That's a mighty happy fish!

One on-going job of an art teacher is helping children learn to respect and enjoy other people's artwork. By the time preschoolers are ready for an art class, they've usually learned to appreciate an object without immediately putting it in their mouths. They've rarely learned to appreciate it without touching or climbing on it, though. As my blog today is about self-control, I will exercise restraint and refrain from making any comparisons to grown men at this time.

We have an ever-changing display of student art at school. Large group collaborations like murals stay on display the longest, since they don't belong to any one student. You saw the seven foot long shark named Larry that we made this summer. Larry swims in the lobby these days, and is in perpetual danger of having his teeth pulled out by children who are at their own wiggly/lost tooth phase.

By happy chance, I was doing a silly cowgirl imitation when I took the new students on a tour of the school last month. At each piece of art I would put my hands on my hips, lean way back, and drawl, "Now that's a mighty fine _______ (shark, camel, jungle mural...)." Pretty soon they were all imitating me, saying, "Why that's a mighty tall beanstalk," or, "Say, that's a mighty colorful zebra," with their hands on their hips. The great thing was, when the kids were mighty-fining, they weren't touching the art. Dang! Why didn't this rodeo clown figure that out a dozen years ago?

My elementary students are collaborating on a treehouse installation. So far our tree is full of squirrels and girls, a ladder, and a bucket on a rope. Soon we will add a tire swing, birdhouses, and birdfeeders. I was very afraid kids would actually try to climb the tree or the ladder made out of toilet paper tubes. Back to teaching a refresher course in mighty-fine!


Seems to me that men should be able to hook their thumbs in their belts, pretend to be Wild Bill Hickok, and drawl the observation, "That's a mighty bodacious female." After all, when we art teachers went to see The Motorcycle Diaries, we were able to put our hands on our cheeks, appreciate Gael Garcia Bernal, and gasp, "That's a mighty superior specimen of a man!," and "That's a mighty lucky hammock!"

http://www.motorcyclediaries.net/

You say you want a revolution

The Motorcycle Diaries is a visually gorgeous, sometimes powerful, frequently funny movie about Ernesto Guevara before he became Che. It is also a reminder of youth, idealism, intensity, false invulnerability, and the decisions we make in our early twenties that shape the rest of our lives.

Decisions I made in my early twenties have been shaping my life for over twenty-five years. Life has a way of slipping from idealism into pragmatism while we sleep, which is a good thing for the continuation of the species. Life slips from risk-taking to caution, too, which isn't bad. If we aren't careful, though, it slips from intensity into lukewarm freeze-dried instant decaf with powdered non-dairy creamer. Perhaps the challenge of our fifties is to remix our personal blends of intensity, curiosity, philosophy, and risk-taking, with our acquired judgment, skills, and long-range view. We've done the radical roadtrips, and we've buckled precious children into safety carseats. Collectively we have more power to change the world for the better than Che and his small group of Bolivian rebels ever did.

Mum's the word

This is so very groovy! I have been invited to Homecoming at last! Steven's friend Stephen went through all the girls on his cellphone list, and decided I was his best bet. Never mind that his classic Datsun 240Z was made after I graduated from Lincoln East High School in 1973. (His car is often as reluctant to start in the mornings as I am!) Never mind that my best friend and I went on a spring break road trip in March of '75 in her 260Z to Purdue and Michigan State.

Speaking of roadtrips, I am going to see "The Motorcycle Diaries" tomorrow. Che+Machu Pichu+Mexican heartthrob actor=diversionary anticipation. When I was a senior in high school I wrote a big research paper over the Christmas break entitled "Cuba After Castro". I typed it on my dad's 1928 Fleetwood (I'm hazy on these particulars) with carbon paper.