Everybody's Got Something to Hide

One of these things is not like the others

2009-05-17T21:56:00.000-07:00

Books acquired this afternoon at Powell's:

1. Working Out in Japan: Shaping the Female Body in Tokyo Fitness Clubs, by Laura Spielvogel;
2. The Flesh Made Word: Female Figures and Women's Bodies, by Helena Michie;
3. Breasts: Women Speak About Their Breasts and Their Lives, by Daphna Ayalah and Isaac J. Weinstock;
4. The Complete Artscroll Siddur [prayer book], nusach Ashkanaz.

Does that line ever work?

2009-05-06T18:37:00.000-07:00

I was waiting for the bus last night around SE Pine and Grand when a short twenty-something guy with long brown hair came right up to me. He was dressed all in black and wore pentagram necklace. "It's too bad Andy & Bax [a military supply store in the area] closes so early," he said, looking at me. "Uh huh," I said, in my frostiest Do Not Talk to Me voice. "Yeah...I really need a knife," he said. I took a step back and looked down Grand to see if the bus was coming yet. "I need it to do magic. A knife is very important for magic." I don't know what response he was expecting to get from me, but he clearly didn't get it, because he backed away and started rambling about how he would just go to Andy & Bax the next morning. Then he turned back to me suddenly and grabbed his pentagram. "What do you think of this?" he said, jangling it in my face.

When the bus arrived, I made sure to sit as far away as possible.

Tzariah, Metzorah, liminality, feminism, and embodiment (part 1)

2009-05-03T00:01:00.001-07:00

(This is really long. I'll post part 2 sometime next week, probably. In the meantime, I'd love to hear your thoughts about this part and any issues it raises for you.)

One of the things I love most about Judaism is the way the calendar works. The Torah is divided into fifty-four portions, one of which is read every week (in non-leap years, like this year, there are a couple weeks that have two portions); at Simchat Torah, the cycle ends with the last portion of Deuteronomy and begins again with the first portion of Genesis. It's a cycle, but it's not quite circular; the Jewish year is more like a spiral. Each year when a particular portion rolls around you have the insight of what you learned about it last year and the growth that's taken place over the year; you're in the same place in the Torah, but you're not in the same place personally. It was an exciting time in my life as a baby Jew when I had experienced a whole year's cycle, and could remember last year's learning about a particular portion. It made me think of years in the future, when I'll have twenty or thirty experiences of a particular portion--all the learning and study and discussion from different communities that I'll have experienced by that point. It was such a happy, contented feeling--a satisfaction with and awe of the inheritance into which I've come.

(I think the same could be said of the traditional liturgical Christian calendar--not just the holidays, but the division of the year into different church seasons, and among churches that follow a lectionary. The UCC churches I grew up in only paid lip service to the Christian calendar, however, so it was never really my experience growing up. I'm curious to hear from my Christian friends if you have the same experiences with the Christian year.)

I have a Jewish calendar pinned to the wall of the kitchen to help me keep track of the Jewish months and days and the cycles of the moon and the Torah portions. I glanced at it a week ago and said, "Huh!" Daniel, who was sitting at the table, was like, "What 'huh'?" That week there were two Torah portions, Tzaria and Metzorah. I told Daniel that I said "huh" because last year I kept intending to write a blog post about Tzaria and Metzorah, and now I've officially been procrastinating for a year on that blog post.

Tzaria and Metzorah (which you can find in Leviticus 12:1-15:33) are some of the most challenging portions for modern Jews, especially for feminists: they're all about different kinds of skin diseases, emissions from the body, and other conditions that render someone tumeh (impure--roughly and perhaps inaccurately translated). I actually remember being at P'nai Or two years ago when these portions came around; it was the only service that Daniel ever attended, and we were both somewhere between amused and uncomfortable with reading about how seminal emissions rendered a man impure until he could immerse in a mikvah (it's not exactly the most date-friendly of Torah portions). That night at his house, we were talking about it and joking that (sacrilege alert) Orthodox communities should have drive-through mikvaot so that frum men could purify themselves at any time. I believe I suggested that the slogan of such a mikvah should be: "So you can daven great, even late!"

Tzaria and Metzorah can be difficult for contemporary Jews to accept or understand because, for one thing, now we know that semen, menstrual blood, and skin rashes are not things that we have to be afraid of; and for another thing, the prescribed purification rites--sacrificing different kinds of animals and things like that--are so foreign to our context. But these parshaiot are especially troublesome from a feminist perspective because of the associations they can suggest between women's bodies and processes and impurity. A woman can't enter the sacred sanctuary while she's menstruating, and for several days afterward; after giving birth to a boy child, she is tumah/impure for thirty days, but for a girl child, the impurity lasts double the length of time. How can we understand this in a non-misogynistic way?

I've heard a few different suggestions. Ancient cultures feared death. (Do we fear death any less?) Not understanding the scientific nature of bodily fluids, any loss of seemingly essential fluid was seen as a kind of death: not just because, augh! you're bleeding and it's scary, but because a loss of semen or menstrual blood represented the loss of a potential life. Ejaculation, menstruation, and childbirth were and, perhaps, still are liminal moments in life when an individual was believed to be especially close to the dividing line between life and death. To make as clear a distinction between life and death as possible, someone who passed through one of those liminal places needed to separate from the community and reestablish his or her ties to the living. (This explains why a woman who gave birth to a girl needed to separate for double the amount of time: her baby girl would grow to experience more liminal moments through menstruation and childbirth than would a baby boy).

At P'nai Or last year I remember discussing these portions--I knew more than I did the first year, when Daniel and I were there together, and I was increasingly interested in bringing a feminist analysis to bear on the parashiot. Different people shared their thoughts, and one of the dominant points that emerged was that there is some truth to the fact that certain experiences in life are so powerful that afterwards, you needed to take some time away from the community before you are ready to reenter it. A few women shared their experiences giving birth, saying that all they wanted to do was retreat to be with their baby and not have to deal with the obligations of the community. Could the proscriptions of the Torah have been crafted with these feelings in mind? Reb Aryeh suggested that a contemporary understanding of "pure" and "impure" could be "ready for community religious obligations" and "not ready for community religious obligations."

Something about that still doesn't satisfy me, though. I appreciate the new lens through which to consider Tzariah and Metzorah, and I think it's absolutely true that after a life/death experience, it's natural to want to retreat from community obligations. But what does it mean that women, by nature of menstruation and childbirth, spend far, far more time then men in the state of "not ready for community religious obligation?" Is there any way to think about this without falling into the old association of women with the body and men with the mind--with Woman as the earthy, fleshy, bleeding body and Man with the lofty spirit and intellect? These were the questions I brought to Tzariah and Metzorah when it cycled back around this year.

To be continued...

Birkat HaChamah and Passover

2009-04-16T22:43:00.000-07:00

Clearly I fail at blogging.

April 8 was a holiday that only comes once every twenty-eight years: Birkat HaChamah, the Blessing of the Sun. The tradition has it that once every twenty-eight years, the sun returns to the same place in the sky relative to the stars and the Earth where God placed it on the 4th day of creation. (The same place as viewed from the Earth, obviously, since the sun and stars themselves don't move). The calculations are totes confusing and I gave up on trying to understand exactly why it was that particular morning, and why the Jewish year (5769) isn't divisible by 28, and just tried to enjoy the fact that this is an unusual occasion that last occurred in 1981 and won't come again until I'm in my 50s.

P'nai Or met at the gardens behind Pittock Mansion at 6am and sang and danced until we realized that it was too overcast to see the sunrise, at which point we said a shortened version of the blessing (you have to actually be able to see the sun to say the full blessing), said the Kaddish, and trickled off. Afterwards I went out to breakfast with some Pnai Orniks then got dropped off at work, feeling very disoriented, sleepy, and off-rhythm. Whenever I do something before work, even something as mundane as getting up early to finish a Netflix movie so I can send off the disk that day, it makes work feel really strange. It makes it feel like just one of several things I happened to decide to do that day, rather than something I have to do. By the time I got to work at 9am, it felt like it was noon because I had gotten up so early.

The 8th was doubly auspicious (truly a mazel tov--literally "good constellation!") because it was also the first day of Passover (which actually began that evening, since Jewish days begin at dusk). Birkat HaChamah and Passover are not always aligned, it was just just a coincidence--one that made my day all the more weird and off-rhythm. A friend from P'nai Or invited me to her house for the first night seder. She warned me that it would be a long evening, so I planned to get off work at 3pm, go home to take a nap, then another person would pick me up....the seder started around seven-thirty or eight; dinner was served at 10:30 and at midnight, the person who gave me a ride and I left because he was exhausted. Dessert hadn't been served yet; I can only imagine how late the seder must have gone. Two in the morning? Although it was a strange day and a really late night, I was happy to have been invited and to have a place to spend the first night seder. This friend has two college-age children, and it was fun to spend the holiday with a family. They're also on the more observant/halakhic end of the spectrum for P'nai Or and I'm always interested in learning about how people blend a Jewish Renewal consciousness with halakhic observance.

The next night P'nai Or had a community seder at St. Mark's. I got a ride with my friend Jess, and sat with my friend Helana (another Lewis & Clark graduate, but we got to know each other at P'nai Or). P'nai Or's seder was big and sprawling and semi-chaotic (there were eighty people there and there was a ton of unnecessary drama about moving chairs around and seating arrangements...I'm so burned out on synagogue politics right now), but also sweet and emotional and touching. We used a Haggadah that Reb Aryeh had put together, and I think everyone cried a little at different points.

Finally, last Sunday Daniel and I had our own seder at our apartment. Our guests were my parents, Daniel's parents, Amy, Carla, Helana, my friend Jade from work, and her fried Kat. I invited several more people, but I think the mixture ended up being exactly right and anyways, it would have been difficult to fit any more chairs around the table. We used the Velveteen Rabbi haggadah. I think it went well--I can't speak for the others (Amy?) but I know I had a great time and I appreciated that everyone contributed their energy, insights, voices, and laughter. It was my parents' first seder, and I think they enjoyed it and found it relatively accessible. We started the seder by lighting yartzeit/memorial candles for people who have passed away. After the seder ended and the table had been cleared, we left the candles burning. It was my understanding that yartzeit candles burn for about twenty-four hours, but when I got home from work on Monday (26 hours after they had been lit), all of them were still going strong...as they were the next morning. Two of the candles ended up burning for about forty hours.

So now Passover is officially over. It's been a crazy week and a half, but a meaningful and moving one too. I can say that I'm looking forward to eating chametz (leavened products) again. I kept a box of matzah in my classroom to eat at lunch and after several inquiries of "Teacher Jessica, what's that big giant cracker?" I gave all the kids a little bit to taste. Most of them loved it and it was really a sight to see twenty three- to five-year-olds gnawing on jagged pieces of the Bread of Affliction. At least I know where I can get rid of our leftover matzah!

Two months later

2009-03-09T22:45:00.000-07:00

It's been two months since I last posted on my blog. I never meant so stop writing, really, it's just that given the gravitas of my last post it didn't feel right to pop in and say "Hello, I'm brewing kombucha," or "Yay, I got an awesome job in Ohio over the summer" or "Here's this fun song I sing with the kids" or even "Here are my semi-deep reflections on this aspect of religious phenomenology." Because while all of those other fun things, life things, are going on, there's this pressing sadness that I'm not sure how to write about. But now it's been two months and I think it's time to start writing again. Tonight is Purim, though, the Feast of Lots, and right now I'm hard-pressed to tell the difference between "Blessed is Mordechai" and "Cursed is Haman" (in other words, I've been drinking; it's Purim!) and writing will have to wait.

Thank you to those who commented on my last post, or expressed condolences to me in person. It means a lot. And to the last commenter on my last post--did you really think that that was an appropriate time to try to evangelize me? Really?

Baruch Dayan Emet

2009-01-09T00:06:00.000-08:00

That's what a traditional Jew is supposed to say when witnessing or learning of a death: "Blessed is the one true judge."

Around 1am, early Wednesday morning, I learned that my beloved rabbi, teacher, and guide Aryeh Hirschfield drowned while snorkeling on vacation in Mexico with his family. (Here is the article from The Oregonian). Cassandra, the woman I spoke to on the phone, said "Aryeh drowned," and I kept turning it over in my head and trying to come up with a way that "drowned" wouldn't mean "died."

The words "baruch dayan emet" popped into my head but I couldn't say them. It didn't seem right. I thought that if I said those words it would be suggesting that Reb Aryeh's death was just. I can't see it that way.

Last night there was a community gathering at St. Mark's, where P'nai Or holds services. I rode there in silence with three other people. There were at least 200 people there, completely broken and devastated. After I found a seat I saw my former thesis adviser and teacher Sylvia walk in. She said "Oh, Jessica" and held out her arms and I fell onto her sobbing. I heard and felt her crying as well. The last time we had seen each other was at my bet din, at which Aryeh officiated.

I can't believe he's gone.

Leap Frog: designed to keep children passive and dumb

2009-01-04T13:52:00.000-08:00

Take a minute to watch this commercial for the Leap Frog reading ("reading") toy. The toy system seems to consist of electronic books about different TV and movie characters. When a child runs the corresponding Leap Frog electronic wand over the words in the "book," the character's voice speaks the words. This is touted as a great way to make kids love reading FOR LIFE!

This commercial, and the Leap Frog reading system in general, makes me so angry. Speaking as an early child educator, I feel that Leap Frog is actually doing children a tremendous disservice. Let me count the ways:

First: I find objectionable the crass commercialization and plasticization of children's toys and materials. I don't like reading books about TV and movie characters to children because I think they limit children's own imaginations. I'm thankful that my preschool uses mostly wooden toys and natural materials and non-commercial books. I don't have anything against intelligent children's TV, but I find that intelligent programming is becoming increasingly hard to find.

Second: The colors of this toy are garish and ugly. I think it's insulting to the intelligence and sensitivity of children to assume that they don't have an eye for subtlety and beauty in their materials. The Journal of Amphibious Species or whatever the commercial positions as the Anti-Leap Frog is, in my opinion and according to the philosophy of Reggio Emilia as I understand it, a much healthier material for a child that will actually stimulate and encourage his/her natural curiosity and inquiry into the natural world. It doesn't talk, Mr. Garish Frog Man, because books aren't supposed to talk.

Third: The commercial suggests that kids need the Leap Frog system to make reading fun. Bullshit. Reading can be and should be fun, but children who use the Leap Frog system to support their reading are being sold a bill of goods. Cartoon characters are not always going to be able to read to them; what happens when they outgrow Leap Frog and actually have to start exerting effort to read words themselves? Having been trained by Leap Frog and similar toys to be passive rather than active learners, reading will seem difficult and unrewarding. Reading becomes a novelty that can be shunted aside as soon as the next shiny plastic piece of junk comes out. Instead of helping kids love reading for life, Leap Frog helps kids love reading for five minutes.

Fourth: Children who use this toy are not actually reading. Reading is an active process. Even being read to by an adult, looking at the pictures, following the words on the page, talking about the story, making predictions, etc. can be an active process. The Leap Frog system encourages passivity. It's not education, it's edutainment.

Fifth: I find the Leap Frog system to be indicative of a general societal discomfort with difficulty. It's true that it can be difficult to learn to read; I was a late reader myself. But many valuable things are difficult; to paraphrase Rilke, the fact that they are difficult is all the more reason to pursue them. Achievements that come easily are often valued little. If a child is struggling to learn to read, I don't think giving him or her a Leap Frog reading toy will make it any easier, at least not in the long run.

What do you think? I'm curious if anyone can parse out more reasons to hate this commercial.

2008 Retrospective

2008-12-31T01:55:00.000-08:00

1. What did you do in 2008 that you'd never done before?

So many things related to converting to Judaism: immersing in the mikveh, being counted in a minyan, wearing a tallit as a Jew, lighting Shabbat and Chanukah candles, making Havdalah, etc. I hosted my first Passover seder this year. I lived by myself in my own apartment for the first time; I also lived with a romantic partner for the first time. This was the first year I worked full-time for the whole year (as opposed to being in school for part of the year). I assumed more responsibility at work and attended a few professional conferences, which I'd never done before. In January 2008 I got pretty sick and it was the first time I've managed all of my medical care without someone else's help.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I don't think I made any resolutions last year; in any case, I didn't keep them. I've been trying to cut processed and industrial foods out of my diet for the past several months, and I'd like to continue that in 2009. I'd also like to progress in my observance of kashrut by making more of a separation between dairy and meat products, and continue learning Hebrew. This isn't a resolution per se but I want to continue to make time to read academic-type books in sociology, gender studies, and religious studies.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Several parents I know through the preschool gave birth. I'm friendly with a couple of them, but not especially close.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No.

5. What countries did you visit?

I didn't visit any other countries. Actually, I don't think I made it out of Oregon in 2008. (Can that be right? The only other state we visit on a regular basis is Washington, and I don't think I went up there this past year. Huh.)

6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?

Hmmm...this was a pretty good year, actually. Not perfect, but I can't think of anything that I really lacked.

7. What dates from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory?

November 2: my conversion. November 4: Obama's election.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Converting to Judaism, natch.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Losing contact with old friends.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Yes. Towards the end of 2007 I developed a very painful, deep cough. I coughed so hard that I was certain I had fractured a rib; the pain was so severe that it hurt to breathe. I also had a 104 degree fever. On December 31, 2007 (what a way to spend New Year's Eve) I checked into Urgent Care at Kaiser Permanente and had my chest X-rayed. Diagnosis: I had walking pneumonia that I had exacerbated by walking around with it for a month instead of getting it treated. My rib wasn't broken--the doctor said that a bit of the lining of my lung had become inflamed and was pressing against my rib, which is why it hurt so bad. I was prescribed an inhaler, some narcotic cough syrup, and a round of antibiotics, but the antibiotics didn't kill everything and I ended up visiting Kaiser several more times over the next couple months. Each time I got a different diagnosis, which was pretty frustrating. Finally everything seemed to go away on its own. I also had a few bladder infections (fun!) and a minor bike accident a few weeks ago.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

It's funny, because when I answered this question two years ago I was all talking about plane and train and bus tickets for my travels. In 2008 the best things I bought were much more mundane: a safety can-opener that makes opening cans a delight; and big black rain galoshes. Laugh it up (Daniel) but I'm thankful for those boots every time in rains.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

My spiritual community's; friends; Daniel's. Those who supported me in my spiritual search.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

Various work-related people.

14. Where did most of your money go?

Groceries and rent.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

My bet din and mikvah for conversion; having days off work; going to the Jewish Renewal retreat in Eastern Oregon, the election and Obama's victory.

16. What song will always remind you of 2008?

"Who Gives a Fuck About An Oxford Comma?" by Vampire Weekend. Daniel introduced me to them; I remember lying on the bed in his room at his old house, listening to the album. That song was also playing on the radio when we bought our computer, except that they bleeped out "fuck."

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) happier or sadder? Happier.

b) thinner or fatter? Thinner.

c) richer or poorer? Richer.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?

Staying in touch with old friends and meeting new people, venturing out of the apartment, riding my bike, working on spiritual disciplines like praying and studying scriptures, reading thought-provoking books and educating myself.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Hoo boy. After Easter last year I bought several pounds of marked-down Easter candy at Walgreen's, thinking that it would last Daniel and me for the rest of the year. Surprise: we ate all that candy within three weeks. I mean, I'm talking like 17 Cadbury eggs alone, not to mention all the jelly beans. So I wish I'd eaten less cheap crappy Easter candy. I also wish I hadn't been so content to let inertia take over. Sometimes after Shabbat service or something I'd decide that I didn't really want to talk to anyone, so I'd leave really quickly; I wish I had forced myself to push past my discomfort and shyness and work on making real human connections.

20. How did you spend Christmas?

Daniel and I spent the holiday, as well as the last five or so days of Chanukah, with my parents and brother down in Eugene.

21. Did you fall in love in 2008?

Yes, or rather, I fell in love in 2007 and was in love all of 2008 (aw!). Mush alert: We exchanged "I love you"s for the first time on New Year's Eve 2007.

22. How many one-night stands?

None.

23. What was your favorite TV program?

LOST and Project Runway.

24. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

No, I've been trying to let go of grudges from my college years.

25. What was the best book you read?

It's hard to choose, but the first two books that come to mind are "The Cutting Edge: Art Horror and the Horrific Avante-Garde" and "The Wonders of America: Reinventing Jewish Culture 1880-1950." Two very different but equally captivating books. I also loved "Geek Love" by Katharine Dunn; it was probably the best fiction book I read this year. I'm hoping to put up a post sometime soon about some of the great books I read this year.

26. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Daniel introduced me to lots of great music, of which Joanna Newsom and Antony and the Johnsons might be my favorites. We went to see Antony at the Schnitzer as part of the Portland Time-Based Art festival, and it was gorgeous.

27. What did you want and get?

I wanted to confirm and strengthen my relationship and commitment to Judaism, and I did.

28. What did you want and not get?

I guess I had this idea that when things in my life settled down and became generally okay--you know, having my own place, a good job, a satisfying spiritual life, living with a man I love--that I wouldn't get sad anymore, or that little things wouldn't bug me, or that I would always be happy and content. And I realized this year that that's not true. Things are good in my life, but I'm not happy all the time. Maybe no one is.

29. What was your favorite film of this year?

Hmmm...I'm drawing a blank. I saw movies that I liked, but none stands out as a favorite.

30. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 23 on February 18. Daniel and I went out to the Doug Fir for dinner--we had been there ten days earlier, too, for his 25th birthday on February 8th. He gave me a copy of AJ Jacob's "The Year of Living Biblically," which I had been wanting to read ever since we heard AJ Jacobs speak at Powell's. Later that month Carla and I had a joint birthday/apartment-warming party at my place.

31.What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Winning the lottery? I don't know. It as a pretty good year, overall.

32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?

I wear skirts a lot more than I used to--probably more often than I wear pants. Most of the skirts I wear are from a little longer than knee length to calf length. I just find them more comfortable, especially since I constantly have to bend over, stoop, squat, etc at work and it's a hassle to keep tugging my pants back up. It's not really a religious thing, although I think some people think that it is. I also stopped shaving my legs this year because I realized that I just did not give a shit about leg hair. It's been seven or eight months since I last shaved them.

33. What kept you sane?

Involvement with P'nai Or, reading in a coffee shop on the weekend, vigorous discussion with Daniel, sweet hugs from sweet children at work.

34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

Sully from "Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman" (Daniel insists that I delete that answer, but I'm not going to, because Sully was HOT!) Also, Jemaine from "Flight of the Conchords."

35. What political issue stirred you the most?

The election, of course. Various feminist issues.

36. Who did you miss?

Friends who have moved away.

37. Who was the best new person you met?

Different people at work and friends from P'nai Or, and people I met at the Jewish retreat over the summer.

38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008.

You have to be your own advocate, because if you don't stand up for yourself, no one else is going to. That sounds a little pessimistic, but I think it's true. As women in a misogynist society, we're taught not to advocate for ourselves; that it makes us pushy, or selfish, or whiny; women tend not to want to be the squeaky wheels. It's been a struggle for me to work past these gendered assumptions, as well as my own natural shyness, to advocate for my own needs at work. I'm slowly getting better at it.

39. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

"First thing you do, drive right through that Holland Tunnel,

Pay your toll to the soul on the other side.

Pick up your ticket, everything will be all right.

Drive, baby, drive."

--"Holland Tunnel" by John Phillips.

Snow day?

2008-12-19T13:38:00.001-08:00

No...no snow day. After an unusual week at the preschool (we had a delayed start on Monday and an early release on Wednesday due to snowy and icy conditions; on Monday and Tuesday especially, it felt like the Arctic Tundra outside), I was really hoping that today would be a snow day. I had already planned how I would spend the day: curling up with Sarna's American Judaism: A History and a cup of tea, watching some daytime TV, going downtown to Powell's to finish my holiday shopping. Alas, although it was snowing lightly this morning, the powers that be decided we would just have a delayed start. Oh well; we only have half of our normal amount of students, and the composition of children is such that it's been a really fun, peaceful, collaborative day (in other words, the screamers and biters are absent). It's been the kind of day that reminds me what attracted me to early childhood ed. in the first place: collaborative projects, funny stories, working together creatively, learning how to communicate with each other, those kinds of things. Everyone in the class spontaneously began playing this game that they were on the Polar Express to the North Pole, and Cara and I got some fantastic documentation done (part of the Reggio approach is documenting children's play and conversations).

Thanks to those who expressed concern and well-wishes after my bike accident at the beginning of last week. My right arm got progressively more sore over the course of the day, and by Monday night I could hardly move it. I knew it wasn't broken but I guess I just strained the muscle or something, since I landed on my right side and my arm and shoulder absorbed most of the shock. It's nearly back to normal by now. My nose is not broken, although it does still sort of hurt when I blow it--when I fell, I think my nose must have hit against my right arm, and maybe I bruised the cartilge or something.

I made a resolution a couple months ago that I would read the Torah portion each week on Friday night, so that I could be an informed participant in the Saturday morning Shabbat service. Of course, in the couple months since I made the resolution, it's been realized exactly twice. Last Friday I read the portion V'yishlach, from Genesis (it's the portion immediately preceding the Joseph cycle); V'yishlach contains, amongst other things, the story of Jacob wrestling with the angel and the reconciliation between Jacob and Esau. There's this part when Esau comes up to Jacob and everyone's like biting their fingernails because they think Esau's going to kill Jacob, but then he "falls on Jacob's neck" and kisses him. I was reading the portion in the Jewish study Bible that Daniel's parents gave me, and it has this little explanatory notes from the midrash (interpretation) on the side. At this part it notes that in the Torah scroll there's a series of six dots over the word "kiss;" they're not related to the pronunciation of the word, so it's kind of a mystery about why they're there. Some rabbis say that the dots denote rabbinic suspicion over the inclusion of the word "kiss" in the story, pointing out that "kiss" and "bite" are nearly the same word in Hebrew. And, according to the explanatory note, a traditional midrash is that Esau did indeed intend to bite Jacob, but God--just in the nick of time--hardened Jacob's skin so that Esau could only kiss him. And that's why the Jews are called a stiff-necked people. (Rimshot!)

There's another explanatory note about why Jacob crossed back over the river to the place where he ended up wrestling with the angels. Rabbinic commentators wondered why he would return to the place he'd come from all alone--so they decided that he must have gone back to retrieve some "little jars he'd forgotten." I absolutely love that kind of minutely detailed midrash (and there are midrash like that for seriously everything). Like, God forbid there be any minute question or inconsistency in the text. It's like rabbinic fan fiction.

Crash

2008-12-08T14:51:00.000-08:00

I was on my way to school this morning on my bike. I had two bags full of egg cartons that I was bringing in for an art project dangling off my handlebars. I don't know what happened exactly but I think my knee bumped one of the bags and it threw off my balance and I fell ass over ankles off my bike and onto the street. I stood up and shook myself off, disoriented. My right shoulder and nose both really hurt but nothing seemed broken and I didn't feel or see any blood. I was still in sight of the apartment and I wanted nothing so much as to hobble home and crawl back into bed with Daniel.

A couple people stopped to see if I was okay and one kind, compassionate young woman put my bike in her car and drove me the rest of the way to work. My boss said I should take as much time as I needed before going into the classroom and one of my co-workers said I was in shock, so I laid down and drank water and held an ice pack to my shoulder and cried a little. I called Daniel to tell him what had happened but instead of starting with, "Daniel, I'm okay" I started with "Daniel, I was in an accident on the way to work" so he got scared and I felt bad for scaring him.

I don't think my nose is broken, but it definitely hurts. I think it's swollen--it feels swollen--but it's hard to tell because my nose was already pretty big. My shoulder's hurting more and more as the day goes on. I was planning on going to the gym after work, but I think instead I'm just going to go home and drink some tea and watch DVDs with Daniel.

Fun with Photobooth

2008-12-07T18:40:00.000-08:00

The other night Daniel and I spent some time playing around with Photobooth on our Mac.

Look at us. We're so mumblecore.

I call these next two "Geek Love."

And lo, the Spirit of the Lord descended upon me in the form of hands. Giant freak hands.

Contrary to popular belief, the sun is not the center of the universe. The center of the universe is Daniel's glasses.

Two Hebrew notes

2008-11-22T10:55:00.001-08:00

This week was very difficult at work. I'm glad that it's over. Three day week coming up: hurray! On Wednesday evening Daniel and I are taking the train down to Eugene, where we'll spend Thanksgiving with my family; we're coming back up to Portland Saturday afternoon. I haven't had a paid vacation day in a long time (not since Memorial Day last May, since I ended up working on Labor Day and Veteran's Day), and I relish the luxury of being "on the clock" while I sleep in and lounge around my parent's house for two days.

Last week in Hebrew class we heard a very sweet teaching. As I've written before, the first letter of the Torah is Bet, which is sometimes pronounced Vet (depending on whether or not it has a dot in it, I think). The last letter of the Torah is Lamed, from the word "Yisrael." Lamed and Vet together spell the word Lev, or heart--the whole Torah is written around and wrapped around the heart.

When I told Daniel that, he said, "But what if you don't love the whole Torah?" It's a good point. But I think you can love the Torah and its overall message without having to endorse all the ethnocentric and violent and misogynist stuff (in my opinion the homophobic stuff has its root in misogyny). There's this old story about the famous Rabbi Hillel. A gentile asked him to teach him the entire Torah while standing on one foot. Hillel is said to have said, "Love your neighbor. The rest is commentary." Would that that Torah be written on my heart.

Hebrew note 2: The Torah portion this week is Chayyei Sarah, usually translated "The Life of Sarah," which begins by talking about the death of Sarah and how Abraham secures a cave for her burial (you can find it near the beginning of Genesis, after the binding of Isaac). When you read it in English it begins with "Sarah was 127 years old," but the Hebrew actually reads, "Sarah was 100 years old, and 20 years old, and 7 years old." Rashi explains that it is written this way because Sarah had the wisdom of a 100-year-old, the idealism of a 20-year-old, and the innocent beauty of a 7-year-old (which Reb Aryeh admitted being a little creeped out by). In Hebrew, there actually is no word for "life," a singular. Chaim, usually translated as life, actually means lives. It's a plural, just as "mayim," water, is plural. "Chayyei Sarah" actually means "The Lives of Sarah." There is no singular life! You could take that to mean that all lives are lived together, running together like water, or part of a collective, or that on some level we live multiple lives, or that there are multiple stages in our one physical life.

If I couldn't have had my bet din and mikvah in the week of Lekh Lekha, the rabbi and I talked about how Chayyei Sarah was my second choice. I remember being struck by this idea of lives being plural last year when this we read this portion, and feeling that it resonated with my experience. I do feel that with conversion (or as my rabbi sometimes refers to it, "revelation"--drawing on Jonathan Omer-Man's idea that converts are "revealed Jews") I'm entering a new phase of my life.

(Bringing it back down to the nitty-gritty plane: who's been going through my blog entries and giving them all one star? Not cool.)

Learning Hebrew with the preschooleres

2008-11-11T22:08:00.001-08:00

I'm taking a beginning Hebrew class with a handful of other people from P'nai Or. It's taught by a woman from the congregation, and definitely has a Jewish Renewal flavor to it--we talk a lot about the deeper meanings of the letters and traditions behind them, Kabbalistic significances of the letters, gematria, that kind of thing. I'm really enjoying it, even though it's very difficult (why, oh why do so many of the letters look nearly identical?!).

I had a realization on my way home from class tonight: I'm acquiring Hebrew the same way my preschoolers are learning to write in English. "Teacher Jessica, how do you spell "submarine?" "Let's sound it out together: Sssss. What makes a sssss sound? That's right, S! Su--bbbb--mmm-rrrr---nnn. Sub-ma-rine." The older ones can usually sound out the consonants and then we help with the vowels.

I write in Hebrew the same way. I was trying to spell my Hebrew name Shulamit the other day. I muttered to myself, "Shhh--That's a shin--Le Le Le--lamed---mmmmm-mem, okay, then a TTT--Tav." I wrote down the consonants Shin Lamed Mem Tav and wiped my brow with exertion. Then I threw a couple extra lines and dots in for the vowels. Were they the correct vowels? Maybe, maybe not. But I felt proud of myself for just writing SH-L-M-T.

My preschoolers' letters are big and sprawling, falling all over themselves and the page. They don't have the muscle control or experience to form tidy, contained letters in a neat line. Oftentimes when kids begin writing the letter A, it comes out looking like an H. They don't know how or are not able to slant their lines and make them come to a point. As they gain literacy experience and practice, they start developing the shapes of their own letters. It's the same way for me with Hebrew. My handwriting is big and sloppy-looking, getting confused and tangled in the unfamiliar shapes and proportions of the letters. Sometimes my aleph looks like an X, and ayin's a mess. I was a somewhat late reader when I was a child--my literacy didn't really start to take off until late in first grade. I can only trust that as I eventually learned to read and write in English, if I stick with it and keep practicing and exposing myself to Hebrew, I'll learn that too. For now, my preschoolers and I will keep sounding things out and getting used to the shape of the letters on our papers and in our mouths.

Lekh Lekha

2008-11-09T22:05:00.000-08:00

My bet din was held last Sunday in a small room at the Portland Jewish Ritualarium in SW Portland, not too far from Portland State. The Ritualarium is a converted house; I gather that the couple who runs it lives upstairs and makes the mikvah and anteroom available for those who need it. The bet din, composed of my rabbi and two men from the congregation, sat on a couch one one side of the room; I sat in a chair facing them in the middle of the room. Behind me in a semi-circle were my parents; Daniel and his parents; Mateh Esther, Harriet, and Chellema, three women from P'nai Or; Jade, a friend from work; and Sylvia, my old professor and thesis advisor from college.

I was nervous. So, so nervous! I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to authentically represent my thoughts and feelings. But once the questioning began I eased into it an relaxed. The rabbi asked me about the spiritual path that led me to this point. One of the other men me about elements of Jewish practice that I had adopted; the other man asked how I envisioned my relationship with the nation of Israel. They reminded me that the Jews have been persecuted from time immemorial and that anyone who wants to join a persecuted people has to be a little meshuga. (Okay, they didn't use the word meshuga.) There were moments when I didn't feel like I was able to say exactly what I meant, but overall I felt that I was able to represent myself and my path authentically. And then, the rabbi sent me to the mikvah for the three immersions that would make me a Jew.

Mateh Esther, Harriet, and Chellema and I rose and walked down the short hallway. I stopped in the bathroom and disrobed, then joined the other three women in the mikvah. My mom and I had peeked in to see it after we arrived at the Ritualarium, so I knew what to expect: a series of steps leading down to a shoulder-deep tiled pool. Hebrew transliterations of the blessings hung from the walls. This was it. I handed my towel and my glasses to Harriet then walked down the steps into the water. You have to immerse a particular way: all parts of the body have to simultaneously be submerged without touching anything else (ie you can't have your feet on the ground). I was so intent on getting the immersion right that I forgot to close my mouth all the way and when I came back up I was choking. I coughed and spluttered for a minute then said the blessing for immersion and Shecheheyanu. After the second immersion I said the Sh'ma and Baruch Shem; after the third immersion, I said as much of the V'ahavta as I knew. Then I climbed back out of the pool and wrapped in the towel. It was surreal. Mateh Esther began singing and clapping and the other women joined in. My mom later told me that they could hear us in the waiting room, and the rabbi joked that it sounded like we were having too much fun.

I went to dry off and get dressed. I remember that I was self-conscious about taking too much time to get dressed, since everyone was waiting for me, so I carried my socks back into the room in my hands and then gave them to Daniel to hold. The rabbi announced the Hebrew name that I had decided on, Shulamit Yiskah, and we signed the papers. Then there were some blessings and the rabbi took out his guitar and began to play. Harriet grabbed my hands and we began to dance, spinning around and around. I grabbed Jade and she joined the circle. Soon everyone in the room, including my parents, had joined hands and was dancing around the small room at the Ritualarium. It was such a moment of joy. Daniel's father Jeff told me afterwards that the look on my face was of pure happiness.

Looking back on the experience, the overwhelming feeling and impression is one of affirmation. The bet din, rather than being a scary, judgmental experience, was one of affirmation and support. I felt fortunate to have my parents there and to know that they're so supportive of this. I know it was a moving experience for both of them, and I think they felt honored to be there.

So, now I'm a Jew. I'm no longer just "interested in" Judaism, or studying for conversion, or exploring my options--I'm a Jew. I'm Jewish. It still feels surreal. Yesterday was my first Shabbat as Jew. The Torah portion was Lekh Lekha, in which God tells Abraham to leave the land of his father and go out to the land that God would show him--an amazingly resonant and significant Torah portion for a convert. During the Torah reading, Harriet handed me a tallis to wear. It felt different to wear a prayer shawl--different, but also oddly comfortable and very, very right.

Good Friday

2008-11-07T21:56:00.000-08:00

I felt like a good teacher today. It was a wonderful feeling.

On Wednesday, I walked into the classroom and two-year-old E looked right at me with a grin. "Jessica, I love you so much!" he said. We should all receive such affirmation.

(I don't really have anything original to say about President-Elect Obama, so I'll just say: WOOOOOOOO! I'm also planning on posting about my bet din and mikvah later this weekend.)

The line of succession

2008-11-02T22:10:00.000-08:00

Daniel's looking at the back of Jessi and the Awful Secret. "What's an alternate officer?" he asks.

"That means she takes over for anybody who can't come to the meetings, like if Stacey is in New York then Dawn's the treasurer," I say.

"So if Kristy's not there, Dawn's the president?"

"Yeah, but Kristy very rarely misses meetings--"

"If Kristy's gone, why wouldn't Claudia just become president, and Dawn the vice-president?"

"Well, that's just not how it works."

"...What if Kristy was shot? That would mean that Claudia would become the president."

"I think if Kristy were shot, the Baby-Sitter's Club would get disbanded."

"The Baby-Sitter's Club must go on, Jessica. THE BABY-SITTER'S CLUB MUST GO ON."

"Prospective Immigrants Please Note"

2008-11-01T23:24:00.000-07:00

Either you will
go through this door
or you will not go through.

If you go through
there is always the risk
of remembering your name.

Things look at you doubly
and you must look back
and let them happen.

If you do not go through
it is possible
to live worthily

to maintain your attitudes
to hold your position
to die bravely

but much will blind you,
much will evade you,
at what cost who knows?

The door itself
makes no promises.
It is only a door.

I found this poem by Adrienne Rich on Rachel Barenblat's Velveteen Rabbi blog last summer. I remember being struck by it then, and feeling like both the poem and Rachel's commentary on it really spoke to my feelings about my conversion. She writes, "I see a chiastic structure here. For me, the middle stanza is the pivot on which the poem hinges. 'If you do not go through / it is possible / to live worthily,' Rich writes. Whatever leap you're considering taking: there's nothing wrong with not taking it. But if you don't take the leap, you won't know what new vision might await you on the other side." It's true: I could live a good life, a worthy life, a noble life as a non-Jew. I could live in tune with my spirituality; I could participate in loving relationship and live an ethical life. But what will blind me? What will evade me? And when I step throught the door, when I come out of the mikvah as a new-born Jewish woman, what "new visions" will be waiting for me on the other side?

Tomorrow, I'm taking the leap. God willing, tomorrow at 2pm at the Portland Jewish Ritualarium I will have my bet din and mikvah for conversion. Please hold me in your thoughts and prayers. I treasure your good intentions and energies directed my way.

B'reishit

2008-10-25T19:49:00.000-07:00

This week, the yearly cycle of Torah readings begins all over again with Genesis 1: "B'reishit," "In the beginning." Tishrei, the last Jewish month, came in with a bang (actually, it literally came in with a blast of the shofar, a trumpet-like instrument made of a ram's horn) on Rosh Hashana; a week later came Kol Nidre and Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year. We rested for a couple days then Sukkot began; Sukkot lasted a week and a day then was followed immediately by Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah. (Simchat Torah was especialy significant for me because it was my very first official Jewish experience, two years ago). (How interesting to re-read the blog entry I wrote about that first Simchat Torah!) Now we ease into the month of Cheshvan, the only Jewish month without any holidays or fast days (finally, a respite!) On Simchat Torah we celebrated the completion of the cycle of Torah portions; now we roll the scrolls back to the beginning and start over again with Genesis. "B'reishit." "In the beginning."

Except, as Reb Aryeh pointed out, "B'reishit" does not mean "in the beginning"--or more accurately, it doesn't have to mean "in the beginning." The Bet (the first letter of the Torah) is missing the diacritical mark that tells you how to pronounce it. If it's pronounced "BAH-rey-sheet" than it means "in the beginning." If it's pronounced "BUH-rey-sheet" then it means "in a beginning."

I just love that. For me, just that article switch opens up whole worlds of interpretive possibilities. What would it mean if we consider that our planet, that we ourselves were part of a beginning, not the beginning? That suggests to me an unending renewal, the sense that we can always begin again. The medieval Kabbalists were turned on to this interpretive possibility (it's not something invented by postmodern theological progressives); according to the rabbi, in the Zohar, Kabbalists elaborate on seventy different ways of understanding what it means to have been created in a beginning.

Another interesting thing that the rabbi pointed out: take a look at the letter Bet, the first letter of the whole Torah. It's closed on one side, and open on the other. Remember that Hebrew is written and read from right to left, so that the subsequent letters flow from the open side of the Bet. Creation flows from the opening of the Bet; Bet literally turns its back on whatever came before. And yet, a little tail extends backwards from the base of the Bet--a little part of the letter reaches back to the space before the beginning. This is significant for me as I think of the beginning of my Jewish life. Like Bet, I'm turning my back on certain things and older ways of being; choosing one path over others. But also like Bet, a little part of me reaches back to what I used to know. This is a beginning for me, but it doesn't necessarily have to be the beginning.

For Daniel

2008-10-02T18:13:00.000-07:00

Happy anniversary! There's no one with whom I would have rather spent the last two years. I love you!

Setting the date

2008-09-21T22:24:00.000-07:00

First thing you do, drive right through that Holland Tunnel,
Pay your toll to the soul on the other side.
Pick up your ticket, everything will be all right...

That's from the song "Holland Tunnel" by John Phillips (of the Mamas and the Papas), from his solo album "John the Wolf King of L.A." Daniel and I saw The Squid and the Whale a few months ago, and then Daniel found the soundtrack at the library; both are wonderful. "Holland Tunnel" is my favorite song off of the soundtrack. It's hard to explain exactly how good it is without hearing it; Daniel suggested that one of the reasons it's such a compelling song is that the kind of soporific accompaniment is so evocative of aimlessly traveling. One blog I read suggested that it's meaningful as kind of a prequel to "California Dreamin'." For me, the line "Pay your toll to the soul on the other side" evokes the sense of leaving, of crossing a boundary and beginning to manifest a new identity: meeting your soul on the other side. The "soul on the other side" of the tunnel could be the toll-taker, but it could also be your new manifestation of yourself--the whole "you never step in the same river twice" kind of thing. There's a sense of uncertainty, maybe some sacrifice ("paying your toll") but at the same time the assurance that "everything will be all right."

If the Bible had a soundtrack, "Holland Tunnel" might be playing when God tells Abram "Lech lecha!" Go take yourself out of the land of your father and go to the land that I will show you. Abram becomes Abraham, Sarai becomes Sarah: they meet their souls on the other side.

Today, Reb Aryeh and I set the date for my conversion. He suggested some time in early December, tying it to Chanukah, a holiday that's all about dedication. That sounded okay, but I asked if we could do it earlier, since I'm anxious to make it official. We started looking at the calendar, and suddenly the first full week of November leapt out: the week when the Torah portion of Lech lecha will be read. What more perfect time for conversion, for my own personal lech lecha, could there be? God willing, on November 2 I will appear before the bet din (religious court) and undergo the mikvah for conversion (immersion in a body of water--kind of like Jewish baptism).

I can't wait to meet that soul. Drive, baby, drive.

You know what I hate?

2008-09-07T13:22:00.003-07:00

When you tell a parent that their child did not take a nap that day, and the parent looks at you all quizzically and significantly, like, "Ohh...?!, as though you were kneeling over their child shaking them, like "WAKE UP HEY YOU WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP." I feel like saying, "Yeah, not only did your child not sleep, but he was so noisy and restless on his mat that he kept everyone else up, too. So take it up with your kid, not with me. Believe me, I wanted him to take a nap, too."

Big brown bear

2008-08-31T17:25:00.000-07:00

Several months ago, my co-teacher Cara brought introduced our class to a wonderful CD called Dance for the Sun: Yoga Songs for Kids. The CD is comprised of a dozen or so original children's songs arranged to walk kids through various yoga poses. Some of the songs on the CD can be listened to without the yoga component, like "Caterpillar, Caterpillar" or my favorite "Midnight Moonlight." The songs are really catchy but also well-arranged and musically interesting.

One of the songs is called "Big Brown Bear." The kids love this song and it's incredibly catchy, but lyrically it's not the best song on the CD. Several of the verses don't rhyme, or don't have a consistent rhyme scheme: "I'm a bear, I'm a bear, I'm a big brown bear / munching on some berries / I think the blue ones are the best." Or: "I'm going fishing / salmon fishing / gonna find some fish to eat / the salmon are the best." Still, though, the kids love singing it and clomping around like bears and it's SO CUTE when they all lie down and curl up at the "Gonna find a cozy cave / and take a long rest" part at the end of the song, so we end up singing it a lot.

The other day I was at home singing the song for Daniel. He was like, "I think you might be giving the children an unrealistic image of big brown bears." Then (this part is in poor taste) we started thinking of how to adapt "Big Brown Bear" to be relevant to the Werner Herzog documentary Grizzly Man. Like: "Gonna find a man to eat / the blond one is the best" and "I'm a bear, I'm a bear, I'm a big brown bear / All you see in my eyes / is emptiness and void."

I don't think I'll be introducing the new lyrics to the children.

Nothing says "enforced joviality" like...

2008-08-22T23:26:00.000-07:00

...getting an email from your boss with the subject heading, "LEMONADE SOCIAL....attendance required."

27 Dresses and The Banger Sisters: A Study in Opposites

2008-08-12T22:34:00.000-07:00

This evening Daniel and I watched 27 Dresses--I know, I know, but I kind of wanted to see it. It looked awful in the trailer, but like possibly either a fun or a hilarious kind of awful that I wanted to experience, so I put it on my Netflix queue.

It wasn't. It was just awful in a mediocre, vaguely distasteful way. The "witty" "banter" fell flat and the characterization was poor. Plus throughout the second act the audio was improperly sync'd, which made it seem like a poorly dubbed foreign film.

On the other hand, The Banger Sisters, which I checked out from the library a month or two ago, was awful in a hilarious, flaming blaze of snakeskin leather pants, faltering English accents, borderline personality disorder-suffering, pseudo deep Jim Morrison references kind of way. Where to begin? How about the awkward and ill-conceived sex scene in which Goldie Hawn's aging groupie seduces neurotic, suicidal writer/hitchhiker Geoffrey Rush? As Daniel put it, "This has to be the least downloaded sex scene in internet history: 'Hey, let's watch Goldie Hawn get it on with the guy from Shine!" Or Goldie Hawn yelling at Susan Sarandon's spoiled kids, a tirade after which they, bowed and humbled, immediately begin to wash the dishes? Or the passing off of common Jim Morrison trivia ("He called himself the Lizard King!") as somehow unique? Or the most incompetent bellboy in the industry, who doesn't understand the meaning of "Please don't tell the crazy lady in the snakeskin what room I'm staying in?" Or Susan Sarandon's entire wardrobe?

Yes, The Banger Sisters was awesome, and it has set the standard for hilariously bad movies. The bar is high, friends. Cool as Ice high.

Hairy-legged feminist

2008-08-07T20:10:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in the last post I stopped shaving my legs a couple months ago. There is a feminist motivation behind it (I do believe that shaving body hair is an artifice of femininity, though I think there's nothing wrong with it per se as long as you acknowledge the artifice), but honestly the primary reason is laziness. I just don't care about having smooth legs enough to expend the time, energy, and money (not to mention the inevitable nicks and cuts) required in keeping them that way. I wear skirts and dresses often, but to my knowledge I've never been looked at askance by anyone I come across for having hairy legs. If anyone at Shaarie Torah or Kesser Israel, the Orthodox synagogue I went to for a lecture on Monday, thought that it was weird, they kept their opinion to themself.

Occasionally now the kids at school notice my hairy legs. The other day I was wearing a skirt out on the playground, sitting on the corner of the sandbox and watching a group of my preschoolers play. S, a four-year-old girl in my class, came up and stood in front of me. She's sometimes like Jekyll and Hyde but we've been going through a great patch for the past couple weeks. She's going through a period of being very affectionate to me. "I love your legs!" she said. "You have hairy legs, but that's okay!" and then she kissed my knee. I don't let the kids kiss me for a multitude of obvious reasons, but she swooped down so fast that I couldn't stop her. There was nothing to do but laugh and tell her that next time she could just blow me a kiss.

Yesterday I was in the sandbox again in a skirt with C, a four-old-boy. I was wearing a skirt again. "Why do have hairy legs?" he asked. "Some women choose to have smooth legs; some women choose to have hairy legs," I explained in my Objective Observation teacher voice. "Oh," he responded, "...my mom chooses to have smooth legs." "I choose to have hairy legs," I said, and he ran off to play with a friend.

As my leg hair has grown in, I've been interested to notice for the first time that it's kind of patchy. My calves, lower shins, and ankles are pretty hirsute, but there is almost no hair on my thighs, knees, or upper shins. And what hair I do have is pretty light and short. I don't know if it's going to get any longer or darker as it grows, but I did tell Daniel that he could tell me if it gets crazy hairy and starts to bother him.

Hello, blog

2008-08-03T09:57:00.000-07:00

It's so hard to start posting again after a month of not posting. I'm not sure whether to jump in with something substantive, or to recount all the minutiae that I enjoy chronicling on my blog: that Daniel and I are on this healthy-eating kick and I've been trying lots of new recipes; that we've also been watching The Ben Stiller Show on DVD and it's really funny, but the guest segments are kind of lame; that we've also been watching Project Runway online and I feel a compulsion to root for Leanne since she's from Portland; that we finally cleaned out the bedroom after saying "We've got to do something about this bedroom" for over a six weeks and it's so nice to be able to see the floor and make a straight path to the door without having to step over stuff; that I decided to stop shaving my legs because it's an artifice and who really cares; that last week at work was really frustrating on Monday but got progressively better until on Friday it was surreally good; that I've read The New York Times Sunday magazine a couple times when I've found it in the magazine rack at the gym and I enjoy it, so maybe I should start subscribing; that I am discovering that I really like cooking; that I put up mezuzot on the doorposts of most of the doors of the apartment and I'd say I remember to kiss them 90% of the time. Stuff like that.

This is not minutiae, but something I left hanging with my last post: the rest of Ruach ha'Aretz was wonderful, with so many precious moments of community and devotion that I hope never to forget. Rabbi Hannah Tiferet Siegel lying on her back in the grass with a group of children, chanting the Sh'ma; an entirely danced Kabbalat Shabbat service led by Rabbi Shefa Gold; my friend Izzy coming into the room during Kabbalat Shabbat immediately after doing the mikvah for conversion and just glowing; learning the blessing for ritual hand-washing ("Netilat Yadaim") from a loving and kind older woman; rising early for morning davennen; learning about nusach (traditional prayer melody) from a cantorial student during lunch. Reb Aryeh, my rabbi from P'nai Or, came for the last few days and Shabbat, and we chatted briefly; he commented that I was probably learning in one week as much as I would learn in a year through attending P'nai Or and independent study. It was true. I appreciated how the retreat showed me not just pretty much the full spectrum of Jewish Renewal (from more traditional nusach to a shacharit service led almost entirely in silent meditation, and everything in between) but a wide spectrum of Judaism. I generally consider myself pretty Jewishly informed and knowledgeable, and it was nice to be knocked down a little bit, to realize what a novice I am and how much more I have to learn.

What a convenient transition to talk about what I was planning on writing about: visiting different synagogues in the Portland area. When I first met with Reb Aryeh in April to announce my intention to convert, he suggested that even though I've officially joined P'nai Or I should visit different synagogues, to see a fuller spectrum of Judaism and to get an idea what it's like out there. Daniel's dad has been totally supportive and has taken me around for Friday night services at a few different places: Neveh Shalom (Conservative), Shir Tikvah (unaffiliated, but pretty Reform), and Beit Haverim (Reform). I've also gone to Havurah Shalom (Reconstructionist) several times on my own. Of the ones I've visited, I feel most comfortable at Havurah Shalom, since I really like the philosophy behind Reconstructionism.

Yesterday I went out of my comfort zone a little and visited Shaarie Torah, a Traditional synagogue in Northwest Portland. That's "Traditional," not Orthodox, because although they have sections designated for single-sex seating, there is also the option of mixed-sex seating, and because they use a microphone at the bima (pulpit). (In an Orthodox syangogue, men and women sit in different sections, separated by a barrier called a mechitza.) Although Shaarie Torah allowed mixed seating, it was not an egalitarian shul: not a single woman was called for an aliyah to the Torah, no woman present wore a prayer shawl, and the liturgy did not mention the names of the matriarchs. There's a part in the Amidah (central standing prayer) where it goes Baruch ata Adonai, magayn Avraham v'ezrat Sarah (Blessed are you God, the shield of Abraham and the helper of Sarah); it was jarring to me for the cantor to end the sentence at "magayn Avraham" and go right to the next paragraph. There were several moments like that during the service.

It was more difficult to follow along with the service because the prayer book did not include transliterations of the Hebrew. I can't read Hebrew, but I can usually follow along pretty well if the prayers are transliterated. There are some parts of the service that I have memorized, like the first few paragraphs of the Amidah, and some parts that I sing along with if someone else is leading, like the V'ahavta, but without the transliterations I miss a lot. I really have to learn to read Hebrew.

I was glad that I was dressed pretty modestly (calf-length fully skirt, elbow-length, high-necked shirt) because all of the women I saw except for one were wearing long skirts, and some wore hats to cover their hair. I felt slightly self-conscious carrying my messenger bag, since I didn't see a lot of other women carrying things (one is not supposed to carry things outside on Shabbat unless you're within an eruv, which is a whole other post), but oh well. I found it somewhat jarring and odd that they said three separate prayers during the service for the United States, for the state of Israel, and for the Israeli Defense Force (for the latter, that their enemies would be "speedily and totally destroyed"). It made me wonder what the political leanings of the congregation were.

I arrived about an hour late to the service, but there were still a full two hours after I arrived. Since yesterday was Rosh Chodesh, the new moon, it was kind of like half a holiday and they added the special holiday prayer service called Musaf, which added a good forty minutes to the service. It was definitely the most liturgically traditional service I've been to.

After the service there was a full Kiddush lunch. The education director introduced herself and some other young people to me; we all sat together and talked. Everyone was super friendly, but I didn't tell a single person that I was not born Jewish. I'm finding that in some communities, like in Jewish Renewal, there's an arms-flung-wide-open acceptance of converts; in others, there's an acceptance but an assumption that I'm converting just to get married (at Neveh Shalom one of Daniel's dad's friends, on hearing that I was converting, responded "Mazel tov! When's the wedding?"); in others, there's more of a distancing. At Ruach ha'Aretz I did not hesitate to tell people about my spiritual journey because I knew I would be understood and the journey would be celebrated, but as I explore other Jewish communities, I'm realizing that I don't have to tell everyone I meet that I was raised Christian and have not officially converted yet. It's my business, and sometimes it's nice to just be assumed Jewish.

I've got a beautiful feeling, everything's going my way

2008-07-03T13:47:00.000-07:00

Every morning here at Ruach Ha'Aretz I've arisen early (6:20) to make it down to the conference center in time for morning davennen (prayer--"Daven" means "to pray" in Yiddish; davennen means prayer, and "davenning" is Americanized Yiddish), led each morning has been led by a different rabbi or rabbinical student. This morning davennen was led by a couple. The man began singing, "Mah tovu ohalecha..." It took me a moment to realize that he was singing it to the tune of "Oh, What a Beautiful Morning" from Oklahoma! The prayer Mah Tovu laudes the beauty and goodliness of Israel's tents and dwelling places. I couldn't think of a nicer way to start the morning.

Korach

2008-06-28T22:40:00.000-07:00

This morning at P'nai Or there was an adult bar mitzvah (occasionally adults who didn't have the opportunity or the inclination to have a bar/bat mitzvah ceremony when they were twelve or thirteen study and prepare for one later in life). The service was so moving: the man's emotion at taking on the responsibility, his wife and teenage daughter's support, the ecstatic dancing during the Mi Chamocha. To me, it perfectly captured the Jewish Renewal mentality and approach to tradition; I wanted to bottle the experience and carry it with me to help describe Renewal to others.

The Torah portion this morning was Korach, from the book of Numbers--it's the story of a man named Korach and a couple of his friends who question why Moses and Aaron should have all the power. Are not all the children of Israel holy? God punishes Korach's rebellion and causes the earth to swallow him and his followers up. In his d'var Torah ("words of Torah," a sermon/speech about the portion) the bar mitzvah man shared some of his wrestling with the text; for him, as for me, it can seem that God is punishing Korach for raising a very legitimate complaint. Why should Moses and Aaron hold all the power? My feelings about the text reminded me of the way that I kind of always sided with Judas in one of the gospel stories: maybe that fine ointment should have been sold and the money donated to the poor. I know the traditional explanations of those verses, and the rabbi did some 'splaining about how the text indicates that Korach, like Judas in that gospel story, was pursuing his own glory and enrichment. Still, though.

Tomorrow I'm leaving for Ruach Ha'Aretz ("The Spirit of the Earth"), a Jewish Renewal retreat in Redmond, Oregon. I'm a mix of excited and nervous right now--nervous about dedicating pretty much a solid week to Jewish practice, prayer, and learning, and excited about, well, dedicating a solid week to Jewish practice, prayer, and learning! I don't think I'll have internet access while I'm there (the resort probably has wireless, but I'm leaving the computer in Portland) so the blog will take a little vacation as well (although with my recent lack of frequent updates, if I hadn't said anything about going out of town, you probably would not notice a difference.) I Hope everyone has a nice 4th!

Koko; symposium; good-bye; article; retreat; Shavuot; teaching

2008-06-20T16:58:00.000-07:00

Koko
The first DVD that Daniel and I watched on our new computer was a French documentary from the 1970s about Koko the gorilla who learned sign language. (Yeah...Koko. That chimp's all right.) I really enjoyed it, both for its discussion of Koko and how I felt that it captured a particular moment in time, a zeitgeist, kind of of. There were many funny and touching moments and you couldn't help but be charmed by Koko and taken with Dr. Penny Patterson, the woman who worked with her. At one point Koko was kind of throwing a tantrum and kept dumping some papers out of a cardboard box, and Dr. Patterson was getting increasingly frustrated. "Koko, you are being a bad gorilla!" she said, as Koko stomped sulking to a corner of her enclosure. I turned to Daniel and said, "That was pretty much my morning."

Symposium
Speaking of work, today another preschool teacher and I took the day off from the classroom to go to a symposium at the Opal School/Portland Children's Museum with our boss. The symposium began Thursday and goes until Saturday; I'm attending the latter two days only. The Opal School is a charter school connected with the Children's Museum that incorporates a Reggio Emilia-inspired approach to education. Different teachers and directors from the Opal School gave presentations about documentation of children's art, creativity and understanding, and the Reggio approach, and we had the chance to visit the classrooms of the Opal School. They were so beautiful and intentional--all the materials so well arranged, all the students' work so meaningfully documented--that I found myself both inspired and discouraged. Inspired, because it gave me some wonderful ideas for my classroom next year, and discouraged because I'm not there yet and I continually struggle with engaging children with special needs (ADHD, conditions on the autism spectrum, oppositional/defiant personalities, etc) with the Reggio approach. More and more I look forward to the beginning of the new school year, and to starting fresh with an almost entirely new group of students--not because the children themselves won't present some of the same challenges I'm having now, but because I feel much more confident, self-assured, and intentional as a teacher now than I did last September.

Good-Bye
Today was my co-teacher Eduardo's last day with us--he's accepted a wonderful job opportunity elsewhere. We've been teaching together for over a year, and I will truly miss him. Since I was gone today at the symposium, yesterday we kind of made a day of it and took the kids for a picnic snack at the nearby municipal rose gardens. After snack, Cara, Eduardo, and I gave the kids some safety guidelines then just let them run around the garden and dip their hands into the fountain. The weather was beautiful, the roses were in bloom and I was filled with such a feeling of joy and peace.

Article
Daniel mentioned to me on Wednesday that this week's edition of the Willamette Week was a front page story on Alex and Brett Harris, the young men behind The Rebelution. I was pretty comically excited--I actually hooted--when I heard that, since I've long been interested in the Rebelution and Reformed Christian culture and theology. After their Portland Do Hard Things conference in the spring, I saw a kid walking around Pioneer Square in one of their T-shirts; I wanted to pull him aside and grill him about his theology and his understanding of what it means to be a rebelutionary. (I didn't, of course. But I wanted to!) You can ready the Willamette Week article here. I admit that after Daniel told me about the article, my immediate reaction was that they should have interviewed me, since I spent so much time on their forum when I was in college. (I think my exact, not-so-humble words were, "I know the most about the Rebelution of anyone who's not a rebelutionary.") But of course, Daniel was right that that was a somewhat illogical reaction, and not necessarily true. Anyways, the article was interesting and I really want to read the God's Harvard book about Patrick Henry College that the article mentioned.

Retreat
Things have come together for me to be able to attend Ruach ha-Aretz, a nationwide Jewish Renewal retreat held this year in central Oregon, and I'm incredibly excited.

Shavuot
The other preschool teacher with whom I went to the symposium is a Seventh-Day Adventist, and during lunch we talked a bit about our different religious traditions. She asked about the process of conversion to Judaism, and I asked if Seventh-Day Adventists practice the gifts of the spirit (speaking in tongues, prophesy, healing, etc). The conversation came around to the holidays of Pentecost and Shavuot. Pentecost, of course, occurs fifty days after Easter ("pente") and commemorates the visitation of the Holy Spirit upon the assembled believers. Shavuot is like the Jewish counterpart, or the Jewish original from which the Christian holiday drew meaning. It occurs fifty days after Passover and commemorates the giving of the Ten Commandments to Moses on Mt. Sinai. It's traditional to stay up all night studying Torah on Shavuot. This year, I made it to about ten forty-five. Next year I hope to crack midnight!

Teaching
A month or so ago I was out on the playground at the end of the day with a few remaining kids from my class, including four-year-old S. S often gets philosophical around 5:30 and goes into this kind of free-verse, prose-poetry way of speaking. "You're Teacher Jessica. You're a teacher. You go'ed to college to be a teacher," she said. Although I try to listen to the kids in conversation more than I speak, my initial urge was to correct her. But then I thought--"Huh, maybe." My degree wasn't in education, but in some way maybe I did go to college to be a teacher. I generally believe that wherever we are we are meant to be; there's possibility of growth and blessing in every place. That's absolutely been true for me in this job. S's comment came within a week or two of my one-year anniversary of teaching preschool. I still want to go to graduate school, but I'm also happy where I am, living in Portland, living with Daniel, learning Judaism, and teaching preschool.

Unreal

2008-06-09T19:32:00.000-07:00

I'm writing a blog post on my (I mean, "our") new computer! Daniel and I went in together to buy a refurbished MacBook...so shiny and beautiful. Buying it felt kind of illicit.

The thing about my old computer is that so many of the different things were broken--the DVD player, iTunes, iPhoto; I couldn't download anything new or upload songs to my iPod. It's exciting and weird to have a computer where everything actually works. (Plus, the Mac store was able to salvage my old hard drive, so hopefully I didn't lose any of my old papers or photos.)

Loss and gain

2008-06-01T15:31:00.000-07:00

On Friday evening there was a tragic accident and some coffee was spilled on my computer's keyboard. Since then the computer hasn't been able to switch on. Many tears were shed. I took it to the Mac Store by the Lloyd Center today, and the guy said that the cost of repairs would exceed the value of the machine, but that for about a hundred dollars they could try to recover the hard drive and "enclose" it for me. We'll try that and cross our fingers that all was not lost. Daniel and I are probably going to buy a new (or refurbished used) computer together. I'm sad about my old computer and I dearly hope that they can recover my files and pictures. I had that computer for five years; it got me through college and through my first post-college year. Well done, good and faithful servant!

Yesterday afternoon I was walking home from the bus stop and passed by this long, gorgeous coffee table with an inlaid wood design. "FREE!" a sign proclaimed. I never pass by free stuff, but this table was four or five feet long and too heavy to carry, so I started dragging it down the sidewalk. I was about two or three blocks from the apartment when a City of Portland utility worker stopped me and said, "Let me do you a favor." He put the coffee table in his City of Portland pickup and delivered it right to my front door. The kindness of strangers, you know?

Uncomfortable

2008-05-22T11:08:00.001-07:00

On Tuesday the divorced father of one of my preschool students asked me out on a date, and the whole experience surely has to be among the five or so most awkward moments of my life. (I talked with one of the directors of the school about it because I was totally weirded out, and she said that it's pretty common for single dads to ask out their children's teachers. Still, though, how could you possibly think that it would be appropriate?)

Overheard on my way back to my classroom as a teacher tried to shepherd five two-year-olds outside

2008-05-13T18:22:00.000-07:00

Teacher: "X, please put on your coat. It's raining outside."
Child: "Why?"
Teacher: "Because it's raining outside. In Oregon, it rains year round, because we live in a temperate climate."
Child: "Why?"
Teacher: "Why do we live in a temperate climate?...Just put on your coat."

Shechehayanu

2008-05-10T09:46:00.000-07:00

On Monday I met with my rabbi to discuss my desire to formally convert to Judaism. I don't know if that will surprise anyone who reads this blog. It's something that's been percolating for over a year, and I've been certain about it for the past couple months--certainly, by Purim, I knew. The rabbi called it a choiceless choice and I think that is an apt description.

Reb Aryeh was very encouraging and said that he was not surprised, but advised that I continue my studies for the next several months, learning more about kashrut, increasing my Shabbat observance, practicing making brachot, and visiting different shuls (since most of the praxis I know now is Renewal and Reconstructionist), and meeting with him periodically to discuss my progress. He suggested that the formal conversion itself--appearance before a beit din and immersion in the mikveh--might take place sometime a little after Rosh Hashanah, which is to say, in the fall. I would love it to fall around Simchat Torah, as it would mark the two year anniversery of my involvement with P'nai Or and my introduction to Jewish life.

More later. Shabbat shalom!

Be Holy, as I your God am Holy

2008-05-04T14:55:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went to the Shabbos service at P'nai Or, as usual. This time, I decided to stay for the Torah study afterwards, which I've never done before. Just a small group of us, maybe ten or twelve people, stayed; the rabbi passed around the Chumashim (texts) and studied the weekly portion in more detail. The portion for the past week was "Kedoshim," the so-called Holiness Code from Leviticus ("kedosh" means "holy" in Hebrew). This portion, as well as Acharei Mot, which we read a couple weeks ago, contains the infamous "a man shall not lie with a man as with a woman" verses; P'nai Or's Torah study mostly consisted of unpacking these verses from a progressive Jewish perspective and locating them within their Sitz im Leben, while still working within a respectful-of-Halachka framework.

For me, this was a timely discussion, since the night before, Eric and Amy and I had talked about those verses as they relate to homophobia within religious discourse and tradition. As I said on Friday, I often find the way that liberal Christians (not Eric and Amy, but speaking generally of theologically liberal traditions, like the UCC) dismiss those verses to be problematic, supercessionist (although I didn't use that word on Friday) and vaguely anti-Semitic. Often I find liberal Christians, in rejecting Acharei Mot and Kedoshim, tend to say, "You can't take the anti-homosexuality verses any more seriously than you take the verses against not mixing different kinds of fabric or touching pig skins." I think there are two distinct positions operating within that sentiment. First, making that point underscores the hypocricy of contemporary fundamentalists/conservative Christians who cherrypick verses from Leviticus to support their homophobia, while ignoring other parts of the Holiness Code. I think this is an absolutely valid and necessary criticism of such Christians.

However, I think there's another tendency among liberal Christians who point out the lesser-known verses of the Holiness Code, and that's to make a mockery of the religious practice of the early Jews and dismiss nearly all of Leviticus out of hand, as though the New Testament renders it unnecessary and unimportant. This position says, albeit in a more subtle way, "Those Jews believed all sorts of crazy legalistic crap about not mixing fabrics and not touching the dead; we Christians are under the New Covenant and don't need those old codes of conduct." It's this attitude--and I think it's widespread, although not well-interrogated or acknowledged, among liberal Christians when they discuss uncomfortable texts like Acharei Mot and Kedoshim--to which I object, and which I find to be rooted in all sorts of anti-Semitic language about legalism and Pharasaical religion. (Let me be clear that I'm not grouping Eric and Amy with those Christians.)

One of the things I've most appreciated about where my spiritual journey has taken me is that, as a Christian, I always had a tendency to dismiss the "Old" Testament, or understand it solely as a historical document; it was interesting from an academic perspective but I didn't find much religious inspiration in it. Living Jewishly has encouraged and required me to take the Torah more seriously, without falling back on the typical Christian impulse to supercessionism. It's been a good change.

Side note: Kedoshim also includes the prohibition against garments made with both wool and linen; this prohibition is known as Shatnez. It's a pretty big deal and is taken seriously within frum (observant) communities. But Reb Aryeh noted that in the days of the Temple, the High Priest wore garments of mixed fabrics. I was shocked to learn that, and in fact there was an audible gasp throughout the congregation. The High Priest also kindled fire within the Temple on the Sabbath, which outside of the Temple was forbidden. Very, very interesting.

As long as you're you, I will love you

2008-05-01T20:43:00.000-07:00

My co-teacher Cara brought in a tape of criminally catchy children's songs a few days ago. The first song begins,

If I were gorilla, ya ya ya ya ya
I'd eat me a banana, na na na na na
And build me a tree house
And swing from the vines
But I'll always come home, 'cause I love you.
Ya ya ya ya ya ya ya.

Other verses begin "If you were a daisy, zee zee zee zee zee" and "If you were a spaceship, tree tree tree tree tree." The chorus goes, "It doesn't matter to me / Whatever you happen to be / As long as you're you, I will love you."

We've been singing these songs every day at Cara's morning circle, as well as throughout the day (I sing a lot throughout the day to calm kids down, to occupy some of them while we're waiting for others to get ready, to get kids over to circle, etc). And this gorilla song has been in my head for DAYS. I was singing it to Daniel the other night: "If I were a gorilla, ya ya ya ya ya...as long as you're you, I will love you." He paused for a minute and then said, "But if you were a gorilla it would change the very nature of your consciousness." It's true--I guess being a gorilla would be a deal-breaker. But I can't amend our preschool lyrics to, "As long as your personhood and consciousness remain fundamentally the same, I will love you." Somehow I don't think the preschoolers would get it.

God's gonna hook you up

2008-04-09T15:06:00.000-07:00

A year ago last November, Daniel and I happened upon the televangelist Paula White fundraising on TBN. As I remember, she was exhorting the viewers to send her $77, or $207, or $2007--some amount of money related to the upcoming year, 2007. She promised that for those who sent in their pledges, "God's gonna hook you up"--which Daniel and I agreed made God sound kind of like some guy your cousin knows out in Gresham who can get you a discount stereo.

The other night we were watching TBN and, sure enough, good old Pastor Paula was up there a-preachin' and a-hollerin- and a-speakin' in tongues. "You get up, and you go to that phone," she pleaded. She sounded close to tears. She gesticulated wildly. People in the audience fell on their knees and lifted their arms. This time, she wanted people to pledge $88, or $888, or $8888--since this is 2008, you see. She explained that sending in money wouldn't guarantee you anything--God's not going to hook anybody up this year, one imagines--but it will put you "in alignment for assignment."

Paula preached--"preached"--for about an hour. She circled around various topics and thoughts. At one point she defended the importance of the eights in $88, torturing a verse from Isaiah. Finally she gave up the exegesis and just shouted, "God CARES about numbers! If God didn't care about numbers, he wouldn't have taken a whole book of the Bible and named it NUMBERS!" Which really just demonstrates, you know, a lack of understanding about trends in modern biblical studies.

This changes everything

2008-03-29T23:24:00.000-07:00

So Daniel's going to be staying here for awhile. We moved his stuff over from his old house this morning and pushed our beds together to make one mammoth bed that takes up about half my bedroom. It's gargantuan, seriously; he commented that it would look like a honeymoon suite if only it were heart-shaped. Anyway, since we had to move my own bed around so that his would fit in next to mine, now my pillow is in a different corner than where it used to be. So this evening I bring my computer over to my bed to read and comment Riana's thesis...and OH MY GOD I CAN PICK UP A WIRELESS SIGNAL! It's very faint and I have to hold the computer just so, but it's there. Hallelujah!

Also: you know how the Applebee's commercials advertise their "killer apps" (appetizers)? The other day I told Daniel that I would buy his dinner (up to $12 value) if he would go to Applebee's and say to the waiter, "I think we're gonna start with some of your killer apps," without a hint of irony in this voice. I didn't think he would do it, but tonight we went to the Applebee's near the Lloyd Center and he proved me wrong. I guess that's why I love him.

This is my school, my high society

2008-03-24T10:41:00.000-07:00

One of the educational philosophies around which my preschool is organized is called the Reggio Emilia approach. A hallmark of Reggio Emilia, as I understand it at least, is emergent curriculum--the idea that teachers plan curriculum around children's interests and natural curiosities, which are ascertained through close listening to children's conversations. Questions and new ideas emerge as children, teachers, and parents discuss the children's interests in an open-ended fashion. Last week the children in my class found a spider in one of our playhouses, and they were so curious about it and asking so many questions that I decided we would read some books about spiders and insects during our learning circle and see where it takes us.

So, all that to explain why last Friday at learning circle I was sitting on the carpet reading The Icky Bug Alphabet Book by Jerry Pallotta to my class of seventeen kids while my co-teacher Cara supported the circle (ie watched and helped kids find seats, addressed squabbles, etc). Each letter in the book is a different unusual insect, but there are funny moments of self-referentiality in the descriptions. The page for the letter U shows a half-painted outline of a beetle and says, "U is for Unfinished Painting. Oops, our artist forgot to finish this insect!" When I read it aloud, Cara kind of guffawed and said, "Huh! I didn't see that coming." I almost, but almost, said, "Yeah, this book is so meta-discursive!" And then the cognitive dissonance of talking about meta-discursivity and self-referentiality with regards to The Icky Bug Alphabet Book was so striking that it almost made my head explode.

The whole magilleh

2008-03-20T13:41:00.000-07:00

Today is both Purim (after sunset, since Jewish days go from sunset to sunset rather than midnight to midnight) and Maundy Thursday; tomorrow will be both Purim (until sunset) and Good Friday. Last year it happened that the Christian Holy Week coincided with the Jewish festival of Pesach (Passover). I tried to observe both religion's holy weeks and was met with varying levels of success--today there's even more cognitive dissonance between the two religions, seeing as how it's the zaniest day of the Jewish calendar and the solemnest day of the Christian calendar. This year, except for Sunday brunch at the chaplain's, I'm sitting out the Christian Holy Week.

Last Saturday after the Torah service at P'nai Or, Reb Aryeh read the Magilleh Esther, the scroll containing the Book of Esther. As Religious Studies nerds and trivia enthusiasts know, the Book of Esther is supposedly the only book in the Bible (Hebrew Scriptures and New Testament) that doesn't contain the name of God. However, as Reb Aryeh pointed out, the word for scroll, "Magilleh," can also be translated as "revealing," and "Esther" is related to the word for "hidden." "Megilleh Esther," then, could be understood as "The scroll of Esther," but also "Revealing the Hidden." In the story, Queen Esther hides her Jewish identity, revealing it at an opportune time to save her people from destruction by Haman, King Ahashverosh's henchman. Reb Aryeh explained that he believes that the name of God and nature of God is also hidden in the text, but can be revealed through close reading and careful study.

Today in honor of Purim, I baked hamantaschen (delicious tri-cornered cookies, shaped like the hat Haman supposedly wore--"hamantaschen" means "Haman's hats" in Yiddish, I believe) with the preschoolers. It was fun, but baking with nineteen three- to five-year-olds is always hectic and confusing and this time was no exception. Plus, the school was short-staffed today so one of my two co-teachers was pulled out to substitute in another class, which throws off our whole routine in terms of when we take our breaks, cleaning, setting up lunch, going outside, etc.

At the beginning of rest time I had to speak with one of the most challenging kids in the class about not bothering others with his rest time toy and he ended up whacking me really hard on the back. It really hurt and it so took me by surprise that I started crying. I think that really shocked the rest of the kids--most of them came over to give me hugs and to check on me (in our class when one child hurst another, instead of encouraging the aggressor to say sorry--which is basically a meaningless phrase to a three-year-old, i.e. you are teaching a child to lie in order to please an adult--we encourage and model empathy by checking on the child who is hurt and seeing what we can do to make them feel better).

So basically the day went from busy but great (baking hamantaschen with the kids) to really crappy (getting hit and crying in front of the kids) in the blink of an eye. Sometimes I get whiplash from this job.

The world's greatest criminal rat

2008-03-12T10:53:00.001-07:00

Hazel, one of the pet rats in my classroom, has a huge tumor or growth of some sort under her throat. One of the kids noticed it at snack--"Look, the rat has an eggsack!" he said, and at first I thought maybe it was a male rat and he was noticing the testicles. It feels weird to be so concerned for the life of our classroom rats, at the same time that I'm trying to stamp out their cousins from my apartment.

Free to be you and me

2008-03-11T14:51:00.001-07:00

Springing forward, with its accompanying loss of an hour of sleep, has been difficult for both me and the kids. Yesterday was great. All days at work should be like yesterday. But today the kids ran me over with a steamroller. If I had more energy I would go to Bible Study or my yoga class tonight or downtown for free WiFi or...but instead I will probably lay on the couch with The Walrus was Paul, a glass of Charles Shaw and watch American Idol. My coteacher Cara has been teaching the kids songs from the classic anthology Free to Be You and Me (and what a cultural artifact, with introductions by Judy Blume and Paula Danziger and Gloria Steinem and an afterward by Kurt Vonnegut--I want to take it home and just pore over it; I love that kind of print media from the seventies), so as though walking around in a hazy daze of lost sleep isn't enough, the soundtrack to my sleepwalking is "I see a land where the children are free...and you and me...are free to be, you and me." It's weird.

Awhile ago Amy turned me on the blog Feminist Mormon Housewives. Check out the post entitled Is There Anything Eternal About a Skirt?, which is all about gender performance and the eternal nature of gender in Mormonism and the LDS community. Mormon doctrine holds that sex/gender (the distinction between the two seems to be lost by church hierarchy) is eternal and that people live gendered lives in the celestial kingdom, but what aspects of contemporary gender performance are eternal? The comments on the post are interesting too, especially the discussion of Judith Butler. Another interesting post points out that for most Americans, racism is still a much stronger taboo than sexism; hence Hilary Clinton can be criticized and ridiculed by the public and by pundits in ways that would horrify if they were applied to Barack Obama.

A final recommendation for a laugh: "A Short Salvation": Key to the Scriptures? on Internet Monk.

This week in God

2008-03-08T13:02:00.000-08:00

It's been so long since I've been to a Torah service at P'nai Or (the last one I went to was around Hanukkah, probably, before I got sick) that I'd forgotten the feeling of it. It's so hard for me to force myself to get out of bed early on a Saturday and shlep over to the southwest suburbs, especially when I've been to a Friday night service at Havurah Shalom the night before (as I did last night)--and there's a kind of worship, too, in spending Shabbat morning in one's own bed with a good book, a cup of coffee, and an omelet, or listening to music and doing a deep-clean of one's apartment. But I was glad that I forced myself to get up and go to the service today.

My friend Helana was there and offered some interesting words about Rosh Chodesh, the celebration of the New Moon (today is the New Moon and the first day of the second month of Adar, the Jewish leap month***). She spoke about Rosh Chodesh being a traditional women's holiday, honoring women for not participating in the creation of the golden calf, and noted how as women were suppressed by Judaism the observance of Rosh Chodesh fell by the wayside. In the 1970s Jewish feminists began recuperating the tradition. Helana also talked about how the sliver of waxing crescent that one sees after the New Moon is representative of the Shekhina, the divine feminine presence of God; the Shekhina becomes more and more present as the moon waxes, and when the moon is full the Shekhina has reached its union with the Keter, the masculine crown of God. (The Shekhina and the Keter are two of the ten sefirot, or holy emanations of God according to Kabbalah.) It was an interesting interpretation (a little essentialist, but what are you going to do?) and she described it well.

I finished Eric Larson's book The Devil in the White City this past week, and I can't recommend it highly enough. It's a historical narrative that weaves together the story of the architect who conceptualized and built the 1893 Chicago World's Fair with the true story of a serial killer who operated in Chicago at the same time. I wish I had been able to take the Religious Studies seminar about the 1893 World's Fair--it sounds absolutely fascinating (Eric, I want to hear all about it). I also finished Under the Banner of Heaven recently, which I also recommend, although it should be read with a hermeneutic of suspicion. What's up next? The Walrus was Paul: The Great Beatle Death Clues by R. Gary Patterson, about the "Paul is Dead" rumors that swept the nation in the late 1960s. I love a good conspiracy theory.

Finally, Daniel and I have caught glimpses of at least two mice, and one possible rat (I know...I know), in my apartment, and I will not rest until those brazen little fuckers are dead. There will be blood.

***The Hebrew calendar is lunar instead of solar, so a year has fewer days than the Gregorian calendar (and each Hebrew month has fewer days than one of "our" months). As a result the festivals tend to "scoot up" on the calendar--that's why Hanukkah was so early this past year. But if this was allowed to continue unencumbered, after awhile you would be celebrating Hanukkah in the summertime and Pesach in the winter. A leap month of Adar II is added every so many years, so that the festivals still fall around their correct time of year.

Five things about the last six weeks

2008-02-27T13:06:00.000-08:00

1. Last week I turned 23; ten days before that Daniel turned 25. We ended up going to the Doug Fir on lower east Burnside (you know, LoBu) for both of our birthday dinners because they have this delicious smoked salmon and trout platter and the seared ahi is to die for. Carla and I had a joint birthday party and I think a good time was had by all.

2. Last night I cooked French Onion soup and watched American Idol and read Under the Banner of Heaven, and I couldn't think of any other way I would have rather spent the evening. The bloom is not yet off the rose of living alone.

3. I got a $1.05 raise! It's the result of various work-drama-related things that ended up working out in my favor. I figured out that it makes a difference of about eight dollars a day, or almost four hundred dollars a month (300-325 after taxes).

4. I went to the doctor a couple weeks ago and he thinks I'm developing allergies, and that's why I've been snuffly and cough-y for the past three months.

5. This is the first Lenten season that I haven't observed in at least seven or eight years; it feels different, not bad, just different.

Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match / Find me a find, catch me a catch

2008-02-25T14:50:00.000-08:00

I've only gone to Erev Shabbat services at Havurah Shalom (a Reconstructionist shul) a few times, and I've only met a handful of people there. Although I don't remember it, I guess one of those people was Susie, a short woman with curly grey hair and a New England accent, because during the oneg last Friday she came up to me and chirped, "Hi, Jessica!" I greeted her in turn and then she said, "You left so quickly last week that I didn't have a chance to ask you: Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Yes, I do," I said, sort of surprised. I thought that maybe she knew Daniel's family or something.

"Darn!" she said, with an exaggerated finger snap. "Because I have the perfect boy for you!"

I thanked her anyway and considered telling her that at least my boyfriend is Jewish, but decided that that was unnecessary. We said shabbat shalom and she went off to grab another piece of challah. I found it to be a funny moment: I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I've davened there, and she's already trying to fix me up with a nice Jewish boy.

I didn't mean to disappear from the blogosphere for a month--I'll post more tomorrow or the next day. In the meantime, I found Internet Monk's post Three Days Among the Mainlines to be interesting and elucidating. And praise the Lord, Twisty's back at I Blame the Patriarchy!

Shalom bayit

2008-01-21T13:35:00.000-08:00

If there is a more peaceful, pleasant way to spend a wintery Sunday morning than in one's own apartment, drinking coffee, listening to music and arranging one's books on the shelves while homemade matzah ball soup simmers on the stove, then I would like to know what it is.

(Shalom bayit means peace or harmony in the home.)

Moved

2008-01-18T18:41:00.001-08:00

Last week I moved into my new apartment in North Portland. I'm still unpacking, but the place is definitely taking shape. I was worried, to tell the truth: I stopped by after work on Friday to do some cleaning and was having big-time buyer's (well, renter's) regret. A year lease is a long time, at least at this point in my life, and with the place all bare the scuffed-up floors looked even worse than I had remembered. Suddenly I worried that I hadn't made the right decision, that I had signed myself into a crappy place that I would end up disliking. I comforted myself with, of all people, Carolyn McCulley's words about how people who lock themselves into decisions they can't get out of are happier in the long run than people who keep their options open.

Daniel's dad rented a van and the three of us spent Saturday afternoon hauling over my stuff from my old house; after moving my stuff over we drove around to a couple different thrift stores and ended up finding a great dining room table for $30 at the Goodwill on NE Broadway. We also got two dining room chairs for only fifty cents each! You can't really beat that price. The next day parents brought up a bunch of stuff from Eugene, including two large bookcases, a coffee table, a nice set of pots and pans (an early birthday present, according to my mom), an arm chair, and some toiletries. At this point I have almost all of my books on the shelves, but they're not sorted at all; my project for this weekend is going to be to rearrange them by topic and possibly, on the fiction shelf, alphabetically. The most-represented subject area is Religious Studies, of course, and within that subject area, the largest sub-section is Jewish Studies. I'm thinking that I'm going to put all my Religion books in one case and then post this set of illuminated Hebrew letters (a calendar that I'm planning on taking apart to use as wall decoration) I have next to the bookcase. (When my parents were up in Portland, my mom asked me if I was planning on getting a mezuzah for my doorpost. I said maybe.)

I've spent almost a week in my new place, and so far it's been great. I'm only a five-minute bike ride to work, which has been great since the roads have been icy in the mornings (in my old house I was about twenty hilly minutes away). I'm close enough to ride home during my lunch break, so I'm saving money by not eating out or going to Starbucks. Daniel has spent several nights over and it's just so different and wonderful to have the whole place to ourselves and not have to worry about all the things you worry about living with roommates. The floors are still scuffed--I mean, they're really in bad shape--but that's less noticeable with my furniture in place. I'm planning on having a joint housewarming/birthday party in mid-February (my birthday is the 18th); stay tuned for further notice.

On a less upbeat note, I'm still sick. I have an excrutiating pain in my left rib area that makes it difficult to sleep or find any comfortable position lying down. Rising from a supine to a sitting position in bed is all but impossible. Plus, two of my preschoolers have recently come down with strep throat and scarlet fever (!!! except it's actually just a variant on strep throat, and is not as serious as it sounds)--so when I woke up yesterday feeling feverish and with a painful sore throat, I called in sick. I went to the doctor yesterday afternoon (thank God for health insurance) and while I don't have strep throat, blood work indicated that my white blood cell count is elevated, which suggests a bacterial infection. I'm back on antibiotics and Tylenol with codeine for the rib pain (the nurse thought that it was just a pulled muscle and suggested I take ibuprofen, which struck me as so insulting and dismissive of my pain that I started crying in the examining room). She suggested I take today, Friday, off as well. Since I have Monday off for MLK Day, that makes it a five day weekend. Daniel and I spent the morning at home then, since I was feeling better, headed downtown for a late lunch from the foodcarts on SW 5th and Stark and an afternoon at Powell's.

Finally, a recommendation: all Religious Studies-types, in my opinion, should take to reading Internet Monk, a blog whose subtitle is, appropriately, "Dispatches from the Post-Evangelical Wilderness." Fascinated as I am by the Reformed blogosphere, I can only take so much Young Ladies' Christian Fellowship-style reading before clicking over to Internet Monk, whose sensible and intellectual posts provide a much-needed counterbalance to the other blogs I read. Among the many things I appreciate about Internet Monk are his flat-out rejection of the prosperity gospel and his timely criticism of Joel Osteen. Also check out his post Answers Not in Genesis, a reference to the Young Earth Creationist group Answers in Genesis.

Happy beginning of the semester to my Lewis & Clark friends! Chris and Emilie, welcome back to the country; I can't wait to see you guys and hear all about your travels and experiences. To everyone, let's get together soon.

Mars, Venus, etc

2008-01-09T18:39:00.000-08:00

According to Reformed blogger Tim Challies, I am a man. Who knew?

(My family used to always give me scented bath lotions and shower gels for Christmas and my birthday until I called a moratorium on all Bath & Body Works products. I can't use the stuff because of skin sensitivity and sensory issues, and I don't relish collecting it in a drawer. As gifts go, I think bath products are about as impersonal as you can get. They're like an anti-gift.

I do have to agree with Tim, though, when he writes that "putting on new socks is one of life’s most underrated and overlooked pleasures." It's so true; in fact, my dad once said that if he ever won the lottery he would wear a new pair of socks every day.

Also, anyone interested, as I am, in the Reformed Christian blogosphere should be reading Challies' blog.)

Ribbed

2008-01-05T12:58:00.000-08:00

After coughing and sneezing all through the month of December and suffering through severe chest pain that I was positive was a fractured rib, I finally went to the doctor on New Year's Eve. The doctor listened to my lungs through a stethoscope for a moment, then announced that I had walking pneumonia. (Me: "What's the difference between regular pneumonia and walking pneumonia?" Doctor: "Walking pneumonia is where you walk around coughing for a month." Me: "Touché.") She prescribed this breathing treatment, a kind of inhaler-machine of nebulized steroids that I breathed into for about twenty minutes in her office and that made me incredibly jittery, then said some of the most feared words I could imagine: "Is there any possibility that you might be pregnant?" She ordered a pregnancy test to make absolutely sure that I wasn't before sending me down to have my ribs X-rayed, since the radiation could damage a fetus. I knew that the pregnancy test would come back negative but that didn't stop me from freaking out slightly while I waited. At this point I'm still tweaking like crazy from the steroid breathing treatment. I've only had X-rays taken once before in my life and I started crying while I was waiting for the technician to call me into the lab. Luckily I pulled it together before the technician was ready for me.

As it turned out my ribs looked fine and the doctor hypothesized that my chest pain is coming from an inflammation in the lining of my right lung that's pressing against my rib cage in an uncomfortable way. She offered to prescribe me Vicodin for the pain but I turned it down, since the idea of taking something so addictive made me nervous. I went away with prescriptions for a narcotic cough syrup, non-narcotic cough suppressant pills, an antibiotic for my lung infection, and an inhaler. She advised that I take at least one day off from work and suggested that I consider taking the rest of the week off. For various reasons I ended up only taking one day off.

When my health insurance first kicked in, several months ago, I was shocked at how expensive it was and joked that I better break a leg or something to make it worth the hundreds of dollars that I've already paid into it. I take it back! I hate being sick. At this point I've finished the course of antibiotics and am halfway through the delicious narcotic cough syrup, but I'm still coughing and it still feels like there's a metal band around my lungs. If I'm not better by MLK Day, I'm going to make another doctor's appointment. It's an inauspicious beginning to 2008, to say the least.

Notes on going through my books

2007-12-25T13:17:00.001-08:00

1:16pm: I've never read anything by Karen Armstrong or Rick Warren--so how did I end up with two copies of The Battle for God and two copies of The Purpose-Driven Life? I'm keeping one of the Armstrongs, but ol' Rick Warren is going straight into the sell-back pile.

1:17: Mama Lola: Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn by Karen McCarthy Brown: YES. What a phenomenal book.

1:20: I quickly realize that I don't actually want all my religion books to come with me to Portland: I have no desire to ever again read The Vimalakirti Sutra. That might be influenced by memories of the professor, though.

1:23: Am I ever again going to need to reference Between Athens and Jerusalem: Jewish Identity in the Hellenistic Diaspora by John J. Collins? When I randomly open the book I come to the subject heading "Pseudo-Eupolemus." I think that answers my question. (On the other hand, I found myself thinking about the Letter of Aristeas the other day...maybe I should keep it around.)

1:28: Why do I have a copy of The Notebook? Gross.

1:30: Someday, I bet I'll finish The House of Mirth.

1:35: The 1992 World Almanac and Book of Facts. Yep.

1:43: Was Willa Cather a Christian Scientist? I find in my books a biography written by Cather of Mary Baker Eddy, the founder of Christian Science. I haven't read it, so I don't know if it's a hagiographical or critical. Hmmm.

1:48: Elementary Differential Equations: Seventh Edition. I took that math class at the University of Oregon my senior year in high school, which means that I've had this book for over five years. I'm sure I just held on to it for so long because I resented shelling out almost a hundred dollars for it back in 2002--used, even!

2:00pm: Done with the first four boxes. Six more to go...

Merry Christmas!

2007-12-25T11:15:00.000-08:00

My fever is down to around 99.6, which is really just high-normal. I'm still coughing a lot and producing copious amounts of phlegm and snot (at school with the kids, we're not supposed to use the word "snot," since the directors think it has a negative connotation; rather, we are supposed to say calmly and empathetically, "S., I notice you have some mucus dripping down your face; let's get a tissue together"), but I feel like I'm on my way back to health. Hurray!

My parents gave me a huge bookshelf for Christmas for my new apartment, so I'm looking forward to going through the boxes and boxes of books I have down here in Eugene and deciding what I want with me in Portland. I'm operating with only a skeleton of my collection right now, since I've been moving a lot this summer; now that I'm going to be in the same place for at least a year, I think I want all my feminist books, all my religion books, all my sociology/anthropology books, and all my Baby-Sitter's Club books.

Finally, I just got an email from McSweeney's--they're going to publish on their website a New Food Review I wrote! The email said that it might take several months for it to make it to the front of the queue; I'll let you all know when it shows up.

I hope everyone is having a great day!

Sick!

2007-12-23T19:06:00.000-08:00

Update: So now I'm "pretty sure I'm running a fever"--to the tune of 103.6 degrees. I'm taking fever reducers and drinking lots of water, and so far it's gone down a degree, but my roommate tells me that if it goes over 104 I have to go to the emergency room. Eep. Keep me in your thoughts, please.

I'm generally a healthy person, but for the past two weeks I've been battling a nasty cold. It started with an innocent cough the week of Chanukah; on the way back from P'nai Or's Chanukah party, my co-worker/friend Jade asked about it and offered me a cough drop. I think most cold remedies and treatments are exactly as effective as placebos, so I declined (without going into my reasons why). (Incidentally, there was a great article in the last Skeptic magazine about cold remedies and Emergen-C, etc.) (Also incidentally, Skeptic is a fantastic publication, and one I reference a lot.) My cough got worse over the week, culminating in taking Friday off to try to kick it over the weekend. By Monday morning I felt worse than Friday, but I can't really afford to take more time off of work unless I'm actively vomiting or bleeding from the eyes (ah, to be a wage slave!). So I just tried to avoid close contact with the kids and wash my hands a lot. A lot of parents gave us holiday presents so that was a big upper, but baking sugar cookies with the preschoolers had the same result as delivering a syringe full of saccharine straight to their veins, so that was a downer. I was feeling better by Saturday afternoon, but today out at breakfast with Daniel I felt really weird and clouded-over and now I'm pretty sure I'm running a fever. I'm taking a late morning bus down to Eugene tomorrow; it will not be fun. The upside is that I have a paid vacation all of next week, as well as Monday and Tuesday of the week afterwards. It will be the longest I haven't worked since I began the job in May.

Other than being sick, things have been going pretty well. I'm reading a very interesting book called A Gay Synagogue in New York by Moshe Shokeid, an Israeli anthropologist. It's an ethnography written in the early/mid-1990s of Congregation Beth Simchat Torah, the largest gay synagogue in the country, and is interesting from a theoretical sociology/anthropology of religion viewpoint, a Judaic Studies viewpoint, and a Feminist/Queer theory viewpoint...hey, that's all my interests, wrapped up in one book! Next on the docket is Devil in the White City, a true crime book about the 1893 World's Fair in Chicago...a topic with which I imagine Eric is all too familiar.

This evening I went to a Chanukat Habayit, a kind of Jewish housewarming and mezuzah scroll hanging at the home of a friend of mine from P'nai Or. When she sent out the invitation, I assumed it was a party having something to do with the holiday of Chanukah; in reality, "Chanukah" just means "dedication"--as in, the holiday celebrates the dedication of the Temple by the Hasmoneans/Maccabees after it was sacked by the Romans. I knew that Habayit meant "the home," as in the phrase "shalom bayit," peace/harmony in the home, which is traditionally the woman's responsibility to foster. So, "Chanukat Habayit" means "Dedication of the Home." You learn something new every day. I was stressed out about arriving late and missing the mezuzah-hanging ceremony because the bus was off-schedule, but as it turned out, even arriving ten minutes late for the ceremony, I was twenty minutes ahead of the rabbi. The ceremony itself was beautiful and meaningful, and full of kavvanah (spiritual intention).

Finally, I am moving again in mid-January, this time to my very own A Room of One's Own apartment in North Portland. I'm looking forward to living alone. I paid the security deposit last Thursday, and will sign the papers in the first week in January. Apartment-warming news forthcoming!

I look forward to seeing you all again in January, especially those of you who have been away this semester. Merry Christmas to all, and Happy New Year!

Fantasy!

2007-12-16T11:27:00.000-08:00

I've been sick enough recently to justify taking last Friday off from work. I spent most of my day off laying in bed, drinking tea and reading Fantasy: The Incredible Story of the Cabbage Patch Phenomenon, which I bought a week and a half or so ago at the vintage store down the street from my house. I now know more than any reasonable person should about Xavier Roberts, founder of Original Appalachian Artwork, Inc, and inventor of the Little People babies, which were renamed the Cabbage Patch Kids after a licensing deal was struck with Coleco toy company. Expect all future conversations to be peppered with Cabbage Patch trivia.

Edited to add: After checking my referral logs, I'm a little tickled to find that I'm the number three response on Google for "use tampons on Shabbos;" I doubt the searcher found the answer she was looking for on my blog, though. I'm not an expert on the subject, but I don't see any reason an observant Jew couldn't use a tampon on the Sabbath, provided it was already removed from its wrapping (since one is not permitted to tear anything, including toilet paper, on Shabbos).

Zing!

2007-12-12T14:45:00.000-08:00

Excerpted from a comment on a discussion at Internet Monk (excellent blog, by the way):

"...I likewise know lots of crypto-Christians who insist on the Christian label despite their rejection of about half the Apostles Creed. What makes them call themselves Christian? Because they like Christian traditions, they’re fond of Jesus’s pacifism, and they like being spiritual without being religious. But when I call them Deists, they object… because they don’t reject Jesus. (Just His deity, lordship, sinlessness, forgiveness, resurrection, present-day mediation, gift of the Holy Spirit, and eventual return.)"

Well, if the shoe fits...

I'm curious how my Christian friends would respond to this comment?

Bail!

2007-12-08T16:42:00.000-08:00

Last night I went to a house party in North Portland for about eight minutes. I first heard about it from my co-teacher Eduardo; during afternoon snack, right before he left for the day, he asked me in Spanish if I was going to go (shhhh: we gossip in Spanish a fair amount throughout the day, which helps keep me from going crazy) and we made loose plans to meet up around nine-ish at the house of one of our other co-workers. Out on the playground at the end of the day, another preschool teacher who I'm friendly with asked if I was going to go and we, again, made the sketchiest of plans to meet up there. All the party information was posted on the refrigerator in the staff room. I copied down the address and dutifully looked up the bus information on the staff computer.

By the time I got home from work, I had a pounding headache and wanted nothing more than to curl up on the couch with a glass of wine and Kristy and the Haunted Mansion. I wished that Eduardo had never told me about the party--then I wouldn't feel any obligation to go or regret if I skipped it. But I would like to be better friends with my co-workers and I've always enjoyed socializing with them in the past, so I decided to suck it up and head over there.

I arrived around 9:45. There were a dozen or so people standing around talking in the living room and kitchen of the house; there wasn't anyone I recognized. I looked around for the co-worker whose house it was; she was nowhere to be found. Eduardo was not there. I used the bathroom and thought of what I was going to do. When I came out of the bathroom, I pretended I had to take an urgent call, got the hell out of there, and went back to the bus stop to wait for the next bus back to the Rose Quarter.

It was a comic and slightly ridiculous situation that mirrored almost exactly an experience that Daniel and I had a few weeks ago. Another co-worker had sent out an email inviting everyone to a "mustache party" she was having with her housemates on Mississippi. I would say that she downplayed the mustache element of the party in her email: when Daniel and I got there, every single person (and there were a lot of people there) was mustachioed and bunched together in the kitchen. No one noticed us enter except for one guy wearing a paste-on black mustache, who smiled at us in a creepy way that managed to be both vacant and all-knowing. "I kind of want to get out of here," I said to Daniel, and we high-tailed it back to the bus stop.

Next time I go to a party, I hope I won't have to bail out--but I do end up leaving right away and busing it back home, at least $1.75 isn't too much for a scenic bus tour of North Portland.

Erev Shabbat at Temple Beth Israel

2007-11-24T23:26:00.000-08:00

Friday night I went to Shabbos evening services at Temple Beth Israel, the local Reconstructionist synagogue. Since P'nai Or was my first real experience of Jewish services, I'm always interested in seeing how other synagogues, and other Jewish denominations, compare and contrast with what I've come to know at P'nai Or. Some things that are seen as totally commonplace at P'nai Or--for instance, blessing a baby by laying it on the Torah--are apparently so unusual that when I mentioned them my thesis advisor Sylvia or Kugler, their eyebrows nearly shot off their foreheads. Kugler chuckled in surprise and said something like, "Better kasher that Torah," whereas Sylvia's response was more of wide-eyed shock mingled with horror.

Despite TBI's official affiliation, my impression is that the Jewish community in Eugene isn't really large enough to support several synagogues, so TBI attracts everyone except the Orthodox, not just those who have a spiritual or philosophical commitment to Reconstructionism. There's a pretty strong Renewal ethos at TBI as well; in fact, the senior rabbi at TBI received his smicha, or rabbinic ordination, from Reb Zalman Shachter-Shalomi, the founder and rebbe of Jewish Renewal, and is good friends with Reb Aryeh of P'nai Or. We actually sang one of Reb Aryeh's songs during the services. The other rabbi at TBI received his smicha from the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College. Some day, I think a fascinating avenue of research would be on the philosophical, spiritual, historic, and social relationships between Jewish Renewal and Reconstructionism.

Compared to P'nai Or, Kabbalat Shabbat at Temple Beth Israel was different in some ways and the same in other ways--of course, right? A couple of the songs were the same, but sung in a slightly different way. Other elements of the service were sung with a totally different melody than what I was used to, like the Barehu. We probably sing a little more in English at P'nai Or, but at TBI we read a couple prayers in English right out of the siddur, which we generally don't do at P'nai Or. Reconstructionism has an official siddur, or prayer book, called Kol Haneshama, while I think each Renewal congregation puts together their own, though drawing from some common Renewal sources. Kol Haneshama had some interesting notes and annotations accompanying some songs and prayers, but sometimes it was difficult to find the transliterations of the Hebrew, especially when we skipped around in a song.

During the oneg after the service I talked for awhile with the woman I was sitting next to, who is in the process of converting. It turns out that both of us had assumed that the other was a born Jew and when we discovered that neither of us was, we had a good time talking about our journeys. The oneg itself seemed a tad more halakhically observant than at P'nai Or. They salted the challah, which I had never seen done before, and there was a pitcher and basin for anyone who wanted to do the ritual handwashing. I don't think anyone did it on Friday, but when I've been to Shabbat morning services at TBI I've seen some people do it. Overall it was an enjoyable and meaningful service and made me look forward to the next Kabbalat Shabbat service at P'nai Or.

Blog updates have been, and will continue, to be sparse until I get my computer situation figured out (my wireless card is either damaged or broken). I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving!

Water, water, everywhere

2007-11-09T19:04:00.000-08:00

This morning when I rode my bike up to work, the doors of the school were all propped open and water was running out of them. I jumped off my bike, stepped into the the building, and my jaw dropped open. At least an inch of water covered the floor. Several of my co-workers had brooms and were sweeping water towards the drains in the hallway. Others were hauling furniture outside. The director was pacing around carrying a clipboard and wearing rubber boots. Needless to say, there was nary a child in sight.

Apparently sometime last night, a water main in the ceiling above the younger toddler room burst, flooding the whole school. The force knocked down a row of shelves in the toddler room, including the shelves that were holding all the children's journals (we're required to keep a journal for each child, which we update multiple times a week). Some of those journals were started when the child was an infant. When S, the toddler teacher, found the journals in the morning, they were lying in a pool of water, all the words washed away. S was near tears when she told me about finding the journals. About a third of the ceiling panels in that room came down was well; another third were so swollen with water that we were concerned they would fall on us as we cleaned the room. S finally poked them with the end of a broom handle until they came crashing down with a thud and splash. Water ran down the insides of the wall in between S's room and my room; the wall has kind of a spongy feel to it now and will probably have to be torn out and replaced. All of the baseboards will probably have to be replaced to guard against mold. Carpets may have to be replaced. Plumbing will have to be reworked--at the very least S needs a new sink for her room since the shelves fell on their sink and knocked it out of the wall.

My shift begins at 9; I worked with everyone trying to salvage what we could and document the damage for an insurance claim for a couple hours. A little before noon, the director told us that there was nothing more we could do and sent us home. We're closed for Monday for Veteran's Day, and probably the rest of next week as well--possibly for two more weeks. The person I feel worst for in the whole situation is J, the school owner and executive director: she just left yesterday for a two-and-a-half week vacation in Mexico with her family.

Hope it works out better for you than it did for me

2007-10-24T20:19:00.001-07:00

I derive no end of mirth from the fact that the vast majority of my blog referrals come from people searching some combination of Teach for America Final Interview Advice. For some searches, I'm the number one result--even ahead of Teach for America's own website! TFA applicants, best of luck to you, but don't take my advice: I was rejected!

(Of course, in reference to the title of this post: it did work out for me. I found a great job teaching at a private preschool and get to spend more time with my wonderful boyfriend and friends from college, and live in a city that I come to appreciate and love more and more each time I bike over the Steel Bridge or down NE Alberta. Getting rejected was a blessing in disguise, although it sure didn't feel like it at the time. So really, I guess I can say: I hope it works out exactly as well for you as it did for me--which is to say, very well.)

Unchurched

2007-10-21T21:35:00.000-07:00

I spent about an hour and a half in the Powell's reading room this afternoon. I brought three books in with me. The middle-aged man across the table kept staring at me in a way that was slightly discomforting. As I gathered my things to leave, the man noticed the title of one of the books: The Year of Living Biblically by A. J. Jacobs. "What's that book, about living biblically?" he asked. I moved the book so that he could read the title. He smiled at me. "What church do you go to?" he asked.

The way he asked it, and the way he smiled, made the question seem like the preface to either a pick-up or an evangelization. I wasn't interested in either. "I don't go to church," I said, and left.

As I walked out of the reading room I realized the weight of what I had said. It's true: I haven't been to church since early May. The past few Sundays I've thought about visiting one of the churches in my area, or checking out Imago Dei, but have ended up staying home and reading Christian or feminist blogs instead. Being a practicing, church-going Christian used to be such a huge part of how I defined myself; now, I'm honestly not sure whether I still consider myself a Christian.

...And when it's bad it's horrid

2007-10-16T20:50:00.000-07:00

Little Boy C makes me feel inadequate and ineffectual as a teacher, and then I come home and lay in bed and think about things and worry and cry.

(Edited to add: Oh, how I relate to this post of Mizz Marvel's: say hello to your symbol of childhood ocd. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I know more about the Baby-Sitter's Club than I do about any other single subject. And right now, I think I'm going to go take a long bath and read Welcome Back, Stacey and eat a caramel apple and drink red wine. Take that, C!)

Confidential to an acquaintance from high school, with whom I am now Facebook friends

2007-10-15T19:41:00.001-07:00

You don't get to say that Fight Club and Garden State sucked if you list Forrest Gump (ode to anti-intellectualism) and Independence Day as two of your favorite movies. As Amy could tell you, the "Q" in "Randy Quaid" doesn't stand for Quality.

(That said, I do still think that Indpendence Day would be a fun movie to get drunk and watch all together...and I did used to have a crush on Jeff Goldblum (shut up).)

Hitchens is not great

2007-10-14T13:54:00.000-07:00

Man, if there's one self-professed public intellectual/professional curmudgeon I can't stand, it's Christopher Hitchens.

Yesterday morning the Powell's Review-a-Day service sent me a review of God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything by Christopher Hitchens. The review was written by Richard Dawkins. Yeah, like that's going to be an objective review.

When it's good, it's very very good

2007-10-13T17:36:00.000-07:00

Teacher Cara and I are beginning an octopus exploration with the kids. We're reading books about octopuses (didactic side note: "octopi" is a common but incorrect pluralization) and squid and talking about how we can convert our classroom loft into an octopus's garden. We spend our days singing "Octopus' Garden," listening to the kids' amazingly creative sea creature stories, and tossing around ideas about papier mache-ing a giant octopus for the loft. It's strange to think that at this time last year, I was killing myself over ancient Near Eastern apocalypticism, Lazarillo de Tormes, and Judith Butler.

(Of course, the opposite is true too: teaching preschool full-time has convinced me as could nothing else that I really do want to go to graduate school.)

Whiplash is a Five-Point Calvinist

2007-10-06T16:09:00.000-07:00

Stinker and Piglet, our classroom guinea pigs, died late this week. When my co-teacher Cara went to take them out of their cage Thursday morning, they were huddled together in their little house, cold and stiff. It was very sad, and of course the kids had a lot of questions about it. For some of the kids this was their first experience with death; others have already lost beloved pets, grandparents, cousins. The school director came in and led a circle with the kids and allowed them to hold or pet the guinea pigs one last time. She asked what the children thought we should do with the bodies. "Put them in Heaven!" E piped up. S suggested we flush them down the toilet. Whiplash wanted to bury them in a pile of dirt by the tree outside our classroom, and J started crying. He sniffled that he didn't want dirt on top of the guinea pigs--he wanted to just set them down on top of the ground by the tree.

We talked about how when something is buried in the ground, worms go through it and turn it into soil and then it becomes part of the Earth and helps living things grow. We all agreed that burying them would be the best, and the kindest, course of action. (After S suggested flushing them down the toilet, the director said, "Hmm, would that work? Would guinea pigs fit down the toilet?" Whiplash exclaimed, "Let's chop them in to little pieces!" "Hmm, that doesn't sound very kind," the director responded carefully.)

After we decided to bury them, E raised his hand again. "What about putting them in Heaven?" he asked. The focused energy of the circle was breaking apart by this time and Whiplash was getting a little worked up. His Five-Point Calvinist began to emerge . "No!" he answered loudly hotly. "We don't get to put them in Heaven! We don't get to 'ecide! Only God gets to 'ecide!" A pretty clear exposition of the doctrine of of Limited Atonement coming from a four-year-old! Based on past experiences I know that he's got Total Depravity down. I'm hoping that during circle next week he'll explain Unconditional Election.

For Daniel

2007-10-04T00:05:00.000-07:00

Happy one year! I wouldn't have rather spent it with anyone else.

Shameless self-congratulation

2007-10-03T19:08:00.000-07:00

So, the preschoolers are currently doing a penguin unit. We've been talking a lot about rookeries, penguin creches (which we call "penguin preschools"...they love looking at a picture of a creche, finding the one adult penguin tending the dozens of chicks, and shouting "There's Penguin Eduardo!"), penguin food chains, and the penguin life cycle. Each day for our learning circle we read a story about penguins or look at pictures or something. Once a week or so we write a question related to the study up on a sheet of poster board, ask it to the kids, and record their exact responses. For instance, once the question was "What's a predator?" We write down exactly what they say in response, including "ums" and "uh"s. The idea is that the child gets to witness an adult taking their idea seriously, writing it down, seeing how the letters are formed and the words sounded out, etc. Up on the wall near the circle-time carpet we have several sheets of poster board with the kids' questions and responses, the penguin paintings the kids did with their accompanying stories, a penguin poem we all worked on together, and a chart we made of the penguin food chain. There's a lot of written word stuff all over the classroom. We also have large photo documentation boards of the kids doing various activities, like playing with the musical instruments. All of this is inspired by the Reggio Emilia approach to early childhood education, one of the philosophies around which the school is centered.

So, here comes the shameless self-congratulation.

1. I have found one of the school's directors to be a little reticent to give praise. But she was in our room the other day, and was like, "Your guys' room looks really nice." Although she said it to me, I'm sure it was directed to our whole teaching team (I have two co-teachers). But since I arranged all of the penguin stuff and the other displays, artwork, and did the photo documentation boards, I'll go ahead and pat myself on the back.

2. All of the parent orientation meetings were held in my room, since it's the largest in the building. After the other preschool class's orientation, the parents of J, a child from the other preschool class, talked to my co-teacher Eduardo about trying to switch J into our class--they liked all of the written word displays we have, and felt that our class was more pre-kindergarten and science-y than the other preschool class, which has more younger kids.

3. A parent a child in the other preschool was showing a friend of hers (I assume) around the school. They popped in to my class while a few kids were looking at books on the carpet and I was washing some paint trays at the sink. "This is the more academic preschool class," she said to her friend.

Sukkot, cell phone, moving

2007-09-30T21:54:00.000-07:00

Sukkot

The Jewish festival Sukkot takes place this year between the 27th of September and the 3rd of October (or, if you prefer, between the 15th and the 22st of the month of Tishrei--it ends the 21st if you're in Israel). Yesterday P'nai Or held their Shabbat services in a community sukkah about two miles from my house, so I woke up early then bundled up to bike over in the rain. I'd never been in a sukkah or seen a sukkah before, so I didn't know what to expect--maybe something like a small hut or a lean-to. This one turned out to be huge and four-sided (according to Reb Aryeh the sukkah can be in the shape of any of the word's Hebrew letters), and covered with branches, leaves, hanging fruits, and fronds. Probably about thirty or so people were able to pack in. It was cold and a little drippy--the rain held off, but water from the previous night's rainfall dripped onto our heads from the overhanging branches and I was a little concerned that the Torah would get wet when they raised it up at the end of the reading. After the service, we all participated in the mitzvah of eating a meal in the sukkah--the rabbi's wife brought out some hot apple cider and some people from the congregation had brought hot matzvah ball soup, which seemed like the most delicious thing in the world on a cold Shabbat morning.

Fellow Hebrew Bible nerds (Eric?) might be interested to know that it's traditional to read through the whole book of Quohelet (Ecclesiastes) during Sukkot. The temporary nature of the sukkah is meant to remind one of the transience and immateriality of life, a favorite topic of the author of Quohelet. Tthe book is attributed to Shlomo, or Solomon, but as Reb Aryeh pointed out it's almost certainly pseudoepigraphic, as its lexicon contains words that didn't appear in Hebrew until centuries after Solomon's death--a fact that led one woman to crack, "Sure, but Shlomo was ahead of his time!"

Because the service was held away from the usual synagogue and there had been some miscommunication about who was bringing over the Torah and the siddurim (prayer books, with the Hebrew liturgy transliterated and translated into English), we had to start the service without either. The idea of getting through the service without the Hebrew transliterations in the siddur was daunting to me, especially since I hadn't been to services for the past couple months, but it turned out to be not so bad. I knew the opening blessing for Torah study, most of the Elohai N'shama prayer, all of the Ashray, and a significant chunk of the Yotzayr. By the time we got to the Amidah, the liturgy leading to silent prayer before the sermon, the siddurim and Torah had arrived. It was worthwhile for me, I think, to go half the service without a siddur and realize how much I've learned over the past year: at this time last year, I had only the passingest of acquaintences with Jewish Renewal and didn't know my n'shama from my nefesh. In fact, this Thursday is Simchat Torah, which was my very first P'nai Or experience; it's the one-year anniversary of participation in P'nai Or. I won't be going to this year's Simchat Torah, though: as it happens, that night is also Daniel's and my one-year anniversary.

Cell phone

I have a cell phone! After going back and forth about how much I really need one, how much I can afford to spend, what the best service provider is, what kind of phone to get, etc, I finally just biked over to the AT&T store on NE Broadway and bought a pre-paid cheapo Go Phone. The words "Go Phone" are thankfully not written anywhere on the phone--they make it sound like a phone for feisty grandmothers who would describe themselves as "always on the go," or little kids. You should call me, and we should talk. I don't want to write the number here but I'll put it on facebook or something.

Moving

Yes, I'm moving, again. Bleh.

maybe you know her?

2007-09-28T19:00:00.000-07:00

A facebook message I received this afternoon, presented verbatim (I assume all Jessicas with ties to Eugene received this same message):

I've just arrived in Eugene from indiana in search of a beautiful flower named Jessica. I met her in tennessee about 3 months ago at a music festival and spent the most transcendental night of my life with her. You know, the kinda night that takes everything nightmare every dream every skeleton of what you once were every cocoon of the buuterfly you dream to be and swirls it all together to form some new colour on a new pallete called "here and now" "life" "love"... Well needless to say I've felt disasterously empty these past few months and cant quite go on gardening without her. Trouble is, all I got is her first name, that she graduated this year with some sort of bio something degree and lives in a renuvated warehouse next to the traintracks. My avenues of finding her are minimal, I'm relying greatly on the kindness of those around me. You probably dont know her but I've gotta try everything I can to find her, ya know? Thank you so much for your time, I hope you life will be blessed in many ways. If there is anything you ever need, I'll be around for a while and I'm always here for my family, feel free to ask.

thanks again!

blessing and peace,

Reuben S-------

Communicable parasites, fungi, and/or infections my preschoolers expose me to, part 4

2007-09-23T13:30:00.001-07:00

Yeast infection. Oh, just use your imagination.

Clueless, loveless, AND faithless?

2007-09-19T22:35:00.000-07:00

From "Dating: When Words and Choices Clash":

..."Are there some who are not even concerned whether the people they date are or are not saved? In such cases, the kindest I can say is that such are clueless, loveless, and faithless..."

I found that my life got so much more enjoyable and my spiritual life, more meaningful once I stopped believing in a vengeful, angry God and a literal hell. Obviously Phillips and most of the Christian bloggers I read would reject my theology, as I reject theirs.

Phillips rounds out the post by hoisting the old "Dating a woman is like test-driving a car!" canard, offensively as ever: "What would you think of a man who spends his free time going from car dealer to car dealer, checking out luxury cars that he will never buy?" As feminists more witty than I have pointed out, there's really nothing like that New Hymen smell.

Hat tip: Solo Femininity.

Occupational hazard

2007-09-18T20:11:00.000-07:00

Every late-morning we spend an hour or so outside on the playground in front of the school. When it was time to go inside for lunch, C, my oldest and second-most challenging student, and I held hands and encouraged students to line up by the door. C and I were going to be co-line-leaders, so he was in a great mood.

"Uh, Teacher Jessica?" he said. He pointed to a small, round, scabby patch on the back of my left hand. "What's that on your hand? Do you got ringworm?"

Ringworm? I know it's not an actual worm, but still, are you fucking kidding me? Maybe I need to start a "Communicable parasites I might pick up from my preschoolers" tag.

Career meme

2007-09-16T21:11:00.000-07:00

1. Go to http://www.careercruising.com/.

2. Put in Username: nycareers, Password: landmark.

3. Take their "Career Matchmaker" questions.

4. Post the top ten results:

1. Child and Youth Worker: Not a surprise. My actual job, Early Childhood Educator, was #36, but I suppose Child Worker is more or less the same thing.

2. Adoption Counselor: I could get into this. One of the jobs I applied for before I got hired at the preschool was working with an adoption agency. I didn't get a call back, though.

3. Addictions Counselor: Too depressing, probably. Plus, wouldn't I need first-hand experience with addiction?

4. Clergy: I considered going into the ministry for several years. Several people told me that they thought I should, or that I would, become a minister. Ultimately, I don't think I have a strong enough faith to lead others. When I told Kugler that, he said, "That's all the more reason you should consider it."

5. Psychologist: That's Amy's territory. Plus, I think it'd be a little late for me to take up psychology.

6. Sport Psychology Consultant: Um, what? I don't even know what this job is.

7. Librarian: Definitely something I would consider.

8. Dental Assistant: No. Just, no.

9. High School Teacher: Meh.

10. Anthropologist: I would love it!

Professor, my eventual goal, was listed as #11. I find it funny that it listed Gerontologist (#27) before Early Childhood Educator (#36). Maybe I'm working with people on the wrong ends of their lives...

Hat Tip: Mizz Marvel.

Oh, those crazy Biblical-era adolescents

2007-09-12T19:13:00.000-07:00

Bible Gateway is a great online tool for checking various Bible translations, although for some reason it doesn't offer the New Revised Standard Version (the most scholarly-approved translation) among its options. When I find something proof-texted on a Christian site, I like to check it on Bible Gateway to see the verses in context.

One Reformed blogger, in anticipation of his upcoming wedding, recently quoted Proverbs 30:18-19:

"There are three things which are too wonderful for me,
Yes, four which I do not understand:
The way of an eagle in the air,
The way of a serpent on a rock,
The way of a ship in the midst of the sea,
And the way of a man with a virgin."

I was curious how other translations dealt with the last word. According to my reference Bible, the original Hebrew word is almah, which it says means "girl, young woman, (in certain contexts) virgin." The New International Version translates it as "maiden;" the New King James as "virgin;" Young's Literal Tranlation offers the last phrase as "The way of man in youth," and the New Living Bible as "How a man loves a woman."

For fun, I checked The Message translation (er, paraphrase):

"Three things amaze me,
No, four things I'll never understand—
How an eagle flies so high in the sky,
How a snake glides over a rock,
How a ship navigates the ocean,
Why adolescents act the way they do."

HA! As our crotchety, Scuttle-voiced New Testament professor used to say, you might as well toss that translation in the Willamette River.

If we survived pinworm unscathed, we can survive this

2007-09-11T21:35:00.000-07:00

Oh, cruel irony! Almost a month after I suggested that pinworm might be a more gruesome counterpart to head lice, we have one confirmed case of--you guessed it--lice. It's in the other preschool class, across the hall, but that's scarcely a relief since we often combine classes in the afternoon. I got head lice, along with most of the rest of my class, in fourth grade, and although it's honestly not that big of a deal, I have no desire for a repeat showing. Of course, my head itches like crazy now. The glamor of teaching preschool!

(As it turned out, no one else in my class ended up with pinworm, thank God.)

Dog attack on NE 9th Ave

2007-09-10T21:59:00.000-07:00

I had a scary experience this evening as I was biking south along NE 9th Avenue towards the Lloyd Athletic Club for my yoga class. Around 9th and Brazee, a large-ish, sturdy dark dog with the face of a pit bull appeared seemingly out of nowhere and began running alongside and a little ahead of me. It's discomforting to be followed by a dog when you're on a bike, but this dog seemed to be enjoying itself just running; I was more concerned with it getting hit by a car (it wasn't obeying the stop signs) as we approached the busier streets around the Lloyd Center than I was with my own safety. At one point the dog ran across the street to check out a pedestrian, then crossed back to continue running ahead of me. Around Schulyer, the dog spotted a woman walking a large white Siberan Husky-type dog across the street and ran over to them. The woman's dog jumped back and she yelled at the dark dog to go away. I had continued biking and was half a block down NE 9th when I heard barking, snarling, and the woman yelling for help. I turned back. The dark dog had the woman's dog's back in its jaws; her dog was lying on the sidewalk. Several passersby had rushed over. Someone had wrapped a spare leash (I saw a man holding his terrier in his arms, maybe he gave his dog's leash?) around the dark dog's neck and was trying to pull it off the woman's dog. Everyone was yelling. Someone was calling 911 and asking if any humans had been attacked. Finally they got the dog off of the other; the woman crossed the street with her poor dog, who had a dark gash in its back. The man restraining the mystery dog was yelling that it should be put down. "I'm probably a bigger animal lover than any of you here, but this dog needs to be put down!" It had no collar and no tags.

The police arrived within about thirty seconds. An officer put a muzzle around the dog's jaws and put it in the back of her patrol car. It didn't seem aggressive around humans (in fact, when I got to the gym I realized that in the confusion I got some dog slobber on the thigh of my yoga pants when the dog brushed by me en route to the patrol car; if it wanted to bite me it could have). I told the officer about how the dog started running alongside me and my impressions of what happened; she took down my name and address. The woman and her dog were across the street with a small group of concerned people. The other officer went over to talk with her. I just hope her dog is okay, and that both the dog and the woman won't be completely traumatized.

We had a strange dog appear this morning at the preschool, as well, right as I was guiding four kids out from our classroom to the playground. This one was wearing identification, and it seemed friendly too--after the kids were in the playground it let me check its tags. It was probably just a neighborhood dog that got out of its yard, but after the experience this evening, it's scary to think how easily it could have attacked one of the kids--not to mention how quickly a seemingly-friendly unknown dog can turn nasty.

Wage slave

2007-09-09T17:57:00.000-07:00

A couple months ago my mom told me about a conversation she had with my grandmother, shortly after I graduated and began working full-time at the preschool. "What's Jessica going to be doing in the fall?" my grandma asked. Mom snapped back, "The same thing she's doing now! Jessica's not a student anymore, she's just a regular person!"

The bloom is off that rose.

Yesterday morning and afternoon I was feeling pretty sick. I went downtown but I missed the shuttle up to campus (I wanted to go to services at P'nai Or) by literally fifteen seconds, and spent an hour or so wandering around Pioneer Place, all dizzy and weak-feeling. I took the bus home and threw up a couple times, possibly from the heat. I felt better in the evening and enjoyed hanging out with Daniel and Ethan, but I'm still feeling vaguely resentful of essentially missing out on the chance to enjoy Saturday morning and afternoon. Why couldn't I have been sick during the week, so that I could have the afternoon off? And then, of course, the realization hits that unless I'm seriously, violently contagious, I can't take a day off from work: I can't afford to miss the hours.

I love my job 95% of the time, but being a full-time student was much, much easier than being a "regular person."

Taking your work home with you

2007-08-19T17:46:00.000-07:00

I have very vivid dreams and I often talk in my sleep. Daniel told me that the other day while we were sleeping, I said, "ETHAN, TAKE THAT TOY OUT OF YOUR MOUTH." Daniel asked, "Ethan, my brother?" and said that I responded--still sleeping--"No, Ethan my co-worker." Which is funny to me, because my co-worker's name is Eduardo, and preschool Ethan isn't one to put toys in his mouth.

Like head lice, but much, much worse

2007-08-14T18:58:00.000-07:00

(Warning: Do not read while eating. Or after eating. Or before eating.)

Guess what a kid in my class has? Oh, just a nice case of Enterobius vermicularis. You might know it by its more common names: pinworm, or the grossest fucking thing ever. You know, the little half-inch long worm that lives in your ass and POKES ITS HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS AT NIGHT AND LAYS THOUSANDS OF EGGS.

Wikipedia says, "Except for itching, pinworm infestation does not usually cause any damage to the body. Sleep disturbance may arise from the itching or crawling sensations."

Ewww! Ewwww! EWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!

And according to the information sheet the school director printed out and tacked up next to our sign-in sheet, in some cases, 50% of children in the group become infected. I feel like bathing in acid right now.

All of my recent pursuits converge in one weird dream

2007-08-05T14:58:00.000-07:00

Last night I had a dream that Ron and Hermione (but not Harry) were in my preschool class, and we took a fieldtrip to the recently-opened Creation Museum in Cincinnati--you know, the one that features animatronic cave children frolicking with baby dinosaurs. Eduardo and I had to wait in the lobby because it wasn't free admission for adults. After all the kids finished in the museum, one of the dads who was chaperoning the trip asked to pop into the conference room, where a UN Summit was going on, to speak with the museum's chef. Only it turns out that the dad was passing on a message from the mafia and the chef was really a mob boss, and soon we had to run for our lives.

I like how transparent the origin of each element of the dream is: longs hours at the preschool, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Mafia Princess: Growing Up in the Family of Sam Giancama, and hours spent perusing the Answers in Genesis website.

"Tricks are what whores do for money. Or cocaine!"

2007-08-04T00:35:00.001-07:00

The energy in the classroom was out of control this morning, and Whiplash was having an especially difficult time, so to calm the kids down I announced that there would be a magic show on the carpet after snack. All thirteen preschools gathered around in a squirmy circle as I made up some very simple I-pulled-this-toy-from-your-ear-oh-look-it-disappeared-into-your-belly-button-type tricks, using these half-dollar-sized multicolored felt discs and plastic sea creature toys. Everyone had a turn to be my assistant and have a toy disappear into their ear, eye, mouth, or hair, then reappear somewhere else. Every time a little octopus wiggled out of a child's ear, the kids screamed with delight. They spontaneously broke into applause. "It's really magic!" they yelled.

They were so into it, and it was so easy to convince them that it was really magic, that I actually felt a little guilty for tricking them. I mentioned it to my co-teacher Eduardo later that day, and we talked about how easy it is to forget how young the kids really are. Since my class is the oldest group at the school, I always view them in relation to the infants, or the toddlers; in comparison, they seem mature, sophisticated, worldly. They're such smart, autonomous, strong, authentic beings; it's a reality check to see them strapped into their car seats for a field trip and realize just how vulnerable, young, and innocent they can be.

Guinea pigs and tzaddikim

2007-07-30T21:57:00.000-07:00

I was frustrated almost to tears today as I closed up my classroom and prepared to leave school. My hands were shaking as I took off my apron and stuffed it in the cupboard (we’re required to wear aprons, which maybe doesn’t make sense until you realize the frequency with which you will be handed special woodchips to save, and Legos, and how it really is a good idea to always keep a pack of Band-aids and a rag on hand, and you come to appreciate the extra pockets, even if sometimes you end up holding some kid’s soggy, sandy socks or used Kleenexes). I mean, my frustration was really not commensurate to the stimuli. I didn’t want to mop, I didn’t want to sweep, and I definitely didn’t want to clean out the guinea pigs' cage—but it hadn’t been done for a week, and the little guys were whistling at me to muck them out, so I got down on my hands and knees and started scooping their soiled shavings into the trash.

A few minutes later I gathered my things and left the class to sign out for the day. The time cards are kept by a shelf next to the school’s kitchen, and as I was signing out, T, the afternoon dish-washer, caught my attention. “I read your biography,” she said. A few paragraphs about our personal interests, education, and background are printed outside our classroom doors. “And I have a question about religion. Is it true that, in some Jewish communities, the rabbi is such a central figure, and is respected so much, that it’s like he’s an intermediary between the community and God—like getting the rabbi’s answer to a question would be just like getting God’s own answer?”

It was such an unexpected question, and it made me so happy. For the first time since defending my thesis, I got to use words like Hasidic, tzaddik, and rebbe. I got to talk about the differences between Reform and Orthodox Judaism. I wanted to name-drop Weber, but I didn’t. It struck me that it was such a funny juxtaposition, coming out of my classroom with guinea pig poo on my hands, practically, and getting to talk about Judaic Studies; and a fitting parallel for the day two months ago when I defended my thesis before the Religious Studies department then left campus and jumped on a bus to North Portland to interview for my job at the preschool.

Sometimes you feel like a nut

2007-07-23T22:22:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you're in the mood to read a book like The Man Question: Visions of Subjectivity in Feminist Theory, and sometimes you just wanna read Mafia Princess: Growing up in Sam Giancana's Family.

Pottermania

2007-07-20T23:47:00.000-07:00

I just got back home from Powell's--it's crazy!! There are several hundred (thousands? I'm not great at estimating large quantities) of people wrapped around the store, waiting until 12:01 am, when the store will begin selling Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. At least a third of those people were in costume. There were face painters, tarot card readers, vendors; a news truck had pulled up and blocked off 11th and Couch. Actually, all of Couch between 10th and 11th had been blocked off from traffic and was jammed with people.

I was there just to see what was going on--I'm not buying a copy and I won't have a chance to read it until after August 4, when my brother will pass off our family copy to me (he and my dad are coming up that day to help me move). Realistically, at least some elements will probably be spoiled by then, but I'm going to try to do as much as possible to avoid spoilers--so if you've read the book, don't tell me anything!!

The Party's Crashing Us

2007-07-14T18:46:00.000-07:00

Check out Daniel's new blog, linked here and in the sidebar. I'm also adding a link to Passive Aggressive Notes--having been both author and recipient of passive aggressive notes, the site has quickly become one of my daily reads, although the comments get irritating quickly. I've also added a "Currently reading" thing right below my profile.

Two years ago / hace dos años atrás

2007-07-13T21:53:00.000-07:00

Two years and a day ago I hadn't finished packing by the time we needed to load up the car and head to Portland, where my family and I were going to spend the night before my flight to Chile the next day. I also hadn't called to confirm my airline reservations and double-check the flight time, something I should have done a week earlier. I threw the overflow clothing, toiletries, and books I was sure I would have time to read over the next six months (I planned on mastering Rilke's complete body of work; I also was positive, for some reason, that I was going to read Anna Karenina) into plastic trash bags and we tossed them in the back of the car. I was frustrated with myself for not having packed earlier and better, stressed about the rush, and scared out of my mind about the next six months. I double-checked the flight time from the phone in the hotel lobby and took a bath.

Two years ago, my family dropped me off at the airport and we said good-bye. I met Mariah at the terminal (each of us had forgotten the other's name) and we sat making tentative small talk. Carla, Mariah and I rode the air shuttle at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport and we talked about Amelie; I remember the relief of feeling like I had found two friends. A day or so later, Carla, Jon, Alisa and I all sat together in the dining room of Hotel Bonaparte in Santiago, and conversation and laughter flowed so easily that I felt that I would be okay if these three people were the only friends I made in Chile. Thankfully, that was not the case.

It's strange for me to think that I left for Chile two years ago. At the time, six months in a foreign country seemed like such a daunting undertaking that I couldn't imagine life on the other side of those six months. Sometimes when I was travelling, or talking with Ronald or Daniela, or just walking down the street or riding the bus, I would be overcome by the strangeness and wonderfulness of it all. I would think, "This is me. I'm doing this right now. This is happening in my life," simultaneously stepping out of the moment and trying to horseshoe myself back in. Now, two years later, looking back on my photos, I have to remind myself, "You did that. You were there; you took those pictures." I can hear the Chilean inflection in my Spanish when I talk with my Guatemalan co-teacher, and I will always call a strawberry a frutilla instead of a fresa, yet it seems, still, like a dream. I can't remember exactly how good cazuela, or a warm sopaipilla tasted, and sometimes my Spanish feels slow and heavy, like I'm speaking underwater.

In January, I sobbed when I left my host family's apartment for the last time, carrying my five-year-old host sister up the stairs of the complex so we could say good-bye. As six months earlier, packing had been rushed, and a nightmare; the handles were popping off the enormous overpacked black suitcase I had bought on the cheap in Buenos Aires and hauled all through Uruguay and Argentina. I was wearing several layers to carry as much as possible on my body, and sweated in the mid-summer (since the seasons are reversed) sun. My family's nanny and I kissed good-bye for the last time, and I was gone. The end was as rushed as the beginning.

Callous

2007-07-10T21:30:00.001-07:00

Let it not be said that working at the preschool is nothing but hugs, snuggles, art projects, and bon mots, all "Kids Say the Darndest Things"-style. It can also be frustrating, nauseating (it's difficult to maintain a neutral face and positive tone of voice while cleaning up a kid's poop accident), and frenetic. Today was record-breakingly hot and, as the kids noted during afternoon snack, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, so we all had to put on sunscreen before we went outside. I sat down with the sunscreen basket (each kid has their own tube, as per their allergies and parents' preferences, etc) and was mobbed by outstretched arms and legs. Kids who got their sunscreen on first ran around in a frenzy, yelling and yelping despite reminders that "Inside the classroom, we use inside voices." My co-teacher Charley was cleaning up from snack, so he couldn't take a group outside while I finished distributing sunscreen to the others. I started letting some of the older kids apply their own sunscreen--looked away for a minute while I helped little S, the youngest child, rub it in to her arms, and when I looked back, 4-year-old C was wearing a white mask of sunblock all over his cheeks, forehead, eyelids, nose, and hair. I sent him over to Charley, who tried to wash it off with minimal stinging; still, for the next hour, C screamed and cried that there was sunscreen in his eyes and was inconsolable. I went over to help little B, who is too small to turn on the water by himself, wash his hands at the sink. B stared at the soap bubbles in the basin of the sink for a long moment while the soap slid off his little hands and the water ran. On the other side of the classroom, C was screaming and four friends were running in circles. "B, wash your hands," I said firmly. B looked at me for a moment and burst into tears. "Teacher, your voice hurts my feelings!" he cried. I felt immediately horrible and knelt to hug his body. "B, I'm so sorry," I said. Sometimes this job makes me feel like the most callous person in the world.

I hold a Rogersian view of the state of nature

2007-07-06T14:34:00.000-07:00

Me, describing the philosophy of my preschool viz-a-vis the Enlightenment philosphers: "...So we're not Hobbesian. We couldn't tell the kids that life was 'nasty, brutish, and short.' We're more...Lockeian."
Daniel: "The social contract? But Locke saw the social contract as a means of reconciling the state of nature. He agreed with Hobbes that it was 'nasty, brutish, and short.'"
Me: "You're right, he's not necessarily more optimistic. So which one are we like? We're the most optimistic about the nature of man..."
Daniel: "You're kind of like Rousseau...well, mmmmmm, kind of, but not really. You're mostly just sensitive and really like kids and innocent. You're more like...Mr. Rogers."

Also, earlier in the same conversation, in a devastating error, I misattributed "nasty, brutish, and short" to Thomas Paine, rather than Hobbes. (A Christian homeschooling blogger recently described Thomas Paine as "...the ungodly and licentious pamphleteer who had some influence on stirring up citizens to fight, but not necessarily for the right reasons.") Is it possible to retroactively fail Inventing America? Lewis & Clark already gave me my diploma; I'm not handing it back!

With the thoughts you'd be thinkin', you could be another Lincoln

2007-07-03T16:48:00.000-07:00

E: "My favorite president is the one who looks like a vampire."
Me: "The president who looks like a vampire. I wonder if you mean...Abraham Lincoln?"
E: "I don't remember his name. I have a president placemat. The only ones I remember are GEORGE WASHINGTON!! and...the bad one."
Me: "Hmmm...who's the bad one?"
E: [shrug]
Me: "I wonder if his name is...Bush?"
E: "Yeah, that's him! That's the bad one!...My mom hates that guy."
Me: "Many people dislike Bush."
E: "I hate that guy too. But why do people dislike him?"
Me: "Well, hmmm. He started a war."
E: "I bet everyone at our school doesn't like him."

Two recent conversations about polar bears

2007-06-29T22:35:00.000-07:00

Conversation between a community college writing instructor and a student at the same college, overheard while waiting for the 12 at 3rd and Stark a few days ago. The student was enrolled in Composition 1; the instructor taught Composition 2 and was offering advice about the courses:

Teacher: "So, what paper are you working on now?"
Student: "Argumentative. We've already done Cause and Effect and (something else)."
Teacher: "Comp 2 is where it really gets tough, because you get into the research papers."
Student: "Well, I find that any paper incorporates research. Like, my Cause and Effect, I did on global warming, so I did a ton of research for that one. I probably researched for fifteen hours."
Teacher: "Oh...global warming...One of my students is doing her research paper on how they say that polar bears will be extinct in fifteen years...you know, that whole thing."
Student: "Pish posh. Polar bears like water, not ice!"

Conversation between me and E, a four-year-old boy, outside on our playground one afternoon a couple weeks ago:

E: "Mumble...mumble...predator."
Me: "What?"
E: "I said, the sperm whale is the largest predator that ever existed. But what's the largest predator right now?"
Me, confused: "Oh....hmmm...well. I know that the polar bear is very big."
E, witheringly: "That's not even the largest bear. The Kodiak Grizzly is way bigger than a polar bear."
Me: "Well, I guess you're right."
E: "I think the largest predator is the orca whale."

Must delay impending adulthood

2007-06-25T23:02:00.000-07:00

Well, crap. One of my Religious Studies/Pamplin friends from college goes and gets herself married! Congratulations, Frances!

It makes me feel nervous and weird when friends who are my age, or a year or two younger, do such adult things: get married, settle down, have kids--since I feel so unready for those things, I always want to assume that they belong to the Realm of the Grown-Ups, those serious people at least five or six years older than me. I'm going to rest in the fact that, today during afternoon snack time, the preschoolers debated my age and decided that I couldn't be much older than six.

Favorite quote from Frances' most recent blog entry: "Anyway, it's time to get back to housewifely duties like cleaning and organizing and jobhunting. I wouldn't mind being a housewife if there were kids around, or tupperware parties, or vibrator parties, or if the house was really dirty, but that is just not the case."

The sweetest thing he could have said

2007-06-20T20:06:00.000-07:00

I arrived at work just as Ben, my co-teacher, was preparing to take seven or so friends, including Whiplash, out to the playground to run off some energy. He left me in the classroom with C (boy, 4); V (girl, 4); S (girl, almost 3); J (boy, 4), and twin brothers N and H (4). J asked me to read The Magic School Bus Goes Batty, so we sat down on the carpet and I began to read, J nestled on my lap, V and S on my right, N and H on my left. C was content playing by himself at the art table, where Ben had spread out some fake snow.

" ' "I guess I was wrong," Ralphie said,' " I read, near the end of the story. " ' "Ms. Frizzle isn't a vampire, she's just a really great teacher who sometimes gets too wrapped up in things." ' "

"But, um, um, Teacher Jessica?" N asked. "Why Ms. Frizzle a really great teacher who sometimes gets too wrapped up in things?" Several of the friends frequently repeat sentences almost verbatim, just tacking on the word "why" at the beginning.

"Well, she's a really great teacher because she always thinks of interesting field trips and activities to learn about different things," I responded.

"Oh," N said, thinking about it.

J piped up from my lap. "You're better, though," he said.

A better teacher than Ms. Frizzle?! That's the highest praise a preschooler can give! I was quite moved. Now if only I could turn the kids into raindrops to learn about the water cycle...

So cute, and yet so undesireable

2007-06-17T23:17:00.001-07:00

A mouse.

In our house!!!!!

I was sitting on my bed, writing an email to Daniel, when I saw a furry brown mass dart into my room through the open door. I screamed. It darted out and down the hallway. I met my roommates Amy and Alaina in the laundry room (well, the laundry nook, more like it) and we all screamed for a minute. Then we set up the rest of our mousetraps.

Tomorrow I will be deep-cleaning my room.

Inquiring minds want to know

2007-06-17T20:51:00.001-07:00

Last night around 9:30pm I was walking towards Ground Kontrol in Old Town, where my boyfriend's band was playing. As I crossed from Burnside to Couch, a man standing on the corner diagonal across the street attracted my attention. He spoke in a slow, heavily-lidded, stoned-sounding drawl, with audible ellipses between each word: "Hey...what do you think of...hardcore...radical....casual...sex?"

"Not into it," I responded cooly and continued walking.

"Yeah...not many people are..." he replied, in the exact same tone of voice, without missing a beat. "But when it works out...it's pretty cool."

I told Daniel about the encounter when I saw him later that night and we laughed about it. The funny thing was that the man's delivery was so strange and droll that his question came across as less of a proposition, and more a straightforward request for information: am I into hardcore...radical...casual...sex? "Maybe he was trying to proposition you, but because he was stoned it came across as just a regular question," Daniel suggested.

The distinction got me thinking about the different kinds of public comments men make about the bodies and sexualities of women. Like all women living in a misogynist society that objectifies women and commodifies women's bodies, I've experienced a range of different comments while walking around downtown Portland: the straight proposition ("I'd fuck you so hard"); the request for prurient information (above, but also the annoying and unsettling "So, are you married or what?" asked of me most recently by a middle-aged man on the bus after a few minutes of polite small talk); the sexual compliment paid without a proposition attached (a few weeks ago an African-American man asked if he could pay me a compliment, then told me, in slightly different language, that my ass compared favorably to that of most Caucuasion women). And, like all women living in misogynist societies, I've also been publically reprimanded by male strangers for failing to appear attractive and/or fuckable according to their exacting standards--part and parcel of living in a society that considers the bodies of women to be public property, and the sexual and personal habits of women open to public interrogation and judgment.

That said, I can't get too upset about the man's question: ""Hey...what do you think of...hardcore...radical....casual...sex?" Don't get me wrong: the fact that he would ask is absolutely antifeminist, and part of the overarching tradition of men as a class (note: not all men!) naming, commenting on, and judging the bodies and lives of women as a class. It's impossible to proposition a female stranger on the street without objectifying her, and I believe that objectification to be rooted in misogyny. At the same time, mostly I just find the exchange funny, and an amusing anecdote. And you know, maybe it's indicative of my innocence, or a failure of my imagination, but I don't really get the inclusion of "radical" in his question: the "casual" and the "hardcore" I understand, but what exactly is "radical" sex? (When I think of the words "radical" and "sex" together, the first name that comes to mind is Andrea Dworkin--and somehow, I don't think that man meant to reference her work.)

You know you're a preschool teacher when...

2007-06-12T23:05:00.000-07:00

...you start talking to the classroom guinea pigs in the same hyper-empathetic voice you use with the children (or "friends," as we call them at the school): "Okay, friend, I'm going to gently and carefully lift your body out of the cage. Oh...I hear you squealing. I really hear you saying that."

Words accompanied by empathetic nodding of head, furrowing of eyebrows, and pursing of lips. (Sometimes I have a headache at the end of the day from maintaining my brow in a constant empathetic furrow.)

Quote of the Day

2007-06-09T11:20:00.000-07:00

From Amanda at Pandagon:

"Of course, the other part of this is redefining what a child is, taking women’s participation in the creation of one out of the picture and relegating pregnant women to the role of mere incubators for children that men make. To call something a “child” from the moment a man shoots his load and not after a woman has grown the child for 9 months in her body is part of the project of using pregnancy as a tool to dehumanize women and subjugate us to men. Equating a 15-week-old fetus with an actual baby is about erasing a woman’s effort and time put into making a baby, and handing over the credit to the strenously ejaculated offerings of the father. I’ve no doubt that the renewed interest in the post-Roe era of erasing the fact that pregnancy is a process is a big part of the backlash against feminism. Patriarchal traditions like calling children born out of wedlock “bastards” and the naming of children after their father and the assumption that fathers have automatic custody are all retreating to various degrees, and reactionaries are lashing out by trying to make men so important in baby-making that pregnancy itself is seen less as a process of making a baby and more as some sort of danger zone for a man’s property. Which of course is why sonogram pictures of developing embryos have such an emotional pull on anti-choicers—look, with the magic of technology you can pretend that the damn obstacle of the pregnant woman isn’t even there. If only doctors could find a way to erase women from the picture completely."

Read the whole post.

Whiplash boychild

2007-05-30T23:09:00.000-07:00

It was a moment both touching and humbling when I realized that my most challenging student wears socks from the BabyGap; curled up on his mat during rest time, he doesn't look like an aggressor or a fight-starter, just an exhausted four-year-old nestled into a red fleece blanket.

I also like James Joyce

2007-05-25T21:39:00.000-07:00

You're Ireland!

Mystical and rain-soaked, you remain mysterious to many people, and this
makes you intriguing. You also like a good night at the pub, though many are just as
worried that you will blow up the pub as drink your beverage of choice. You're good
with words, remarkably lucky, and know and enjoy at least fifteen ways of eating a potato.
You really don't like snakes.

Take the Country Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid

I like gentle touches

2007-05-24T20:25:00.000-07:00

When I met my co-workers Lisa and Adriana at the bus stop after work today, they were talking about how we've all kind of picked up the preschool inflection: the hyper-empathetic tone of voice and turns of phrase that the school encourages for use with the kids. Our school is structured around a few philosophies of childhood care and education so alternative (and yet totally common-sensical, once you get used to them) that they don't even have Wikipedia pages devoted to them; since all the teachers and parents support the philosophies, a certain language and vocabulary have really developed at the care center. L., A., and I all trained together and started at the same time, so we've become a kind of cohort group, as we go through the adjustment and acculturation (for lack of a better word) processes together. Today we talked about how we find our school vocabulary creeping into our non-school lives--the other night I asked Daniel whether he was going to rest on his belly or on his back; he responded, "Your preschool voice creeps me out."

What's wrong with calling Paris Hilton a whore?

2007-05-20T17:22:00.001-07:00

I spent most of this afternoon in bed, drinking coffee and reading various feminist blogs. One of the ones I came across, via a comment on Feministe, was Taking Steps. I cannot recommend the post slings and arrows highly enough:

"It gave me pause, but of course I jumped in: "Is your problem that she was driving drunk, or that she has sex?" Spluttering from both about her obnoxiousness. "Yes, but is it good she's doing time because she's a rich, entitled person who thinks she can do whatever she wants, or because she doesn't wear much clothing?" My mother notes, quietly, that we could be using 'the dreaded c-word.' At that point, I really had to hold myself back, while my brother insisted that, no, he has no problem with people having sex, I mean, no problem with women, you know, it's just that--"

Read more.

Teach your children well

2007-05-19T19:54:00.000-07:00

I spent most of today at a Kindercare in Gresham, becoming CPR and first-aid certified and taking a class on how to recognize and report child abuse and neglect; both classes are required by the state of Oregon to work with kids. On the MAX on my way home, I noticed a tall, thirtyish Caucasian man with a shaved head get on with a young preschool-age boy. They sat down one seat behind me and across the aisle. The boy bounced happily in the seat and smiled at the man, then made a sound of discontent with something.

"Stop whining; you sound like a girl," the man told him.

I turned back to my music and gritted my teeth. "Not my issue," I told myself. Across the aisle, a high school-age guy laughed.

"I tell him that when he whines like that, he starts growing boobs!" the man turned and told the guy. "I say that one day he's going to wake up in the morning and have a full rack!" The man threw his head back and laughed. The boy looked at him in confusion, with the hesitant smile of kids who aren't sure exactly what their parents are doing or what's expected of them but want to please the big people.

I turned up my music and thought about blogging about the incident as an example of the social construction of gender, and the way that hatred of women is taught to children in a patriarchal society, and how that short-changes everyone. The MAX sped towards the Lloyd Center. Some people got off, and more people got on.

After a few minutes I saw some movement out of the corner of my eye and turned back to look at the man and the boy. The man was "play"-punching the boy in the shoulder, hard enough that his clenched fist pushed the little boy's body against the window on impact. The boy seemed to have shrunk and had his hands up in front of his face, huddled in the corner of his seat, still with the hesitant smile on his face. "Say something!" the man demanded. "You're just going to sit there and take a beating?" The boy squealed, "Stop touching me!" As the boy spoke the man moved his punches from the boy's shoulder to his cheekbone, right under the eye. "Pow!" the man said. My heart pounded. I had just completed the class on recognizing and reporting child abuse.

"HE SAID TO STOP TOUCHING HIM," I said loudly. The man turned to me with a surprised, slack-jawed grin. He laughed in a way that made me wonder if he was drunk. "You telling me how to touch my kid?" he said uncertainly. "Just look at the smile on his face. We're just messing around!"

I held the man's gaze for a second and then turned back to my music. The stoned-sounding teenage girl sitting behind me started telling her boyfriend how disrespectful she would have found it for someone to tell her how to raise her own child. "If his mother was here there would have been an explosion if she'd'a done that!" the man said to no one in particular. My heart was still pounding. The MAX arrived at the Lloyd Center, where I needed to get something, so I got off. I thought about the incident throughout the rest of the day.