I was wearing a bracelet my long-time friend gave me last year on my wedding day.  It has a bead on it that looks like a blue eye.  Simone was wearing a bracelet also given to her by an old friend; it incorporated the exact same bead.  Simone said the bead wards off the evil eye.

 

Today I realized that Gabriele is the one person in my life who has always seen most clearly the veil between this world and the next. In fact, it's not even a veil for her.  It's a continuum.  As she once wrote:

"When human beings grow creatively, they learn to  step out of categories such as 'either/or' and begin to see the world in terms of 'both/and.'"

Here's the both/and of the situation:  Gabriele is dying, and Gabriele is living. Gabriele will be gone but she'll always be here. I know I will continue to learn from her throughout the rest of my days.