Resolutions

We've opened all the gifts, maxed out the credit cards and bank accounts, devoured most of the rich food and drink, sent out our holiday greetings. What now? More shopping? I think not.

The New Year beckons with a promise of starting over. I love the idea of New Year's resolutions. Goal setting is good for me, and even better for you. What do I want to accomplish in 2011? I have two lists: the "normal" one and the "real" one.

Here's a draft, but check with me next week to see what the final lists contain. Feel free to send me your resolutions for further inspiration.

NORMAL RESOLUTIONS (DRAFT)
Eat five servings of fruits and veggies and exercise daily
Build my savings in order to care for my debilitating old age
Be kind to at least one person every day, and also my husband
Clear out all our closets
Donate to the local food banks and homeless shelters
Sign up for an educational class, like history or science
Communicate regularly with my friends and out of town relatives
Read at least three books about spiritual growth/faith
Never panic


REAL RESOLUTIONS (DRAFT)
Get out of bed almost every day
Remember to brush my teeth at least once a week
Update my resume from its last version in 1980
Give the car its annual hosing off
Meet one friend for coffee after trying for 3 years to get together
Change the bag in the vacuum cleaner
Look for the lemonade in all those lemons

Remxmas

I'm singing carols this month. I'm also hearing them piped overhead, inside and outside stores. After weeks of this, words are spinning in my head like an out of control clothes dryer. Every once in a while, I wonder, why are we singing these words?

Why do we feel endless nostalgia over letting it snow, or dreaming of it for that matter? Why do we long for a crackling fire in a fireplace when we have 'spare the air days?' How often do we ride a sleigh or a horse with jingling bells on it through downtown?

Now, out of the whirling cascade of Winter Images, there emerges: Remixmas Carols.

I'm dreaming of a gray Christmas, just like the ones we used to know,
Where the folks were complainin' when it wouldn't stop rainin' --
Through the raindrops the lights and colors glow--

Jingle keys, jingle keys, jingle to the car
Oh what fun it is to drive in traffic near and far - ar.

Oh the weather outside is frightful, but central heating is so delightful
And since we can shop online, let's relax with a little mulled wine

Car horns blare, are you listnin?
In the rain, streets are glistenin'
A really wet sight, we're happy tonight,
caring 'bout what's really important.

Deck the rooms with pretty Christmas Trees
fa la la la la... etc
'Tis the season to help the needy
fa la la etc
Bring your groceries to a food bank
fa la la la etc
Sing about a fair, just Wonderland
fa la la la la la la la LA

Winter!

Community

Where did the time go? I can't believe I completely missed writing a blog entry last week. Every year, the second week of December fills with school requirements, holiday performances, colds and flu; and every year I'm surprised.

Every year, too, I feel slightly depressed at this time, feeling the gap between the shining stores, bouncing TV ads, and ever-present requests by strangers and friends alike to have a merry holiday. I sat down yesterday and thought about the reason for the season in addition to its religious expression. Two experiences I had this past Saturday came to mind. That day I sang with SWEET Theater's caroling group (formerly the Piccola Carolers of Opera Piccola) at the Temescal Holiday Stroll on Telegraph Avenue. One of our singers was sick (didn't I mention winter colds already?), so the three of us in our 1890 hats and capes caroled in the small neighborhood shopping area between 51st and 49h Streets.

We sang inside Ruby's Garden and Peet's Coffee. We sang for a long line in the Post Office to wild applause. We sang for two little boys and a mom with a baby in a stroller outside the hair salon. Each time, some looked up from a laptop or from where they stood and smiled. Some stopped and listened, some sang along. And some said, "that was beautiful." The wonder of this random musical exchange with strangers on the street cannot be explained. But when we crossed Telegraph Avenue, something even more magical happened. A reggae band was playing outside of the cafe/restaurant, and we couldn't sing our traditional carols near their amplified sound. We stopped to listen a moment. Their rhythm sounded like the rhythm of the words, "jingle bells." So I started singing that carol to their melody. Instantly Jo Parks and Steven Gary(amazing bass and tenor) began improvising in perfect reggae style and in perfect harmony. For ten minutes, the three of us jammed with the four musicians, twisting and turning and echoing riffs back and forth while coffee drinkers peered out the window smiling and shoppers danced. Who can explain why I felt joy then? Was it a letting go, a connecting, a celebration?

Two hours later I returned to the same corner on Telegraph to meet some students in my Chorus/Voice class from Oakland Technical High School. The class practices about six times per month after school, like a club. After warming up and putting on our scarves, Santa hats and reindeer antlers, we began our caroling stroll on the same route I had just walked with our Victorian trio. Students had brought relatives and friends to listen; we gave many of them hats too, so our 10 singers sang with 15 teenagers, moms and younger siblings following.

Again, the magic happened that defies media stereotypes and replicates a tradition associated with past centuries. The hour we spent was not Glee, was not American Idol or America's Got Talent. Our motley group sang on the street for passersby in the same way that groups of neighbors used to go outside at the holidays and sing outside houses. The chorus of beginning singers can't sing in parts yet. They sang in unison in clear, young, quiet voices, faces concentrating on remembering the words. But strangers who passed by stopped to listen, because they were moved by the innocent hearts of these shy 14 to 17 year old singers, expressed in their courageous singing.

The thing I will remember most happened inside a small store called Sagrada, a beautiful warm shop with a glowing Christmas tree, stacks of colorful books and softly lit pictures on the walls. We needed a quiet place away from traffic to sing "Silent Night" and the store owner kindly invited us in, crowding between the displays. Kai, our student guitarist, sat on a wooden straight backed chair and started the song, focusing on each careful note. Nereida and Kenya sang the solos and the chorus joined the second time through. "Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright." The large group that followed us inside grew completely still and quiet, even the toddlers. For those two minutes in that hushed space we were one, a listening feeling community: the season.

Ostracism

I've spent many years observing social interactions in hallways and recess courtyards of schools. As we enter a season that traditionally is about caring, sharing and peacemaking, I want to tell a little fable.

Once upon a time there was a misfit, a 13 year old boy who was not handsome. He was overweight, had hair that looked like his mom cut it with blunt scissors, and wore thick, thick glasses that distorted his eyes. Whatever outfits the other students wore, the boy always seemed to wear something that didn't fit in; if they wore cut-offs, he wore a suit and tie, if they dressed up, he wore jeans.

He always sat alone at lunch. If someone sat at the same table, they were careful to put at least 4 or 5 feet between them. After a while he stopped going to lunch. When someone sat next to him or walked next to him by accident, then the other students kept away from that person too - far away. The boy didn't talk much. He withdrew into himself and set up a kind of cloud of sadness around him, making others avoid him even more. He didn't get good grades and was always picked last when they chose teams. He was bitterly lonely, but he told his mom that everything was fine at school.

The boy spent most, if not all, of his adult years recovering from his adolescence.

This boy could be you and I. We've all seen people like the boy, whether male or female, in public school or at a senior citizen book club. What would it take for people to reach out and sit with someone who is ostracized and risk their own status? Is the responsibility of education only to teach curriculum, or is there something even more important? The arts teach empathy, but need to go much farther. We need not only to feel what it's like to wear someone else's shoes, but also to learn what to do as a result of understanding what that person is going through.

Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving. As a vegetarian in difficult times I have to think a bit about a reason for celebrating this holiday. The TV ads tell me it's about recipes, not overcooking the turkey, getting ahead on the holiday sales. My elementary school taught me to wear paper Native American (back then called "Indian") wreaths decorated with autumn leaves and to march down the assembly aisles donating my canned goods. We re-enacted the Pilgrims first Thanksgiving. My mom made "Indian" pudding, a delicious mixture of corn meal and blackstrap molasses, with a sauce that had real rum in it. There were the trips to see grandparents sometimes. But nostalgia only goes so far.

All right, I'm developing some present day meaning for myself. First, I benefit from being grateful. Psychology has confirmed this: make a gratitude list daily - at least five items- and you will feel better emotionally and physically. Second, the four day holiday gives me a needed rest before the downhill race to December 31st. Third, I can catch up on laundry, cleaning and homework assignments. Fourth, I can help out with one of the meals for homeless citizens. Five, I can avoid shopping and reflect on Life during the time I will save, not to mention money.

For students and teachers, Thanksgiving Week is wonderful. My students look forward to the food and to sleeping all day every day. It's wonderful until Monday, November 29th, which marks the season of the school year called Mid-Term, not Year End: exams, term papers, portfolio's, presentations. What was the blissful beginning of the school year has become the hard reality of Due Dates and Evaluations, with spring standardized testing looming in the shadows. Let me get back in bed. I plan to relax while I can. Happy thanksgiving.

Chickens

I'm late I'm late with my Monday blog, because I added urban mini-farming to my list of arts education activities this past week. With my husband out of town I took on the care of our 4 chickens, organic apple department and tomato patch. Yes, this is an arts education activity!

At 8:00 am each morning I let them out of the nesting area. Ricky rushes out first, clucking gratefully, staggers around, then rushes back inside to get his hens, who have to emerge in the correct pecking order. That's right, if they're not in the correct order, they get pecked. Patriarchy! Can we get a Gloria Steinem for the Poultry Population?

Next I break up pieces of bread, egg shells, apples, into bits and scatter then in the chicken "run." It's gratifying to receive their soothing, clucking appreciations as they rush around examining the menu and discussing it. As I return to the house for my coffee, Ricky utters a mournful crow. How dare I leave them unaccompanied?

I can't see any ears on the chickens, but their hearing doesn't suffer. If they detect that I'm in the house mid-day, they call me in a loud chorus of crying cackles. I emerge from the back door and there they are, lined up shoulder to shoulder (do chickens have shoulders?), peering through the grating that's closest to the house. What do they want? I could pick some grass ("green salad") or even better, sit on a chair next to them and talk to them. This is a wonderful thing to do, because they agree with everything I have to say. I practice my monologues, complain, ask them questions about the meaning of life, and enjoy the free therapy. If we're lucky and Labor was successful, the four of them might call me in a different sounding chorus, a more triumphant trumpeting sound, announcing the birth of an egg. Ricky always supervises me while I collect the warm, pink orb.

Before dark, I scatter more bread crumbs and table scraps for our enthusiastic chicken children, so they will sleep in and not wake the neighbors at 6:00 AM. Of course I'm exhausted from my Farmer's Wife activities and my blogging has suffered. But never fear, the Farmer has returned and I can resume my restful former life as an artist.

Nesting

It was cold this morning, the first day I put on gloves to go outside. We had a big rain last week, some of the trees have turned gold or red. If I didn't realize it before, I know it's fall now because we turned on the heat yesterday instead of relying on one more sweater indoors.

This is the season when the stores put out the holiday decorations, the Food Bank puts more barrels at the grocery store door, daylight dwindles and the birds overhead fly their formations South.

This year it's also the season for what I'm calling Re-Nesting. We don't expect it in the U.S., do we? The rule used to be like the story of the 3 Little Pigs: parents kick the children out of the home when they turn 18. Other countries expect the Full Nest, with in-laws, grandparents, grand kids, cousins, married daughters and sons all under one roof. Let's add to the crowd our children's friends, and friends of friends, who may have lost jobs or be between rentals. Recently our living room has looked more like a sports bar, with an assemblage of young men watching the Warriors or the Raiders. We bake oven-loads of potatoes to feed them all and keep the vegetarian house warm. We get the cots and mats out of the shed for the extra overnight drop-ins.

The result? A lot more fun. And ... more disagreements. As foreclosures mount, jobs decline, rentals stay high, then forced togetherness increases. If Re-Nesting continues to be a trend, then we should all advocate for the return of required Conflict Resolution programs in the schools. I also think that all of us over 18 should take Conflict Resolution or Chore Sharing Certification as a job requirement - like having a social security card.

Halloween

Last night the spooks roamed the neighborhood collecting treats. Children love wearing costumes and knocking on doors. Teenagers love bringing the candy to school for weeks afterwards.

This week we'll celebrate Dia de los Muertos, Day of the Dead, as communities have thankfully become more aware of the universality and beautiful difference of diverse cultures. We're invited to remember those we have lost, the imperfect saints who have gone before. Writing poetry or a letter to a loved one who has died can be healing. I beleive it's true that although the arts are not therapy, they are therapeutic.

I recently took some time to write an elegy for my mom, and hope that others will write a poem too. Here's mine, send yours.

Elegy

Now might I see you
shoulder pads
two-toned high heels
shaking hands at some event or
taking the hat pins out of your red felt hat
running your hand through your curly black hair

Now might I see you
cooking the flank steak on the table top broiler
clearing the dishes off the stained tablecloth
calling me from 3 rooms away to
“Spit out that gum right now”
Now might I see you on the move
all five foot four inches
dressing down the grocery clerk for being slow
sticking volunteer stamps on a hundred envelopes by the green couch
separating the wet garbage from the dry like they did on the farm
even though it was New York City

The last time I saw you
you lay in the great oak coffin like a wooden ship with brass fixings,
lavender sweater pulled tight over breasts pumped young with embalming,
red lips drawn in a straight line across the cosmetics on your changed face.
You would have liked the bathroom there, glittering sterile,
the rugs sinking deep, vacuum streaks in parallel lines
hushed lighting organized, respectful.
“In a better place now
We gather not to mourn but to celebrate the life”
the life never lying down like this

Now might I still see you even
those last 3 dementia years
my mother yet my child
those last 3 years that I
cried the tears you couldn't
spoke the words you couldn't
held tight the body you couldn't
my little girl those last 3 years

I put a lavender Mum by her cheek
from the packed bouquet over the propped coffin lid
It matched her sweater

She would have liked that

Elections

The hype and fliers are everywhere. So and so failed to do such and such when he/she was in office. So and so is promising such and such but can she/he deliver? Emails urge me to vote for the candidate who will do the most for the arts or for education or about taxes.

While on a break from one of my writing classes in Wheeler Hall at Cal Berkeley on Saturday, I overheard a young woman wearing a Calpirg sweatshirt on the phone. "We can't let the oil companies get away with this," she said in an urgent yet polite tone to a voter.

How do we decide the myriad complex issues on the ballot? I read through the pamphlets, the sample ballot, the cards that came in the mail. I went to the Oakland Mayoral candidate panel at City Hall. The promises sound good. Everyone wants the best for our children, for our schools. We all love the arts. So what is the problem with making my decisions and putting my pen to my absentee ballot? I'm used to reading between the lines, trained in analyzing literature and poetry. But I find it almost impossible to read between the lines of the propositions, candidate statements and initiatives. What will the effects of this or that vote really be?

I care and so I vote. I will probably end up voting for what or whom I think will help the principles I hold dear, but I will also vote for any candidate I think I can trust. It boils down to trust, doesn't it? I can't know what it would be like to hold office and face all those conflicting needs and demands, but I vote in hopes that we can make sure our children have a good education, that we take care of our environment/ resources, and that we advance justice and equity.

preferences

Why do we like what we like? The nature versus nurture debate has gone on for decades. Music is one of the touchy areas where "taste" appears to rule. But with music in high school today, is taste driven by familiarity or popularity? I wonder about this when I visit a seniors' home and the music is almost alwyas songs from the 30's and 40's. And I wondered during my chorus class last week.

Our group of singers is working on a challenging part song for Winter Concert, while also preparing some other pieces for various upcoming shows at Oakland Tech High. At some point, the class ended. But then it began. A few singers left for another rehearsal but the rest seemed to want to hang around, explore the piano, and talk. One young woman suddenly produced an anthology of songs from the movie, "Twilight." A few singers drifted over to examine it, and exclaim over favorite numbers.

"Want to sing it?" I asked one girl who was very excited about one of the songs.So I sat at the piano and played the chords or helped her with the melody while she sang. Hmm.. I looked around and there were twice the number of students in the room as had been present before she started singing. Students had seen the movie or heard the songs online, so they were familiar -- and liked. But do my students like the songs because the other students like tham and because they know them from having heard them often? Do we have to start exposing our children to everything at a very young age so that they will be more open to it as adolescents? Or can we start educating ourselves to be open to the unfamiliar, the strange, the different, at any age?

Walking

My husband and I share a car, which means I walk whenever possible. The other day I walked up Manila Avenue near my home in Oakland. I expected it to be the usual walk of a few blocks to the library on College Avenue - nothing special, hot and boring. I was wrong.

Here's what happens if I use an artists' eye and really notice what's around me. Here's what happens if I allow myself to slow down and appreciate what I see, as in "Gratitude." I walked under a maple tree whose branches were quite low, almost brushing the top of my head. By some good luck I happened to glance up a bit, and there, hidden among the maple leaves that looked like upside down Christmas trees was a tiny, tiny wooden bird house. I mean S-M-A-L-L. No bird could ever squeeze into the teeny hole above the one-inch perch. Hung from a thin branch by an old brown string, the house shone with randomly spaced shiny stick-on jewels: red, green, blue, gold. The crayon drawings on each side reminded me of the scribbles my two sons drew at the age of one or two years old, and yet they had a purposeful air about them, as if a child had planned them carefully, tongue between teeth. The bird house hung there as if in a magic forest, shimmering with hope. I stood and watched it for ten minutes, amazed.

Nothing better could make my day, I thought, as I walked on. But a block further I happened to look down to my right and was surprised again. Scattered on a torn up bit of dirt and grass, stood 20 plastic dinosaurs, each almost a foot in length. They posed in singles, teams, varied species or genuses, as if frozen in mid morning battle or foraging or courting. The group had an intense quality like theater or film, as if some incredible event just happened or was about to happen; perhaps they didn't need their "operator" at all. Something here spoke to me of love and desire. A child longed deeply to bring these strange ancient creatures to life right here on this untended yard. I stood and looked for a while, imagining what it must have been like to live among a pack of dinosaurs like this.

Two days later, I walked back the other direction down Manila, wanting to check the dinosaurs and bird house again. The dinosaur world had been rearranged! I missed what happened! Then the bird house. It looked the same at first. But when I looked closer, another surprise hit me. A little green, white and blue wooden bird --no more than half an inch tall - hung sideways on the tiny perch, wrapped around and held there by yellow thread. She seemed so pleased to have her own lovely house in the woods.

I can't stop smiling. The hands, minds and spirits of the children who made the bird house and the dinosaur patch on Manila Avenue will keep the world going, in spite of global warming. Yes, with brilliant children like these, our world will be okay.

block

Here I sit at the computer. It's Monday, the day I promise to post my blog entry each week, musing on the arts and arts education.

xxxoooo [[[[ ppp ttttt uuuuu llll

I'm enrolled in a Certificate in Writing program at UC Berkeley. Taking classes in writing should be helping, yes? Usually I can think of dozens of ideas to write about. This is the first time in ages that I can remember having the dreaded "writer's block." xxxxpppptttt;;;++++

I glance over to the desk next to me and see a poem by William Carlos Williams (did he ever have The Block?)
"so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens"

Blogless moment.

But wait. My husband and I have four chickens in our backyard. We were just supposed to be babysitting them until their real owners found a permanent place where they could care for them. Six months later the chickens - or their replacements in two cases -- are still here and the owners have faded away. Today the chickens, too, are experiencing a dry spell: actually they haven't laid any eggs for two weeks. Eggless. Blogless. Blog. Block. Similar. Send ideas!

Perhaps dry spells, writer's block, and lack of egg-laying serve a purpose. If the barrow isn't empty, then it can't receive any fresh liquid. But the term "writer's block" implies something is in the way, an impediment, not just emptiness. I'll check my tool box and see what I might use to chip away at the old Block.

Teaching

I can't really define what it's like to embark on teaching a class. From long experience, I know we're starting a journey through the unexpected, in spite of the best Unit Plans. Teacher and students are clumsy at first, then become coordinated in a kind of dance. Are you willing to learn this? Why learn that? Do I really enjoy teaching this or that?

I'm working with some beginning singers at Oakland Technical High School, in an after school chorus/voice class. We only meet once or twice a week to accommodate high schoolers' busy schedules. One of our projects is new this year: creating improvisatory soundscapes or mood pieces for the school's Advanced Drama production of "Dracula." Working with random vocal and non vocal sounds opens up an avant garde genre beyond music, forcing us to explore what our ears hear. It's a great activity for beginners because no one has to blend, read music, match pitches, or do anything except imagine a mood and make sounds to express that mood. No right or wrong, just freedom to take risks and invent.

My students came in a week ago saying they couldn't really sing, they had no prior training. We'll use repetition, applause for the slightest effort, exposure to new things, discovering what each person brings in, straightforward technique/training, tons of mistakes. Somewhere along the road each student's voice will open up in a new way and our group will thrill to the sound of beauty. But there won't be a map or a template. It will be a unique journey and I love it.

RIP

Rest in Peace, Ann Wood. My mom died this week. This was the first time in many years that I have looked at the obituary page of the newspaper. The passionate statements of loving relatives about a daughter, grandmother or father who also passed away this week were sad and comforting.

family

This week I am keeping vigil. My mother, who turns 95 in October, is fast asleep in a coma. In a society where dementia, Alzheimer's, old age and death are not familiar, my mom has blessed me with the chance to be close at this time in her life. We all will go through this transition, but I am ashamed to admit how unaware I have been of death as I bustled through my small daily routines. May we all discover what is truly important.

BackToSchool

"I've got 44 students in my period 5 class," says one high school teacher.

"Please be patient. We're taking a count, and sorting out class sizes," reads a message from the school administration.

"Why has my student been denied acceptance to the (name of great program)? Shouldn't priority be given to returning students over new students?" emails a worried parent.

School is back in session. The story isn't clear yet, but I wonder if some private school students have returned to public or charter schools due to the economy. Initial comments from the fray speak of overcrowding, canceled programs, and a little confusion.

Chaos is typical in public high schools the first few weeks of fall, as students are gradually assigned and re-assigned to classes. Getting the required credits to graduate is a complex business, and public school counselors are responsible for hundreds of students' schedules.

Yet as I walk through a few corridors and across a yard, I notice that except for a few lost freshmen, students seem happy and unperturbed. Developmentally appropriate behavior reigns, meaning adolescents are intensely interested in their peers. Hand holding, clusters of laughing teenagers, a few young men with skateboards, guitars or frisbees. What is not to like about high school, in spite of the fretting of adults?

Moving

"Do you feel all right?"
"Yes, I feel all right!"

Jeff Giaquinto, leader of the amazing Brass Liberation band, called and we responded as we danced in the street yesterday. It was perhaps the most unusual Moving Sale ever held. We didn't know who would respond to our ads and emails that announced our move away from the East Oakland site we've occupied for two years. But we set up our Garage Sale Shop, were thankful for all the donations to sell, and hoped.

About 10 musicians dressed in black pants and bright red shirts stood in the street and on the curb out front, sending passionate music to listeners in upstairs windows and passing cars. An actual tuba. Trombones. Trumpets. Drums. Clarinets. Saxophone. Someone found an old, bent lavender umbrella decorated with streamers and pom poms, connecting us to New Orleans and the Katrina hurricane anniversary.

Neighbors and friends drifted in and out of the sale at Opera Piccola's headquarters on MacArthur Boulevard, finding great deals packed onto tables and boxes overflowing onto the floor with secondhand and new stuff. We sipped coffee, chatted, snacked and unearthed treasures from other people's lives. The sun shone on strangers getting to know each other. A woman held her baby on her porch behind the band. Another woman pulled her car up to the curb, ran across the street waving her handkerchief and joined the dance.

Our small, determined company is moving to a new and unknown location in order to share resources with another non profit. "I wish I'd found your place sooner," sighed one shopper, acknowledging how we can neighbors for months, even years, and not even meet. "We're still here, just not sure where," Corrina Marshall, our E.D. said.

We floated on the euphoria of throwing out doors wide and welcoming in the unexpected. This could be practice for the next phase of our existence in a changed world. Under the late summer sun, we practiced embracing uncertainty and it became a party.

Wedding

The creative mind is one that takes risks and discover new things, transforming old models for new situations. Having been involved with the arts since I was a child singing songs or reading novels every minute I could, I've formed the habit of re-making. I can't help it!

Our older son got married a week ago, at San Francisco City Hall. Since only a few family members could attend the ceremony there (along with hundreds of other brides and grooms waiting their turn), we celebrated with friends afterwards. How many ways can we bless a loved couple starting out in marriage? We didn't have a year to plan; actually, not even a month. This was my first time being mother of the groom, and I was unsure of my role. However, I talked to our younger son, the Best Man, and friends of the couple, about making toasts at the dinner in keeping with tradition.

Then, aha! Idea. "Eureka, I have found it," to use Archimedes' famous term for the right brain getting a sudden solution. I looked up South Korean wedding customs because the bride's family was unable to attend from so far away. One of the customs grabbed me. We should give carved wooden wedding ducks to the bridal couple. Not only that: at the wedding, the groom's mother throws one of the ducks to the bride, who tries to catch it in the apron of her traditional South Korean costume. If she catches the duck, the first child will be a boy- so the custom says - and if she misses the duck, the first child will be a girl. The City of San Francisco doesn't allow things like this to be inserted into the brief ceremony on the palatial steps of City Hall. So... I decided to bring this custom to the wedding dinner.

After some searching, I found a beautiful wooden duck at Folk Art on Piedmont Avenue (okay, it was carved in Malaysia, not Korea). I could only afford one duck, but it was a start. The gathering at the dinner was shocked and thrilled when we announced the custom. Since the bride wore a shiny short white strapless wedding dress, not a traditional costume, she grabbed a white linen napkin from the table. "Ready?" I said. Amid cheering, I threw the duck (underhand, I'm not a pitcher) toward our nervous, beautiful daughter-in-law.

"Oh no!" the crowd cried when she missed. "Oh yes!" cried we feminists, who wanted the baby to be a girl. Since we'd already established a non-sexist approach to marriage by my son asking both my husband AND myself for permission to marry, my son hopped up and insisted on trying to catch the duck. "Hooray," cried the crowd when he caught it, although after all the food and drink I suspect they were unclear why we were cheering. Did this double catching effort mean fraternal twins? Then both bride and groom held the napkin at each end, together. They caught the duck! All this activity under a blessing of bubbles, the advertised "eco friendly" alternative to rice throwing.

The concluding Reception Remix Toast? A dramatic reading of an adaptation of "The Night the Bed Fell," by James Thurber. Since my husband and I met while rehearsing the opening scene of "The Marriage of Figaro," in which Figaro measures the room to fit a bed, and since the day before the wedding my husband had spent hours helping our son put together the couple's new bed from IKEA, we figured that beds and weddings went together. It was a stretch. But that's what we do. We risk, we stretch and explore. We seize metaphors. We re-make.

Deep

"What do you see?"
"What do you think?"
"What do you wonder?"

Last week was busy. Among other things, I took an intensive class in arts integration offered by the Alameda County Office of Education Art is Education program linked to the California College of Art in Oakland.-- Arts integration is a fancy term for the art of connecting the arts to everything else you can think of. And yes, art does. This field of study results in amazing intellectual bursts, aptly demonstrated by the talented leaders of the course.

I have too much to do to make this blog entry a detailed report, and anyway, that would be done more effectively by the printed handouts from the course, taught brilliantly by Tana Johnson and Julia Marshall. I just have a few kind of sidelong impressions as I look back at the week.

The three questions at the top of the page are part of it, but not all. Those questions are a short way of reminding me to stand back from what I'm doing or experiencing and respond like an observer or scientist. Or artist. Or learner. I want to live my life "in the moment," but some of those moments I want to expand on, by knowing what I'm seeing, thinking, feeling, wondering.

But something else is going on here. Part of the structured activity was creating our own avatar or mythological creature with special abilities/powers. When it came to creating a graphic story (cartoon to my generation), after all the preliminary steps, something happened in my heart. When I looked at the one page I'd created, with figures and dialogue bubbles on blue and purple backgrounds, I thought someone else had looked into my psyche and interpreted it with Jung standing by. To my near-tears amazement, the "comic" was about a mother avatar and her little girl avatar, who was thirsty and had to wait for dream time. A mythical blue sheep appears in the final box, alongside a tilted little avatar, who says, "ummm. (Sigh)" The metaphors in this simple activity reached deeper than I can say without telling you my life story. Soul deep.

Live

Ahhhh.. Ooooh!

There is nothing like live theater. Yesterday a play I directed was performed at the San Francisco Theatre Festival: "Cat in a Cell," by Judith Offer, with actors Gift Harris and Tamara Sabella. Some students of mine and Tamara's attended, along with various friends and relatives, and a large drop-in standing room only audience.

The performance took place in a small, intimate space without a stage, and only the living room lamp I brought with me for lighting. Beige masking tape on the gray carpet formed the "scenery." We placed the audience chairs close, in three sides around the performing area, so that we were all very close to the actors. Perhaps due to the intimacy, the students seemed almost to anticipate the subtle interactions of the actors a fraction of a second before they happened. They understood the smallest glance, the twitch of an eyebrow and they made sounds... ooooooooh... and laughed... and listened to the message about life.

The actors took energy from the responses of the students as well as from the warm laughter and rapt silences of the adult audience. The result? Community and fun are words that fall short. Pure magic. Impossible to define for someone else, you have to experience it yourself. Soon.

transformation

I'm noticing that after school programs are getting into gear for the fall, and they are focusing on tutoring. Students sit at desks most of the day from 8:30 to 3 or later and then go sit some more for tutoring and homework help, until 5:30 or 6. Yes, these are the kind of hours children have academics in other countries, but it would be nice to consider the whole child instead of an academic race to an uncertain "top."

There are things that happened in my drama classes that transformed my students and myself in some inexplicable ways. One class in particular sticks in my memory, at the former Carter Middle School in Oakland. It was a difficult group that met after school; so difficult that two subs who took my class walked out. Most of the first few months, my lesson plan seemed to me to be mostly "snack" and "keep kids from fighting long enough to start an activity." We gathered under the harsh fluorescent lights of the unfortunately named and bleak Cafetorium, which had a small, cluttered stage and tables that unfolded down from the walls like the old Murphy beds.

We had just managed to start our warm up when Lila, a 7th grader who still had her baby fat, started to scream on the other side of the room. "What's wrong?" I said, approaching her. She lay down on the floor and continued to cry, pounding her fists and feet on the dirty tile. My mind searched for a way to get the class back on track. By a miracle, I had a small tape recorder with me and I pulled it out of my bag, pressing 'record.'

"This is KLOX Radio and we have a young lady crying here on the street. It looks serious. Let's find out what's going on," I improvised. "Excuse me miss, can you tell me what happened?" Lila cried louder after opening one eye in surprise. "Let's ask a passerby," I said.

I interviewed the passerby, who hadn't seen anything. The other students started to get interested. Soon I was interviewing a cast of neighbors from the block about why Lila was crying. Someone suggested she needed to see a doctor, so off we went to the clinic. The doctor's diagnosis produced no results, so off we went to talk to her family: parents, siblings, family dog and cat. Everyone suggested explanations for Lila's crying and possible solutions. Not even candy and cookies helped. Lila stopped at intervals for a minute or two, but then continued to wail.

Finally, just before it was time to leave class, there was a revelation. "Ladies and gentlemen, we talked to everyone in the community, and no one can explain why this young lady is crying. Tune in next week when we return to solve this mystery," I said, wrapping it up.

"I guess she just needed to cry," someone said quietly.

And with that, Lila stopped crying. By a kind of common sixth sense we all knew that something profound had happened. In that instant we breathed as one a sigh of relief and were transformed. Of course. Our middle schoolers came from beyond the freeway dividing the yuppie homes from their low income neighborhood and faced family stress, violence and inadequate resources daily. But more than that, when do we give each other permission to cry, to weep, to wail, even if we don't know why?

Our fractious class had created together an hour and a half improvised play, full of characters from our community, full of humor and pathos, with lines I would have been proud to publish in a script. And we created a play with each student showing concern- even love - for one of their peers in distress. Of course. Lila needed to cry.

Education

This summer I've been browsing the internet and getting certain ideas today's education and the job market. Sites like artsusa.org and artsjournal.com have blogs and articles that among other things express concern for the viability of the arts in our dismal economy.At the same time, congress extended long term unemployment benefits

"How can we persuade 'them' of the importance and benefits of the arts?" is a common cry on these sites. The underlying assumption appears to be that there is money to pay for the arts if only every person in power were fully persuaded of its value. I disagree. A better question would be, "Given high unemployment and lack of funding, how can we keep the arts alive?"

Let me see what jobs currently have good prospects, I thought to myself, since a commonly held belief is that arts in education helps prepare students for future careers. Ahh. Somehow I got enrolled in something called JobAlerts, which sends me 5 or 6 emails a day proclaiming thousands of jobs in "my area." When I pursued these promising leads, I discovered that JobAlerts was informing me of TRAINING opportunities at vocational or graduate schools, which then would presumably lead to thousands of jobs. For example, for me, the emails claimed that training in medical billing was a hot prospect.

I turned to Google Search to find today's top career options, I learned the most promising fields were financial management, engineering and marketing/communications. Hmm, marketing included designers; that's art. Most top careers required a B.A., or Masters, often in the exact, specific area of the job.

Exploring Craigslist, I was enlightened further. In the education field, the main jobs listed were SAT tutors-- mainly math -- and preschools. Nothing about teaching arts integration, poetry or drama, my "areas." By the way, there are no theater or arts categories on Craigslist, Under TV and media, I found listings for video editors, and top models. Being over 60 and overweight, I will not be applying for Top Model any time soon. In other categories there were ads for cooks and experienced retail sales people,

I started to wonder about the future of liberal arts education and the difficulty in second guessing what job openings there might happen to be at the time people are seeking work. The best advice for our students appeared to be get a college major in the fields most likely to have job openings, and quickly. Or else get any B.A. and then get specific vocational training. At the same time, I contrasted the time-honored advice from respected successful people that the best way to prepare for your future is to "follow your passion."

My head spinning, I came back to the arts and to my parents' advice many years ago. "The arts are something you do on the side while you work in a 'regular' job." I worked minimum wage for a while in my twenties to support my "music habit." If this is what it takes to keep the arts alive, so be it. But I continue to believe that arts in education indeed prepares our students for future careers and most importantly, for life.

Founding

(For some reason I can't type titles and labels that are more than one word, without English turning into Hindi. Searching setting and editing options brings no results. Fascinating!) Today's blog follows, hopefully in English as well as other languages.

We sat at his kitchen table. Fred, a wonderful volunteer from Volunteers for the Arts, was helping me fill out Opera Piccola's mysteriously long Oakland Cultural Arts grant proposal. It was 1989. I remember that Fred's tiny table had one leg shorter than the others, so it jiggled as we examined "four year budget history," and "schedule of proposed activities." It was my first grant proposal, and miraculously, we received $3,000 to present school assemblies and library shows around Oakland.

A few months before, my best friend Margaret Arighi had won our non profit status by filling out more endless government forms. In a whirlwind of administrative activity, she was immediately elected to the high status post of Treasurer of the Board of Directors. This august body was composed that first year of any friend I could find to lend his/her name to our letterhead and attend monthly meetings at Margaret's dinner table. Incredibly, each friend/member had complementary skills.

Our Business Center was the bedroom of the Oakland home where I lived with my husband and sons. "You brought the check register?" Treasurer Arighi asked for the bookkeeping records that back then were kept in our checkbook-- until my car was burglarized and the checkbook stolen with our month's records in it. Quicken and Quickbooks had not been created. For years I used a typewriter and white-out to create our annual brochure. Proud of my expertise with scissors and glue, I cut, pasted, and xeroxed these amazing documents, followed by labeling, bundling and lengthy discussions with the less-than-impressed clerks at the Oakland Bulk Mail Center.

Our regular Staff Meetings were loud and exciting, as our combined total of 4 sons munched cereal, banged plastic hammers, called and leaped in the background. We filled the teapot at least three times and Margaret instructed me in the exciting routines of "Cash Expense List" and "Budgeting for Next Fiscal Year." For someone who had barely passed high school math, I stunned our Board with my almost exact estimation of our income and expenses every year.

Several people recently asked me how to found a non profit. After reflecting on our first year, my 8 Step Method is simple. 1) Gather together a few friends and folks with similar interests. 2) Fill out the non profit forms in gatherings supported by great refreshments. 3) Form a Board of Directors. 4) Create and love an amazing mission. 5) Schedule regular board and staff meetings (even if they are all volunteers). 6) Find funding. 7) Try to recycle paper-- the paperwork gobbles up entire forests. 8) Be surprised and grateful for each success; try not to worry about rejections.

ethics

I heard a heated discussion on the radio this week about the woman sentenced to stoning in Iran. I had no idea how brutal a form of execution this is, undoubtedly cruel and unusual punishment.

The two sides of the debate boiled down to: can those outside a culture or legal system have the right to criticize or impose their view of ethics/morality on that culture? Does the Universal Declaration of Human Rights have a right to apply? Women and men called in from all over the world on this radio program, presented by the BBC. The discussion also referred to the current debate in France, where there is a new law forbidding women to wear veils that cover their faces. One caller referred to a news report of a woman killing her daughter-in-law for having an affair (considered a crime in her culture); when the woman's daughter testified against her in the U.S. murder trial, the daughter was ostracized and event threatened by her community.

When we talked about these issues in my high school drama class, about 95% of the group thought that countries and cultures have a right to pursue the customs of their religion without interference. "It's their religion," they said. A few students thought it depended on the situation.

How far is too far? Was the verdict in the Mehserle case right? Is what some people call our "occupation" of Afghanistan based on saving human rights, or protecting financial interests? Is lethal injection a violation of human rights, and if so, do other countries have the right to invade us to prevent it? What about genital mutilation as a coming of age custom still in practice?

The next day, the news reported that Iran was not proceeding with the stoning sentence for the woman.

These are all questions that our education should prepare us to face. How are we doing?

vacation

Apologies, am taking a short holiday this week. A reminder: teachers don't really get what may seem like two months off in the summer. They are life long learners who attend professional development in the summer or teach summer school or summer camp. I am enjoying the World Cup and the weather; more blogging next week.

Turnover

June. A time for endings and new beginnings. Summer solstice turns spring into summer. Graduations and weddings. School year ends, non profit fiscal year ends. Boxes and suitcases are packed to leave one place and move to another. Many teachers are laid off, many leave the profession for other fields. Hopeful new teachers start credentialing programs.

This month, I packed up my students' folders, my teaching materials, my keyboard, snack supplies, pens, containers. I cleaned out my tiny cubicle “office” at Oakland Tech High School. I went back and forth in the heat, past forgotten text books and pencils on the floor, and loaded everything into my stuffed car. I said goodbye to my favorite colleagues and to my students, and drove through the gate with mixed sadness and relief. At home, I went through my folders for Elmhurst Community Prep, for Berkeley Arts Magnet, for San Leandro High, my chorus music, my poetry samples. I recycled old papers, filed copies for next year, wrote final reports.

So many times in life we do this. Pack up, finish up, shut the door, say goodbye. I remember at the age of 21 loading my used old Turtle-back Volvo, as I said good- bye to my parents and the East Coast and moved to my new job as a news reporter in Chicago. Not for the first time or the last, I felt the sadness of ending a chapter of my life and the excitement of a new beginning.

On June 30 I will finish a 21-year chapter as founding Artistic Director of Opera Piccola. I will work for Opera Piccola as consultant and teaching artist, but no longer as Artistic Director. Founders usually let go leadership at some point so that their organizations can move into a new future. The challenges of a changed global economy make this an excellent time for me to exit Opera Piccola's stage so that new leadership can bring on exciting new directions.

Opera Piccola will continue to provide ArtGate, the award winning arts education program in the public schools, directed by Corrina Marshall and Candace Workman. I will be presenting Opera Piccola's multicultural Community Performance shows separately, under a new name: SWEET Theater; Susannah Wood Education Express Theater.

Endings and beginnings. The seasons turn.

Change

Just watched "The Cove," and it got me thinking about change. So much is needed: global warming, turf wars, education policy, poverty, hunger, human rights. This documentary did bring about some change in Taiji, Japan. But slaughter of thousands of dolphins will continue there in that tiny killing cove six months out of every year, unless -- what? More children die of mercury poisoning from eating dolphin meat? Murky,underwater images stick in my mind of swimmers in wet suits with wire cutters opening fences that imprisoned the amazing animals.

What changes are needed in public education? How might we free more children to enjoy learning, to love discovering new things? Is it possible without massive socio-economic change? We hail the few schools where students are ready for the Ivy League "even though" in low income neighborhoods. But why do third grade children from wealthier areas where parents have college degrees write at the same level or better than some high school juniors from low income areas where families did not attend college? We like to find out whose fault this is: the teachers, the lack of resources, the parents, TV, the students themselves? How did those few schools and students succeed? And how do we define success in public education anyway? Most long time teachers will tell you that success should not be about test scores.

In the movie, change was driven by a few passionate, determined, persistent people who had emotional and statistical reasons for pursuit of their goals. Their actions demonstrated a commitment to whatever it took: heroism. It started with one man, the former trainer of Flipper, who had an 360 degree about face when Flipper became depressed and "committed suicide" in his arms. Very slowly he gathered collaborators around the world, getting arrested many times in the process. It takes Heroes to change Systems.

Before and After

Are you going to teach this class next year?

June 7th, 6:30 PM. The cafeteria was warm, with lemony sunlight through floor to ceiling windows. The expected rust and white square tile flooring. Tables, old wooden chairs, wheeled carts with ketchup and mustard. Parents, brothers and sisters, and a few visitors gathered near the stainless steel kitchen to see and hear a small group of student poets and dancers. These San Leandro High School freshmen and seniors were beginners who said there wasn't much to do after school except to go to tutoring. They told the group that our program gave them a chance to make friends, have fun, be creative, and learn something new. They looked back and were proud of what they'd done by the end of this short six week program, meeting only once or twice a week. It wasn't slick, it wasn't professional, but they had persisted and it was good.

May, 2007. An old fashioned auditorium at Sankofa Elementary, Oakland. Kindergarteners and first graders burst through the door behind us and came marching down the aisle. "I AM SOMEBODY, I AM SOMEBODY," they chanted in rhythm with the drummer. They wore their African fabric waist bands proudly. The audience cheered as the children showed us their dances.

But before, when they started? They thought it might be boring or take up too much time from other things.Certain other students "got on their nerves." They felt shy reading their poems or dancing in front of the others.

Before and after. An experience of some kind of transformation. We look back and realize we created something, became something, persisted through difficulty and came out the other side. As the school year winds down, we artists who teach in after school programs once again experience our reward. Through the challenges -- absences, sudden room changes, crowding, noise, fights, freezing rain, broken heaters, illness -- when we share what we've done with an audience and look back, it becomes clear. And we want to do it all again next year.

Writing it down

I'm late.. the inevitable dash to the end of school. But I need a moment to honor the essence of some poems written by my middle school students at Elmhurst Community Prep. This was a short project Opera Piccola provided at the last possible moment before summer break.

When invited to express "emotion recollected in tranquility," Wordsworth's definition of poetry, almost 100% of the sixth grade participants expressed passionate grief at death 'for no reason.' They were also asked to quote lines that were meaningful to them, from a book or newspaper, as part of the poem. If I hadn't known what country the piece below came from, I might think it was written by a child living in Iraq or Afghanistan. But then the quote from Martin Luther King Jr reminded me that wars have happened here too. In Eva's words:

"My heart cries when a family member is killed,when
I see bullet shots flying around
I have a dream; I have a dream that there’ll soon be peace

I have a dream; I have a dream there will not be a funeral close by
I have a dream; I have a dream that nightmare will be over!
I can’t forget those bullet shot sounds Boom Boom"

The Life I Chose

"Yay, Ms. Wood, you're here!"
"Drama Class, yay!"
"Ms. Wood, look, I drew the chocolate factory!"
"I'm the Wall! See, I put my head in here!"

I've been doing a "side by side" professional development drama project with second grade classes in Berkeley. There's no doubt in my mind that I am seven years old at heart. I experience the exact same joy -- no, ecstasy -- when I pretend to be a character in a story. My exhaustion, back aches, and cynicism disappear. I'm jumping up and down, on fire, laughing, excited, full of ideas. Sure enough, when we did our skits for the parents this week the kids were on fire, jumping up and down too. The energy level and ecstatic joy were palpable in those class rooms.

When I asked my second graders the next day what they liked about our project (during an attempt at an evaluation "focus group"),they couldn't stop talking about being this or that character in the story. I felt as if my questions were a waste of their time. Yes, they liked the team work, speaking more loudly, writing scripts, reading scrips, playing theater games, etc. But, duh! It's about acting out the story and especially being the characters we like to pretend to be. As a good educator I'm supposed to guide them in realizing all the different academic and life skills they're gaining from the arts. Yes, we did some of that, but come on! Acting out stories is pure fun! Being a team is pure fun! Performing our stories for friends and parents is pure fun! !!!!

The children wrote me a big bag of thank you letters. One of the notes knocked me to the floor. Kendall (a genius in my opinion) wrote the usual encomiums, then added: "I know teaching is reall hard. But this is the life you chose." Wow, can he be my psychiatrist? That sums it up. The fun and playing with my seven-year-old peers of any age make it worth it.

Endangered Species

Oakland Youth Chorus used to sing a piece entitled, "The Artist is an Endangered Species." How apt.

Yesterday, Opera Piccola's 15 amazing teaching artists gathered for our last staff meeting of the school year. Over and over, the stories they told inspired us with the way their teaching helps children and youth grow and learn. Dance, drama, music, poetry, visual art; story upon story. Kids who couldn't sit still and listen to each other play the drums now can listen and appreciate. Youth who were too shy to read out loud in front of anyone are now up on stage in a play. Small children who barely have any science in their curriculum are presenting a "launch" of the rockets they made themselves with our artist. And so on.

We ended the meeting with a creative eight-word "Life Story of An Artist." Lofty words encapsulated lives: commit, inhale, fly, discover, fail, bounce back. But the final word was "broke." Our society has made progress on appreciating the arts (as opposed to entertainment), but the money is not where the mouth is. So many artists I know do not have health insurance, do not have vehicles, lack printers for their computers, struggle to make expenses every single week.

Yet we have kept on. Will only the independently wealthy be able to afford the luxury of being an artist in the future?

Positive Negative

Drama has been removed from education for a while now. But it always surprises me when people say that if you show a negative subject in a play, you are "glorifying" it. No matter that we have much worse "negative" topics and images in movies, tv and video games. Painful parts of the human experience come across so much more powerfully in theater, or so it would seem based on the reactions people have.

For example, a high school play has a shooting in it, audience members sometimes conclude that the presenters approve of shootings and/or violence. Hmm... On the contrary, in a school setting students and teacher work hard to make sure that their play demonstrates the consequences of said shooting, so that the audience can see for themselves the agonizing effects of violence on individual and community and.. make better choices! Likewise, does showing the effects of drug addiction in a play mean that the actors approve of drug addiction? No! From ancient cultures on, tragic drama's role was to purge painful feelings of loss and grief as the audience witnesses powerful stories of the human condition. Quite the opposite of approving the negative side of life.

I am interested to see the reaction to our Oakland Tech High School students' May 25 presentation of their original play, "Bad Habits; Addiction & Hopes for a Better World." It gives a peek into the drug culture of the pop music world and the effects of one young man's addiction, ending in his realization that he needs to get help. Does this story approve addictive drugs and gangs simply by showing the negative effects of the character's choices?

Perhaps if drama returns to the curriculum people will understand its powerful, transforming role in society.

Spring Sprint

The mad dash to the end of school. The mad dash to the end of the fiscal year. The mad dash to close the books, plan next year, complete projects in the schools, celebrate, cajole, perform, write, submit grades, attend meetings, make props, send fliers, add, subtract, phone, fax, copy, staple, email, tweet, drive, load in/out, shop, respond to family complaints about why you're so busy; it's Non Profit Arts and Education!

Of course in the back of my mind is the global context, which could be named Bleak House. School principals are cutting their budgets. Grant makers' funds have shrunk. Costs go up, income goes down. Lay offs. Global warming and war exhaust the news.

But it's spring and the flowers are out. Last week the sun started to turn up the Bleak House lights, just a little. Metaphors turned over, and suddenly we saw the words of our students filling the proverbial glass to more than half full.

"Little did I know that although it was extremely short, (your summer program) would be a life changing moment for me – someone who lacked inspiration and passion in life other than indulging myself into eating, watching television and imagining myself living in different time periods. Opera Piccola made me see the world and people through a new perspective. Many thanks to the Opera Piccola program for giving me this opportunity to explore dance and trigger my passion and meaning for life!" ~Meisze Phung

"Opera Piccola saved my life. I was almost kicked out of school and really troubled You really believed in me ... you let me know that I made a huge difference to the company with the work I was doing." ~Graduate of our high school and intern program

"I'm still doing what got me started with you when i was just a little kid who wanted to be in the little play at middle school." ~Kenneth Foreman

Open Minded or Safe?

Familiarity breeds contempt. Variety is the spice of life. Reach for the stars. Consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds.

High school students cite boredom and pressure as two major factors in drop out rates or failing grades. The slogans above certainly point to the importance of variety, newness, and creativity in human experience. Yet why does my group of Juniors and Seniors react so adversely to the unfamiliar? Unfamiliar class activities, unusual scripts, costumes from previous centuries, all bring choruses of protest. And speaking of chorus, the music issue. Yells of protest from every corner greet recordings or sheet music that are from the distant past or in a style completely unknown, as "not cool," or "not good music." Excited conversations grow from comparing notes on hits that "everyone" has heard. But shouldn't logic suggest the attractiveness of newness, of difference, to relieve the boredom that students detest. Why the love of the familiar, the already experienced, and where is the desire for risk and adventure in learning?

This trend is not just a high school phenomenon. I'm informed by market researchers that current audiences go online to see a show on YouTube or hear an artist's album before buying. They want something they already know they'll like.

Oakland school district administrators point to recent successes from adjusting curriculum to be more relevant to students' lives; connecting the material to familiar experiences. This is a technique we've used in Opera Piccola since our beginnings: "start where they are." And yet it's puzzling that we teachers have such difficulty in helping our students move beyond the familiar to the huge, unknown, fascinating world beyond. Perhaps the uncertainty of our world is just too much to take, and we long to stick to the safety of what we already know.
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Why Teach?

As a theater artist, I think a lot about objectives, intentions, purpose. It's a concept that helps me sometimes, unexpectedly.

We've all been at the meetings that wander from individuals grandstanding about the wonderful things they do, to Power Point presentations, to "opportunities" to sign up or donate. I can often make sense of what's going on-- as I sit in a customarily uncomfortable seat in a room that's either too cold or too hot-- by trying to figure out: what's the main, important thing this meeting is trying to accomplish? What is the real objective behind the lists and big agenda?

Likewise, teaching. As I think about the current negotiations between Oakland public school teachers and the district, the upcoming one-day strike, relatively low pay, poor working conditions, pressure and stress on our teachers, I wonder: why do they teach, some teachers for 30 or more years? Same for the students, many who seem highly disaffected by high school. Why bother? Why even set foot in a classroom? Same for the school district administrators: why are they doing what they're doing? What would result if they were able to stay focused on their real purpose? Why do logistics, and the idea of how things "should" be, so often change our goals?

When I was a student about three quarters of the time I was just trying to get a decent grade and do what was assigned so I could pass or graduate, without thinking of the 'real' reason. But for a blissful one quarter (maybe even less), I burned with curiosity to know, to argue, to ferret out some sort of truth for myself. Concern about passing or graduation disappeared. A class felt like fun.

Similarly now, when I go in to teach a drama or poetry class, I'm thinking of requirements, expectations, product quality, grades, student behavior, etc. Is this the real reason I teach? I hope not. So much of my thoughts as I prepare and teach a class feel burdensome. What would happen if I entered a classroom to teach focused on my real reasons for being there? I like teaching because at the core of the experience it's fun, it's learning with my students, it's sudden discovery, it's connecting with the surprise of young minds, it's the joy of creating, it's feeling like we can transform our lives in the process of making a play or poem, it's finding out what is worthwhile in life, it's seeing something emerge from all of our ideas put together- some sort of Beauty and Truth.

How does that connect with contract negotiations? I don't know, but I know I won't cross the picket line because I am so grateful for what our Oakland teachers do every day. My sons went to Oakland public schools and experienced moments of care by teachers that got them through extreme challenges. Teaching is an art, whether you're teaching the arts or biology. Perhaps if teachers and district negotiators are able to focus on the main objective, on what is important about their work, some transformation will take place. There is so much Beauty and Truth in the Oakland schools. How can we nurture and treasure it?

Numbers

As an artist, I'm not particularly fond of measuring, being required to fill out quantitative data for grant proposals and add up points for grades, in a process that sometimes seems arbitrary. However, numbers seized my attention this week, bringing a new respect for the humble digit.

Half listening to public radio on the car radio, my foggy consciousness heard: "I would say we have to have an economy that isn't based on growth." Hmm. Not possible, since the way we "measure" how well our economy is doing is based on a growth model, isn't it? That started me thinking, since we're all worried about jobs and budgets.

Then the newspaper: "Broken Promises," shouted the Tribune headline today. Thinking it was another senator's scandal, I picked up the paper. Hmm. I see. The promise of low cost, higher education for all in California has slipped away compared to 50 years ago. For some reason, I decided to type in 'US Economy' on the internet.

A New York Times article reassured me that there are fewer recessions now than there used to be. Great, I had no idea! Wikipedia was a little less optimistic. There were lots of different sections in that article and -- wow! Look at all those percentages letting me know what went up and what went down! To my surprise, this article had a section on Education, my area of interest, being a part time arts educator. Hmm. We're 15th out of 29 rated countries in college completion, just above Turkey and Mexico. This is so interesting, I could do this all day.

But then, sadly, I scrolled to the section on Employment. I knew most of it already, from my own job situation and the struggles of those around me, old and young. But the numbers? The numbers I read today were harsh, if true. What do we as educators in the Oakland Public Schools make of it? Perhaps our new Superintendent is right: the focus of our high schools from now on will be in training and placing young people in jobs. The numbers I read are for the entire U.S., so California would be a bit different, but here they are:

"The unemployment among African-Americans continues to be much higher than white unemployment (at 14.9% vs. 8.6%).[46] The youth unemployment rate was 18.5% in July 2009, the highest July rate since 1948.[51] 34.5% of young African American men were unemployed in October 2009.[52] Officially, Detroit’s unemployment rate is 27%, but Detroit News suggests that nearly half of this city’s working-age population may be unemployed."

Point of View

Ask two witnesses to tell you exactly what happened, and more often than not you'll get two very different reports. This is the wonderful thing about teaching in the arts: instead of starting with an adult picture of things, we get to ask the children (or teens) first what they think. And it's always wonderful to notice differences in perception.

For example, a second grader recently greeted me with the remark, "When I saw you, I thought you were a beautiful princess!" But from a teenager in my high school class: "Ms. Susannah, you could be on that (TV) show about 'what NOT to wear!'"

It's really one of the best things about teaching.. the surprises from discovering students' points of view. When asked why students drop out of high school, a random sampling of my juniors and seniors reported differing reasons:
1. they can't handle the pressure and the work is too hard so they drop out
2. they're lazy, have other interests, and don't want to do the work so they drop out

My lovely second graders were quite knowledgeable this week about ocean life, describing it eloquently with hands drawing shapes in the air. "I've SEEN coral, and it's wavy up and down like this. It's soft." "I should be the one to draw the coral. It's a big block. It's hard with holes in it and the fish can go in the holes." When exploring how to show setting in a play, the learning happens in the wondering and questioning. One answer leads to another question and another answer and so forth, in a process that seems like a kind of forensics. Too often, I've seen the yawns and glazed eyes when I set out the total picture for my students ready-made. At times I have to simply teach basic skills or information, but when a class is really exciting, it seems as if we're all teaching each other.

Where does appreciating another's point of view end and deciding on the "right" course begin? For example, in the case of determining what is torture at Guantanamo, or which services to cut in order to solve the budget deficit. Will our educational system prepare our students for solving life's complex problems?

A New Day?

The mainstream media is announcing a new day of the "improved economy." Heartened, I spent a week attending official meetings that hinted at future hope. I went to a strategic planning meeting of the Oakland Unified School District, a Broad Based Coalition meeting of the Oakland Unified School District, and an Oakland City Council budget committee hearing. Our government agencies hard at work.

The fact that these bodies allow public comment/input, and appear to listen, is extremely laudable. The fact that these august bodies are talking about distribution of pennies to bail out the sinking boat of education, the arts and city services(don't you love to mix metaphors?), is horrible. Cuts, cuts, cuts and more cuts.

The programs and plans discussed at all these meetings were wonderful. The language soared. The hopes and dreams soared even higher. The charts handed out gave a feeling of things being done, progress being made, problems solved. This is what we're going to do and isn't it wonderful? I can hardly wait for these things to materialize, these things being announced.

But why is it that the directors of Oakland non profits talk about cutting positions, cutting programs, possible closing? Why has the Oakland City Council proposed a 50% cut in funding to arts organizations and artists? Why are many schools laying off arts teachers in order to keep "more basic" programs running?

The new day is back to the old day: wealthier areas will continue to have more resources and options for their children; poorer areas will continue to have less. All the high sounding speeches about equity and focusing on those "needing intervention" are no more than clanging cymbals. Artists will continue to create, as we always have, but I wonder how many children won't discover the arts because their parents don't have the resources to pay for them?

Fact or belief or truth?

As this week of importance for Jews and Christians begins-- Holy Week and Passover-- I've been thinking about belief, fact and truth. How do we help students prepare for the future beyond just ingesting information and building skills for citizenship or the workplace? Is educating the "whole child" a realistic option?

This week I heard an interesting exchange among students in my high school drama class who are normally not very engaged (just in the class because counselors told them they needed these credits). I had asked them to do a quick-write about one of the rights in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. The students at one table started talking about the right to freedom of thought. Two students said they believed that God made the Earth and its inhabitants. Another student said she was an atheist.

I didn't handle this the way I wanted. What I later wanted to do was to extend the discussion, to say, "Hey, I'm so glad you're looking at Human Rights and seeing how they apply to you personally. I applaud the fact that you are thinking. And by the way, do you think it's worth it to kill someone whose religion believes differently from yours?" I missed the chance to talk about Darwin and the history of this topic in our country, and the importance of respecting each other's beliefs, and the importance of separation of Church and State.

It reminded me of another incident that occurred in the early 1980's in my work in Oakland publc schools. We were doing a musical show that traced historical periods in the U.S. I happened to quote writers about early America, all of whom said that Native Americans immigrated to this continent many thousands of years ago. After the concert, I was confronted by a delegation of fifth grade Native American students, who accused me of prejudice and mis-information. For them, quoting various historians was quoting falsehood Native Americans were here from the beginning of history. There was no immigration from elsewhere. This was clearly a fact in their minds, not a belief. And perhaps it is a fact. I am grateful for what I learned from these passionate students.

As a drama and creative writing teacher in public schools, I find matters of belief come up fairly often. It seems important to allow students to talk about these things-- topics that are important to real lives. What is the truth? As long as we are not forcing our own belief system upon our students, I believe it's valuable to let the study of one topic bring up discussion about another, to respect different beliefs, and to explore choices. If we are so afraid of exploring beyond the prescribed subjects, we will miss opportunities for minds to flower.

Perhaps we can plant the seeds of tolerance, and learn the lessons of wars over religion. Perhaps this week I'll be able to make up for the opportunity I missed last week.

Education reform

A while ago I wrote about teacher/student burnout and the cuts to education in California.
Something connected happened in a second grade drama class I was teaching in Berkeley yesterday. We were playing a warm up game called "Brain P.E." in which kids have 10-20 seconds to make little lists, as a precursor to using spontaneous thinking for improvisation. When I asked for a list of 3 things they'd like to change about the world, one boy wrote, "No School," as well as "no violence." A few hours later, I read five brilliant essays by Mike Rose in Truth Dig online magazine (recommended!), titled "Why Send Kids to School?" His comments feel important, because with a new national policy under consideration for schools, I want to know how it will affect my students.

Remember, I also noted that teachers have been pegged as the problem in the high stakes education game. Recent studies reported that the schools that were "successful" when No Child Left Behind started are still successful, and many of those that were "failing" in the past are still not doing well, in spite of massive restructuring. Could it be that teachers are being asked to fix society's and the system's ills? Well, here's what Rose says:

Rose: "When children are raised in communities where economic opportunity has dramatically narrowed, where the future is bleak, their perception of and engagement with school will be negatively affected.... the business community has not thought deeply about the profound effect economic despair can have on school achievement.... (nor have people considered) the negative influence of commercially driven verbal and imagistic messages that surround our young people.. that work against the very qualities of mind the community says it wants schools to foster... our young people grow up on an economy of glitz and thunder. The ads that shape their needs and interests champion appearance over substance, power over thought... highlight glamour and poise over knowledge and blur fact as simulation."

Me: But why do we need school for our children? Why not agree with my second grader, who finds school unnecessary? Can we all home school? Can everyone study online and settle for occasional live contact with a teacher?

Rose: "The answer given for decades... is that education prepares the young for the world of work and enables the nation to maintain global pre-eminence... but the tendency in current social policy is toward magic bullet solutions that are simplified responses to complex problems... the current philosophy of education is an economic one: the primary goal of school is to create efficient workers."

Me: Some truth here. For example, when I asked my high school students why they should finish school and go to college, the unanimous answer was, "to get a good job and make money." But somehow this idea (they've learned it from adults) results in school being perceived as a kind of holding pen before being released into an automatic High Paying Job, or the NFL, NBA, WNBA, etc. There's something missing. What about curiosity, the pure fun of looking up a new word to see what it means, or being able to imagine solutions and try them out? And how would an economic purpose for going to school relate to the experience my Chorus students just had, doing a solo song recital on Wednesday? Words escape me to describe the joy of hearing each individual voice, touching lyrics, beautiful melodies emerge, the sound so true and lovely, in spite of nerves and the stage of technique each singer showed. Can going to school to get a job result in the human experience of shedding tears in the presence of beauty and truth, or the excitement, pride, and opening of hearts of those singers?

Rose. "In the current talk about school reform, there is one phrase you will hear in every proposal: 21st century skills. These include the ability to use a range of electronic technologies ... to think critically and creatively and evaluate the product of one's thinking. The ability to communicate effectively and collaborate with others. .. what's new about these skills?.. Some of these you'll find in Aristotle. But there are topics you won't find in these lists: aesthetics, intellectual play, imagination, the pleasure of a subject, wonder. The focus of the 21st century skills lists is utility and workplace productivity..... But, the one thing that's become clear to me after 40 years of teaching is the multiple purposes and meanings that education can have. It provides intellectual stimulation.... protected social setting.... connections to adults... our world gets bigger... a place where we define who we are."

Me: Amen to Mr. Rose's conclusions. There are so many reasons for our young people to go to school, not the least learning to appreciate the rich, diverse cultures on our planet and our common humanity. Not to mention, building the values and character it takes to become a responsible, thoughtful, caring adult.

A while ago I wrote about teacher/student burnout and the cuts to education in California.

Something connected happened in a second grade drama class I was teaching in Berkeley yesterday. We were playing a warm up game called "Brain P.E." in which kids have 10-20 seconds to make little lists, as a precursor to using spontaneous thinking for improvisation. When I asked for a list of 3 things they'd like to change about the world, one boy wrote, "No School," as well as "no violence." A few hours later, I read five brilliant essays by Mike Rose in Truth Dig online magazine (recommended!), titled "Why Send Kids to School?" His comments feel important, because with a new national policy under consideration for schools, I want to know how it will affect my students.

Remember, I also noted that teachers have been pegged as the problem in the high stakes education game. Recent studies reported that the schools that were "successful" when No Child Left Behind started are still successful, and many of those that were "failing" in the past are still not doing well, in spite of massive restructuring. Could it be that teachers are being asked to fix society's and the system's ills?

But why do we need school for our children? Why not agree with my second grader, who finds school unnecessary? Can we all home school? Can everyone study online and settle for occasional live contact with a teacher?

When I asked my high school students why they should finish school and go to college, the unanimous answer was, "to get a good job and make money." But somehow this idea (they've learned it from adults) results in school being perceived as a kind of holding pen before being released into an automatic High Paying Job, or the NFL, NBA, WNBA, etc. There's something missing. What about curiosity, the pure fun of looking up a new word to see what it means, or being able to imagine solutions and try them out? And how would an economic purpose for going to school relate to the experience my Chorus students just had, doing a solo song recital on Wednesday? Words escape me to describe the joy of hearing each individual voice, touching lyrics, beautiful melodies emerge, the sound so true and lovely, in spite of nerves and the stage of technique each singer showed. Can going to school to get a job result in the human experience of shedding tears in the presence of beauty and truth, or the excitement, pride, and opening of hearts of those singers.

There are so many reasons for our young people to go to school, not the least learning to appreciate the diverse cultures on our planet and our common humanity. Not to mention, building the values and character it takes to become a responsible, thoughtful, caring adult.

Market Economy Re-Interpreted

Alright, I am an artist and a teaching artist. I spend a lot of time interpreting texts and teaching others to do so. There are gigabytes of literary interpretation in the world but still, some mystery remains. For example, the old children's rhyme: "This little piggy went to market" (working title for all I know). It remains unexplained. In light of the current non profit and economic crisis, I will make an Attempt, hopefully with the creative rigor the work is due. Let me begin. Ahem.

The ancient rhyme, "This little piggy went to market," sheds light on early understandings of the economic forces inherent in Western capitalism and had a profound influence on Adam Smith. The first line, "this little piggy went to market," clearly refers to the small stratum of the population with purchasing power. This first piggy represents the gainfully employed, perhaps with health insurance. Underlying the text is the implication that this shopper also had transportation, as it does not say, "walked to market." We also see here a monopoly, there being only one Market. This piggy's primary position in the text means that the Purchaser with money has status in the applicable culture.

The second line, "this little piggy stayed home," raises serious questions. Was the piggy ill, unemployed, lazy, or an oppressed female required stay home to do the housework and take care of the children? (The gender of the two piggy's we've studied so far is not indicated.) Or perhaps this second piggy had to stay home to fix the plumbing, which had flooded the bathroom. Note that the word 'home' will be the rhyming word, anticipating its importance in the text. In actuality, here we have the first hint of the ups and downs of the Market. The population stays home in an economic downturn. The poor stay home because of no money; the rich stay home waiting for deliveries.

The third line, "this little piggy had roast beef," points to the essence of the Market Economy: lack of equity. Roast beef is a metaphor for the good life, the American Dream of being high on the food chain. And the next line brings it pitilessly home: "this little piggy had none," a fourth line that speaks volumes. No elaboration, too bad little guy, pull yourself up by the bootstraps, no bail-out or even food stamps for you.

The last line is the most challenging of all: "This little piggy cried, 'Wee, wee, wee, wee, wee!' all the way home!" Was he euphoric from his shopping trip, on drugs, lamenting his smallness (wee bitty thing) or needing to use the restroom? Perhaps he was looking forward to time on the internet and history has foretold a misspelled wii. Or he's lonely and wants to find the 4 other pigs, or being an intellectual, he has read the story about the 3 little pigs and knows the wolf is around the corner. I will boldly offer my own answer to decades of confusion among generations of children. The fifth line clearly refers to one of two things: the last piggy either just won the lottery or he/she works for a non profit arts organization.

Ah, what propaganda hath our nursery rhyme wrought? As with all good literary interpretation, the final choice is up to you, the reader.

Teacher Student Burn Out

The rallies and demonstrations on Thursday in behalf of public education came at the right time. This is the point in the year when teacher and student moods often reflect the gray weather -- thank goodness the sun came out today! We all feel as if we've been in the classroom for months and months and months (we have), but the end is not close. As an arts provider that is both in the class room teaching and also an observer of public education, I see and feel the pain.

Burn out. Students say they're bored, teachers say they're tired. It's common knowledge that teachers often leave a school after teaching for five years, and sometimes leave the field altogether after a few years. Why? Teaching is completely consuming: for some, it feels as if it takes every ounce of energy you have. And it's not just the actual hours spent teaching students or preparing lessons. It's calling the parents, grading, keeping up with the latest online charts, going to countless meetings, mentoring, student club advisor, senior project advisor, buying supplies out of pocket, etc.

So when bad things happen, like the recent round of thefts at a school, or students are fractious, we teachers are pushed over, beyond, under and around the edge. I spoke with one wonderful teacher who is leaving to explore the world of Not-Teaching. In fact, teaching is ruining her health. And when more money is spent on prisons than on education, when teachers are blamed for everything from poor test scores to student stealing, when chairs in classrooms have seats too torn and jagged to sit on, when parents threaten teachers for their child's bad grade, teaching looks indeed like a bad deal. Especially in winter.

But in the spring, when we can see the last day of school coming and students are starting to demonstrate that they've learned, teaching may once again look like the Noble Profession it really is and should be. In some countries people stand up when a teacher enters the room and the arts are considered essential to life! Can we just shift our own country's priorities and money back to the arts and to education? Perhaps then we'll see less winter burn out and fewer great teachers leaving the students they really love, to do something else.

Mutuality

Okay, so I've talked before about Opera Piccola's interactive folk tales for multigenerational audiences, and how amazing those experiences are for us actors. This past Friday we performed our African tale, "The Stolen Aroma," for two different Oakland groups: a school for troubled children and a family homeless shelter. This is a show created for our company, with text by Oakland's own Beverly Jarrett and jazz composer Wes Riley.

There's no way to tell who had more fun-- Gift Harris and I (the performers) or the fifteen children who played the roles of the Cooks and the Elders. You might expect that children needing a special school, or homeless children, might not be the best choice to improvise complex audience volunteer roles without any preparation other than, "help the puppy," or "do what Imo says."

Wrong!

Both groups of 4 to 8 year old volunteers were the best that I can remember -- and we've done over a hundred performances of this piece. The children zapped totally into being their charcters at once, and stayed there (some continued enacting multiple characters from the story afterwards while we were packing up; one 8 year old Cook suddenly talking to me in a perfect African accent that he had not had before the show). It's hard to describe the thrill of playing a scene with a child who stuns me with some new angle to the story with his/her improvisation.

"Don't go over there, I'm warning you," said one 6 year old Elder wisely to my character (Slough Dog). "Yes, I've been lost in the desert, and I was soooo scared," sympathized another Elder when asked. "No, you can't share the food," said one loyal 5 year old Cook, determined to be Employee of the Year to the rich, greedy Imo. "Even though Imo isn't coming back? I haven't had anything to eat in five days!" "Well, okay, but just one piece."

Adult actors study for years to achieve this magical melding of self and character in order to be faithful to a powerful story. Actor's Workshop, you should have been there at the group home and the shelter on Friday. I left floating on a cloud. "The children loved it," the Case Manager said as we left. They weren't the only ones.

Black History Month

At Oakland Technical High School, where I teach Chorus and Drama through Opera Piccola, we had an amazing Black History assembly on Friday. This whole month in classes so many things have connected to this theme-- even when not initially planned to do so. Setting aside a whole month gives expanded space, opportunity and time.

I asked students of all ethnicities in my classes (African American, Chinese, Filipino, White, Latino) to say what Black History Month means to them. They all agreed. "It's about struggle and overcoming. ... thinking about our ancestors and the heroes who went before us...... to stop racism and hatred...... to try our best now because of what they did."

Music Teacher David Byrd: "What I love is that we accept as part of us anyone who has experienced oppression. I want people to know there are Black people all over the world--India, Middle East, Asia, Europe, Cuba, everywhere-- so I have students learn Brazilian jazz this month."

Valentine's Daze

I asked high school students (random sampling) how they liked Valentine' s Day. About half said, "it's cool, a chance to tell someone you love them." Another almost half said they hated it. "It hurts when you're alone." "Your girlfriend gets mad if you don't get her a bunch of stuff." There appears to be some pressure or else excitement about purchasing stuff. Good for the economy, good for love?

An older woman shared, "I just broke up with myboyfriend of many years. This happy happy talk is painful."

As I 've been reading about women's rights and feminism this week, a thought stands out. Valentine's establishes women as the princesses who must receive the flowers, candy, jewels from men -- or ... Like the wedding ceremony in which the father "gives away" the bride in marriage, the princess image is disappearing along with other historically patriarchal customs.

Or is it? Disney rakes in cash with ices shows attended by happy young girls in their princess costumes. At a recent Opera Piccola performance, when I asked for volunteers from the audience to help with our show, a little girl said excitedly, "Yes, I'll be the Princess."! Our Mayan folk tale only has costumes for frogs, trees, clouds and wind.

Glee

"I just loved it so much I have to give every one of you a hug." At Grand Lake Gardens Retirement home.

At AgeSong, for Alzheimer's patients: "Did you see? Stanley said for the whole concert and enjoyed it! He doesn't sit still more than five minutes usually and he's always unhappy."
And, "We don't get serenaded like this very often."

"Can I dance? Your singing gives me- pep!" And: "This was wonderful. I'd like to write a letter to support the program. Who should I write to?" At Piedmont Gardens Retirement home.

Opera Piccola's small chorus at Oakland Tech High -- three young men and ten young women from ninth through 12 grades-- comes sleepily to practice once a week at 7:30 AM. By the time our fifty minutes of vocal technique and learning music is over, we're all feeling pretty good about the day ahead of us. We have to relax, breathe deeply and listen to all the pitches that hang in the air around us. Studies have shown the value of music performance on brains and bodies and emotions, but whatever the science of it, it's true. An interesting thing is that a singer doesn't really get to enjoy hearing his/her own voices while s/he is singing, because it sounds different inside the head from what the "audience" hears. It's better to be in the present, and let go the product.

Singing for the senior citizens yesterday, some of whom were quite ill with dementia, gave us the good feeling of the act of singing but also the good feeling of giving. Especially since our society regards seniors as people who've "lived their lives and had their chance," so we don't really need to pay attention to them. Their listening gave back to us and what a joy it was.

Is Feminism still alive?

February starts tomorrow. Happy Super Bowl Sunday and Happy Valentine's. On Feb. 14th , 4-6 pm, we're celebrating Leap Year and Valentine's Day at Opera Piccola by asking the question, is feminism alive-- or dead? Leap Year comes in years that are divisible by 4, so we aren't there yet. The myth says that women may ask men to marry them on Feb. 29th. Is this unusual because women weren't permitted be the ones asking? Is marriage an anti-feminist institution?

It's great that artists have an excuse to think about big and little questions like these. Of course there are a million other subjects it might be better to think about in February. But our Second Sundays event happens to fall on Valentine's. It's a chance to stop and think about women's rights and our role(s) as lovers, mothers, daughters, workers, etc etc. Gives me a chance to ask my female students what they think. After all, the high school skirt lengths are way above the knees, some shirts are transparent and as the weather warms up, short short short shorts seem to suggest .. Liberated or sex objects? Pehaps there is no need for feminism in the U.S. because we've achieved our goals. We've certainly come very far since the era in which the TV drama, Mad Men, takes place. I was surprised at the bit of history in that show, in which it was assumed that secretaries were supposed to have sex with their bosses and other men on the job. We are protected now by sexual harrassment laws, right?

We're starting off the discussion on the 14th by reading excerpts from Shahrnush Parsipur's play, set in Iran in the 1950's, "Women without Men." There are still places where beating wives is thought to be normal and necessary, and worse. We're also reading some of a feminist play by Lydia Sargent: "I dreamed I saw My Death in Vogue Magazine."

The current lawsuit on Prop 8 raises other issues around gender, marriage, rights, love, parenting. February 14th, before you go out with your sweetheart, let's talk. Bring a poem, or a song. Is there still room for people to meet and talk, live?
Find out more at www.opera-piccola.org