Patti,
You and I were so different. You skied; I quilted. I taught literature; You taught science. You were a reserved Swede; I'm an Irish storyteller. I love big words; You loved big dogs. You were tall and thin; I'm short and yeah, not so thin.
But superficial differences are nothing compared to what we had in common--a love for tough questions and new ideas, natural beauty and architectural history, late-night mischief and earnest community service, Shakespearean comedy and high school boys' humor, laughing with friends and learning from students. We shared a commitment to trusting people -- even those who might betray us. For believing in students -- even those who others saw as troublemakers. And for taking risks -- even for impossible dreams.
I miss you so very much. My brain does not want to accept that you will never again come striding into my house wearing a wide smile, a Nordic sweater, and dark pants covered with dog hair. ;-)
I am trying to find a cure for this pounding headache of loss. I have to believe that the chain of feelings triggered by this shock will one day circle back to the human connection that can ease this pain. I wrote this poem a while ago to capture that cycle of emotion--I don't normally write poetry, so this was an experiment. You would want me to take a risk, so I will do so and share it with you here:
Death sets off an explosion in my heart.
Amid the rubble,
Disbelieving,
Deafened by the blast,
I feel the pain slice through me
Like falling shards
Of broken glass.
Grief shrinks my heart and hardens it to stone.
Heavy, hard and cold,
Unmoving,
Anchored by its weight,
I lie still, blanketed by loss,
Like slate or granite
Overgrown with moss.
Hope opens up a window in my heart.
In unexpected moments,
Reading,
Or fumbling with my keys,
I smile and feel my spirits rise
Like sheer white curtains
Lifted by the breeze.
Love tends a constant flame deep in my heart.
Soothed by its warmth,
But missing you,
Expected to go on,
I hold you close, reach out for help,
And find the strength
To walk through fire.
This past weekend, your friends all tried to reach out and give each other strength. It may be too soon for us to walk through fire. We are still sad and angry and lonesome for you. But I know you would want us to lift our hearts and pass the feelings we had for you on to others in our lives, to focus on doing passionate, important work and having fun in your honor. So when I feel the prickly sting of tears, I call to mind these lines from Kahlil Gibran:
"When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight."
Thank you, Patti for your friendship and for the inspiring example of your courage. I am delighted to have had you in my life.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Don't Forget! I'm a Thane!
Banquo crumpled at my feet this morning. His murderers giggled a little, embarrassed at having stabbed him with plastic knives, but stopped when no one else laughed. Banquo didn't move. His body lay in a curved heap, his vacant eyes staring into space. His son Fleance watched from a safe distance. And then, the scene was over.
Currently, I have the privilege of introducing a class of 4th, 5th, and 6th graders to Shakespeare. More specifically, Macbeth. I'm not teaching a class or rehearsing kids for a performance; I just show up once a week for 45 minutes and we act out some scenes together. The students do not have a clear idea of what will happen from one scene to the next. They are throwing themselves into the play, eager to find out who ends up alive at the end.
I started this project last week by walking into the classroom and complaining that "a weird thing just happened when I came through the doorway. We just went back in time 400 years." I bowed to their teacher, addressed him as King James, and explained: "I am Master Will Shakespeare. The manager of our theatre--oh my gosh, there he is! Master Henslowe! [I slapped an adhesive name badge on a student]--well, Master Henslowe has asked me to write a play to honor your Scottish heritage." I then turned to the "acting company" and began handing out parts [more adhesive nametags] and explaining the relationships among characters: "You're King Duncan and these are your two sons. You're Macbeth and this is your wife." We plunged right into "rehearsal," using a rug in the center of the classroom as our stage.
The kids read their parts for the first time while "on stage." We stop now and then to redo a scene or talk about what a particular line might mean. We're using an abridged version of Macbeth that I created. I'm quite sure they could grasp the original language if we spent time on it because my own kids performed full-length unedited plays with the Young Shakespeare Players starting at age seven. But there isn't time to do that with this group and the story is exciting in itself. The script follows the plot closely but uses a mixture of paraphrase and Shakespearean language. There is, thankfully, no modern equivalent for "Double, double, toil and trouble...".
The best part about this whole thing is the short conversation we have as a group at the end of a session. Last week we got as far as Macbeth and Lady Macbeth discussing the idea of murdering King Duncan. I asked, "What do you think happens next?" The answers ranged from "I think Macbeth will kill the king" to "I think his wife will kill the king" to "I think Macbeth might kill his wife!" This morning I asked, "Who is more responsible for the death of the king--Macbeth or Lady Macbeth?" Opinions varied. Some thought Lady Macbeth was guiltier because "it was her idea." Another said, "Macbeth, because he actually did it. He didn't have to do what she told him to do. He had a choice." I changed the moral dilemma to something closer to their experience. "Holly, let's say Brennan told you to push Daryus off the climber outside because it would be funny. So you do it and Daryus falls and gets hurt. Who is to blame? You? Or Brennan?" Holly thought for a minute. "We both are."
That is the beauty of genius. Shakespeare is as relevant to the playground as to the playhouse.
Speaking of the playground, after last week's introduction to Act 1, a boy named Evan came up to me, quite concerned, to report that he had lost his "Ross" nametag. I told him not to worry, that I would bring new nametags this week. His face lit up. "Great!" he said. As he walked away, Evan called out: "Don't forget! I'm a Thane!"
Trust me. I won't forget.
Currently, I have the privilege of introducing a class of 4th, 5th, and 6th graders to Shakespeare. More specifically, Macbeth. I'm not teaching a class or rehearsing kids for a performance; I just show up once a week for 45 minutes and we act out some scenes together. The students do not have a clear idea of what will happen from one scene to the next. They are throwing themselves into the play, eager to find out who ends up alive at the end.
I started this project last week by walking into the classroom and complaining that "a weird thing just happened when I came through the doorway. We just went back in time 400 years." I bowed to their teacher, addressed him as King James, and explained: "I am Master Will Shakespeare. The manager of our theatre--oh my gosh, there he is! Master Henslowe! [I slapped an adhesive name badge on a student]--well, Master Henslowe has asked me to write a play to honor your Scottish heritage." I then turned to the "acting company" and began handing out parts [more adhesive nametags] and explaining the relationships among characters: "You're King Duncan and these are your two sons. You're Macbeth and this is your wife." We plunged right into "rehearsal," using a rug in the center of the classroom as our stage.
The kids read their parts for the first time while "on stage." We stop now and then to redo a scene or talk about what a particular line might mean. We're using an abridged version of Macbeth that I created. I'm quite sure they could grasp the original language if we spent time on it because my own kids performed full-length unedited plays with the Young Shakespeare Players starting at age seven. But there isn't time to do that with this group and the story is exciting in itself. The script follows the plot closely but uses a mixture of paraphrase and Shakespearean language. There is, thankfully, no modern equivalent for "Double, double, toil and trouble...".
The best part about this whole thing is the short conversation we have as a group at the end of a session. Last week we got as far as Macbeth and Lady Macbeth discussing the idea of murdering King Duncan. I asked, "What do you think happens next?" The answers ranged from "I think Macbeth will kill the king" to "I think his wife will kill the king" to "I think Macbeth might kill his wife!" This morning I asked, "Who is more responsible for the death of the king--Macbeth or Lady Macbeth?" Opinions varied. Some thought Lady Macbeth was guiltier because "it was her idea." Another said, "Macbeth, because he actually did it. He didn't have to do what she told him to do. He had a choice." I changed the moral dilemma to something closer to their experience. "Holly, let's say Brennan told you to push Daryus off the climber outside because it would be funny. So you do it and Daryus falls and gets hurt. Who is to blame? You? Or Brennan?" Holly thought for a minute. "We both are."
That is the beauty of genius. Shakespeare is as relevant to the playground as to the playhouse.
Speaking of the playground, after last week's introduction to Act 1, a boy named Evan came up to me, quite concerned, to report that he had lost his "Ross" nametag. I told him not to worry, that I would bring new nametags this week. His face lit up. "Great!" he said. As he walked away, Evan called out: "Don't forget! I'm a Thane!"
Trust me. I won't forget.
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