Amid the usual array of postage stamps with doves or hearts adorning the wedding invitations I've been receiving, it was a delightful change to receive an invitation from E.'s parents with a return stamp featuring Benjamin Franklin. Ben Franklin has always been one of my role models, so it was particularly nice to see him immortalized by the USPS in a new stamp. :-)

I'm just bummed that my favorite bat stamps are no longer around. Now those would make for a truly great wedding invitation.

"The Chocolate Bar" is really named "The Bar of Chocolate Cafe", but I like the misnomer better. This week a bunch of us Tango folks went there on Wednesday after the practica, ate, drank, and danced in this cute little cafe on Wharf Street (the 2-block-long cobblestone street halfway between Commercial Street and Fore Street), downstairs from The Wine Bar. Tonight we met there again--not so much dancing this time since it was more crowded, but still a great atmosphere and an agreeable kitchen staff who will bring me sandwiches without the bread, artfully presented. We'll probably take it over for an informal milonga on a slow night, maybe Mondays, as part of the "get out and dance in restaurants" focus group of the Portland Tango scene. What fun!

On Saturday night I met B. at his house so we could head over to the Big Easy to check out Beaux de l'Aire, Mon Cherry and Lovewhip. I was somewhat horrified to see that he had replaced his Volvo station wagon with a Honda Element, and notified him that if the Volvo had not been a chick magnet, the new car was far worse. Over at the show, we ran into a bunch of Tango folks and caught BDL's whole set. They're sounding really tight and I can't wait to play with them this summer. B. decided he would buy a Lovewhip bumper sticker for his car to increase the chick magnetism capabilities, so then we had to stick it out through Mon Cherry's set just to hear what Lovewhip was like. Sad to say, we should have left after BDL's set was done. Both Mon Cherry and (to an only very slightly lesser extent) Lovewhip suffered from the same problem: drummer banging too loud, making everyone else having to play louder, making it unbearable on the ears. Also, some more lyrics besides "get funky with me" would have entertained me a bit better. Oh well.

Kind of a surreal day. Spent three and a half hours writing a violin part for Black Sabbath's "Iron Man", immediately followed by a bridal shower for my soon-to-be sister-in-law. Yeah.

Yesterday I lay down on the floor with a violin student and showed her the way I wanted her to do sit-ups this week (not really trying to sit up, but to suck her stomach down into the floor). I explained to her that the reason I want her to do 10-15 of these sit-ups a day is so her midsection will support her when she's standing instead of making her upper body do all the work. I'm hoping that a week of this will make her more aware of her abs so we can free up her upper body. I'm pretty sure this is what she needs, but now I'm plagued by doubt. Is this just too weird to do in a violin lesson, even though I think it will get the results I want? Argh.

More rain today. The claypan in my yard where I planted the daikon radish seeds is now underwater (again). I felt sorry for the little guys this week as they drowned. I felt slightly better about the whole lake-in-the-yard business when I went over to S.'s house and lovely wild gardens in Cumberland to dig some plants and she said, "any interest in low-bush cranberries? You don't need a bog..." to which I replied, "no problem! I have a bog!" After 4 hours I went home with a fogged-up carful ( and trunkful) of plants, some of which I managed to get in the ground before it became too rainy and too dark to continue. I'm now completely soaked, muddy and utterly happy with my day.

So, those daikon radish sprouts that have been underwater for an entire week are still alive. The yard finally drained today and I went to take a look. We'll see whether they will make it. I'm rooting for them. Sorry, I couldn't resist. :-)

Last night while Googling for asparagus guilds (a "guild" is a permaculture term used to describe a bunch of plants that support each other as a mutually beneficial system) I discovered the Portland Permaculture Meetup and signed up to go to this month's meeting. I'm looking forward to meeting a few local permies. The group organizer mentioned kiwis in a post so I definitely want to talk to her about that! I'm planning an arbor behind the first floor deck to screen it from the apartment house next door. Maybe then my tenant can use the deck without feeling like he's on display. I was originally thinking grapes or maybe hardy kiwifruit, but right now sandra berry is my favorite. Hmmm...should I do that first, or should I do the cob wall in the back so I can put in the peach tree? Or should I do the big trellis up the deck posts along the driveway and put sandra berries there, and kiwi over the deck in the back? Is this what M. means when he says I have too many projects?? Nawwww...

But speaking of "too many projects", (whatever that is), tonight after cleaning house and practicing the violin for a bit I made the 5 frame struts for my Murphy bed. I need to get a framing square and then I'll be ready to screw together the rest of the frame. The Sawhorse Fairies (how's that for a mental picture?) left me a gift of a beautiful pair of adjustable sawhorses, so I was able to work at a comfortable height. Wheeeee!

My classroom windows are open (as much as they're able to be), sun streaming in for the first time in a week. In the hallway I hear the bustle of students, punctuated by noises that sound like babies' chirps, but are actually little hoots that mean "woohoo! last day of school!"

I have no students today, so I'm finishing up packing my classroom in order to move it upstairs to its new, smaller location. 55 boxes of equipment, software, books, etc., along with oodles of computers, chairs, tables, printers, and all kinds of other stuff. I've thrown out at least half of the software and books that were in the room (though I considered saving some of the COBOL books for historical interest, or at least for monitor stands). I kind of can't believe the year is over. I survived! Now I'm sitting back, thinking about what I've learned, and thinking of ways to make next year better. Teachers here tell me it takes 3-5 years to really get your program the way you want it. I'm trying to be patient.

I learned this year that I have no problem with classroom management. That was kind of a relief, given that there was no curriculum. If I'm breathing a sigh of relief that I survived, I'm sure my students are too. We really all got through it together. I learned to keep telling myself it was OK to fail: to make an assignment that just wasn't right, and to tell students that I wasn't really happy with something but it was the best I could do this year. I really have to hand it to my students--they took it well and mostly did their best.

I learned this year to suck up to the custodians, who are the ones with the real power in the school. I learned that they will do quite a lot for me if I pretend that I have no brain (makes me wonder about some of my students...). It kind of reminds me of when I was in high school, when perfectly capable girls would pretend to be stupid so boyz would like them. Yikes.

I learned this year that there's a fine line for students between comments that sound encouraging and comments that sound patronizing. I learned to be very specific in my praise. By the end of the year, there was a joke in class that "you're almost there". I guess I said that a lot...

I learned this year how important a good facilitator is when dealing with teachers. Teachers have so much autonomy in their classrooms that when they get together in an action team they're all used to being in charge. Our cluster (and the arts action team I'm on) has a fantastic facilitator who keeps us on track. He also happens to be one of the most gentle, inspiring teachers in the building.

I learned this year that I have a lot of ADD tendencies, probably counteracted by growing up on a farm (and learning to do lots of menial, repetitive tasks), and by studying the violin. I found out that many ADD people need to do art the way I need to play the violin, and it explained why I am so much happier when I can start my day with violin practice. Reading about ADD for my special ed. class made me understand why sitting in a cubicle programming all day was not a good fit for me, and why the relative wildness of schoolteaching is a good fit. I do miss the programming, but maybe the next time I go back to it I'll be able to make it suit me better. Or maybe I'll do more permaculture instead, which, as Dave once said, "is like hacking the world."

I told my students, "if you're bored this summer, come visit me at school. You can play with the robots." I'll be here creating curriculum and trying to make next year more interesting and fun, and planning how to make programming work for kids with ADD. With any luck, it will make next year go more smoothly.

I finally started keeping my food journal on Friday, after realizing that I was resisting the idea of distilling my physical and emotional feelings into single words like "centered" or "alert". Instead I am writing more wordy descriptions and am enjoying it. Phew!

Years ago when I first started getting interested in making sushi rolls, I could not figure out what the heck I was supposed to do with the bamboo mat. Various instructions made it sound like you rolled up the sushi and the bamboo mat like a jelly roll, and then unrolled them both, and then rolled just the sushi, which made no sense at all. Finally I just gave up and never used a mat.

A few days ago I was making sushi and thinking, "I really need an extra 20 fingers to keep the stuff in the roll while I roll the nori over the rice" and suddenly a vision of dozens of little bamboo pieces running lengthwise along the roll made sense. What the recipes neglected to mention (and what seems obvious to me now) is that you turn over the bamboo mat just once, until the nori completely encases the rice, and then unroll just the mat and continue rolling the sushi up in the nori (or not, depending on how much nori you're using per roll). With the constant, even pressure of the mat on the sushi, I now make really tight rolls. I also noticed that it's easier to spread the rice on the nori when it's on the mat, maybe because the nori isn't on a totally flat surface. So: if you have a bamboo mat, use it. I'm now in love with mine.

In other appropriate equipment news, after 2 patchy sunburns on my back last year I decided that boyfriends are not dependable sunblock applicators. Yesterday before my 20-mile bike ride I sunblocked my back using a rubber spatula. Perfect.

Yesterday I spent the night at home instead of in the dorm at NESI so I could keep Bonita company. On my drive from Standish to Portland I reflected on some dinnertime interactions I'd had with teachers at the institute.

There's the loneliness of being single or of being away from family and friends, and I can handle that. But for me there's nothing as profoundly lonely as not feeling able to connect personally with another musician. Theoretically, that's one thing music is good for: putting aside "real life" and reaching people on a different level, even when you can't connect with them in any other way. When someone plays beautiful music and then I find out they're not as beautiful inside, though, sometimes I'm so disillusioned that I can't enjoy their music anymore. My mom would call that overreacting. I just call it being utterly lonely.

The teacher training workshop has been really fun this week. We have a wonderful trainer and a small group of teachers with a wide variety of experiences, so we've had several days of interesting discussions. Often the conversations carry right over to mealtime if we happen to sit together in the cafeteria.

I've known D. since I was 8 (when she was my orchestra conductor) and it's really a blast to be in class with her this week. We got talking about energy medicine last night during dinner because she's going to a couple of retreats this summer, and I was telling her how strange it was to be playing the Suzuki repertoire again. There are entire books that I dislike playing because they bring back bad childhood memories; I've always been extremely sensitive to other people's feelings (to the point where I don't know what my own feelings are), and anything my violin teacher was going through, I felt and internalized. Relearning the Suzuki repertoire and teaching it is like being in psychotherapy for me, as I retrain not only my body, but also my mind and mood and emotions when I play those pieces. Mind and body are so connected for me.

Today D. brought copies of an article on "highly sensitive people" to class. She also copied a quiz from Elaine Aron's The Highly Sensitive Person. Now I understand why my life is the way it is. The only question I answered "false" to was "I tend to be very sensitive to pain", but I'd change that to "I tend to be very sensitive to other people's pain." I am the one who cries for someone else when they can't. I've been told my entire life that I'm overreacting, that I'm too sensitive, and too hard on myself. Now it looks like I have some reading to do...