Okey Takes a Bride

Happy Valentine's Day!

Reflections on e2020 essay writing

Because I was speaking off-the-cuff in the video, there are a few things I should explain about the high school where I work. While it is a kind of a cyber school, it would be better to call it more of a hybrid between a high school and a cyber school. I like this combination and I feel it has very real possibilities for the future of education. Certainly it is very effective for our students, traditionally called alternative education students. Our school is based on E2020 which is an online program that offers a great many classes for high school students. Up until now it has been used by traditional high schools as a credit recovery program for students who fall behind, or has been run as a program for a handful of students in a room or wing of a traditional high school for various needs.

Our program is the first, perhaps only, program to build an entire high school around e2020 course work. The result has been something very unique. Imagine a school where there are no text books, no paper, no photocopying, and no classrooms. Imagine never having to pace herds of students to a chronological curriculum that must be followed in lock-step order. Imagine students working at their own pace at whatever subject they want, when they want to. Imagine going to a school where students never have to run from biology class to English class on a set daily schedule! Imagine a school where every student gets individual attention.

As a student, I was bad at math—especially algebra. I quickly fell behind my classmates and could never catch up. I failed algebra because I simply couldn’t go at the same speed as my fellow students. But what If I could have gone at my own pace? What if, when I struggled with something, a teacher could come and talk to me, see my specific need, and sit down a while and just work with me on one concept till I understood it. What if that teacher wasn’t in the middle of a class and not ‘sacrificing the needs of the many’ because he wasn’t exactly in a classroom following the tyranny of a chronological curriculum for that day? I think I might have had success.

That imaginary school is my school. To be fair, e2020 isn’t perfect. It is still a struggle to get our students to really do all of the work they are supposed to do, and clever students can find innumerable ways to subvert the program. But we have tweaked things over the last few years to improve the quality of the program, and done our best to ensure that the students learn. And that is the most important thing to note about this program: it is well-staffed with people who care about quality and about the students we take in. We do our best to make sure that e2020 works for our needs, not the needs of e2020.

Here’s how it works: we have five labs that are overseen by lab assistants who keep watch over the students to help keep them on task and assist them with some of the problems the students may face. We also have four certified teachers in the area of Math, Science, Social Studies and English. We have between 180 to 200 students enrolled with about 125 students on a daily basis. We have a fantastic principal who is a team builder; a site supervisor, an academic counselor, a school nurse, a social worker and a special education worker.

Students sit at their computers and work on the course work of their choosing and are on task most of the time (a fact that actually surprised me. I had expected them to be constantly distracted by gizmos on the computers). If a student needs to see a teacher, they sign up for one at the lab instructor’s desk. We have a Reserve-a-Teacher Google doc at all the teacher stations and at each lab. Teachers check this all day long and go from lab to lab helping students when they need it. In the video, I have covered part of what I do. Essays are unique to the English courses. I am the only teacher in the school who actually does some grading. The e2020 program does all the rest based on multiple choice quizzes and test questions.

We have several in-school activities that help the students to get away from their computers for a while. Some of these are run by community groups and volunteers. A sewing class, choir, and several support and talk groups work with our students and there are a few other activities they may be involved in. A PE teacher comes over from the high school in the afternoons for those students who need a PE credit, Tom Parker, our Social Studies teacher likes to show a content related movie on Fridays. The point here is that we try to get the students to take breaks from the tedium of on-line work, refresh their brains and have some participation in school life.

Finally I want underscore the importance of the need to make a human connection between staff and student. Years ago, when I imagined a cyber school, I was very fearful of losing the need for a student-teacher relationship. I was fearful that the human and social connections I had in a traditional classroom would be lost as students worked in some kind of cyberspace virtual reality. I can see now that that isn’t the direction this will take. At our school, the teacher-student relationship is much better than ever. (Keep in mind I am talking from my perspective of alternative education.) I no longer have to manage a classroom, trying to protect the students who want to learn from the students who cause trouble. I don’t have thirty students in a classroom whose individual needs are impossible to met. I meet one on one with a student who needs me. I see their face. I see their need. I don’t have to worry about rushing. I can spend twenty minutes going over their essay, if I need to. This happens because essays come when they come. I don’t get scores of them thrown on my desk on a due date. I may grade between six to ten essays a day. I enjoy sitting next to the student and helping them, sometimes just talking to them about things that have happened to them. The essays make me consider their world; I take and interest in them and they respond to that. And generally the essays get a little longer, and a little better as they go—even from students who hated writing them when we first sat down to work on one.

The Ghost in the Cloud: Chapters 19 & 20

It takes a while to make these audio chapters. I write them largely as a way to constantly work on my writing. Sometimes the writing is good, sometimes it could use a little more work, but if I felt that everything I wrote had to be perfect, I'd never get to it, and certainly I'd never publish it.

What makes good writing? A lot of things really. A couple of things that I think are important are: showing the reader rather than telling the reader, for one, and being honest in the writing is another. When it comes to showing, you have to appeal to the five senses, but showing is not limited to just the five physical senses, showing involves thoughts and emotions as well--what is going on in a person's head. frankly, I like omniscience as a writer. I especially like unlimited omniscience. I like to get into the heads of a lot of characters. In doing so, I bring the reader into their world--which is really into my head and my world expressed through the kaleidoscope of multiple people--my characters. I may base a character on someone I know, but I can only project what I think they are thinking--what I think is motivating them--I cannot really know what is in their head or how they really experience the world. Other people are mysteries, really--and should be--we can know them, yet we never really know them at the same time.

That brings me to honesty. I'm not going to tell you all my secrets. I'm going to distort the truth in my stories, and yet I'm going to be honest in my lies. In creating fictional characters I have to draw on things that are in me. That said, I have to say that there are times when I write where I may not know what it is like for someone to go through events in my sotry that I've not been through--I have to imagine what it must be like and I may not be accurate about it, but I base it on what I think I would feel. There are other times when I am familiar with what my characters are going through, because I've been through them and so I may well connect the reader with something that is in my head, giving them a slice of what it might be like.

Chapter 20 you might find a bit disturbing and the ending is not bright, but more of the story is coming. I have been surprised at how many people have been listening to this audio series. I didn't really expect anyone to listen to it, let alone sustain listening to such a meandering, crazy, graphic novel in audio form. Chapter 10 has been especially popular for some reason. I've wondered of someone has put a link on it to another site. No matter, it is a joy to me that there are people, all over the world, who have listend to my meandering tale--especially chapter 10 which is one that I am happy with.

A Snowy Day

I don't really care much for winter as a season. The bitter cold and the dark kind of get to me. But there is something very satisfying about heavy snow that seems to never stop; snow that settles in deep blankest on everything, making lace on the trees; snow that sparkels in the street lights and crunches under my feet. Once you get used to driving in it, it can even be fun to drive in. I can turn a corner at almost a right angle. I feel so warm, inside and very relaxed. I watch it drift down and I allow its hypnotic effects charm me into a state of peace. I thought I'd take you, where ever you are in the world--Abu Dhabi, Ireland, Canada, England, India, Boston, Indianapolis, Bloomington, Washington DC, China, Mexico--as long as you can see this blog, I'm taking you with me on a walk with me through the snow, just for fun.

Faces of Elizabeth

Jody

As I write, I'm visiting my parents in Indianapolis. It's the area where I grew up, and I can't help it that, when I walk around the area, I'm living in two times at once: the Indianapolis that exists now, and the Indianapolis in 1974 at the same time. I see all the changes that have happened over time, but I also see, very clearly, the way things used to be. My mom and dad were young and strong. I didn't think they were all that young at the time, but now I know that they were. The American people were prosperous, the middle class was strong, the war in Viet Nam was ending. People could find jobs--good paying jobs--without a lot of competition. If you had a job working as a UAW worker, you had it made with a big hourly pay and lots of benefits. A college education was affordable back then--down right cheap. I was off to Lincoln Christian College in the fall of that year. Tuition for me at that time was about three hundred dollars for the semester. I spent a few hundred more for my dorm and a meal ticket.

Now half of all Americans are either poor or low income. Good paying jobs are very hard to come by. If you start work as a UAW worker today, you get nine dollars an hour and no health insurance. If you start college today, you may find yourself in debt for the rest of your life. One grad class for me in Michigan is over 1500 dollars. That's about what my entire tuition for a semester at Indiana University was back in the 90's where I got my BA in English and Latin and did my Teaching Certification Program.

I am no longer 17 years old. I am 55, and the world has changed so very much.

I had a twilight zone experience the other day when I went to buy a "White Elephant" give for a coworker. I went to Goodwill and picked up a cheesy lamp for three bucks. When I went to pay, the clerk asked me if I was 55 or older, because I could get a senior discount. Without thinking I said, "no." My son with with me and laughed and said, "yes, he is." It was then that Rod Sterling stepped out from behind the counter and spoke to the television audience: "This is Mr. Ogle. When he walked into this store he was 17 years old. now he must confront the fact that he has just become a senior citizen living in third world America. He has two adult children who still need a lot of support, quite a few big bills, and he works 56 hours a week just to make ends meet...and now he must deal with the effects of...the Twilight Zone" And the music creeps up: Naw nee naw naw, naw nee naw naw....

Life is painful. I understand that. But why does it have to be soooo painful?

My dad took me to McDonald's this morning where he often goes to meet some other senior friends of his. It is his birthday today, but they must not know that since they don't greet him with a "Happy Birthday!" He's 81 and at this point in life, I wonder if anyone really want to be reminded of the fact.

Jody was working today. I know her from my high school years at Decatur Central. I found out that her husband, who is my age, has cancer. She said he went through one round of prostate cancer when he was 50. Now at 55 he is going through another round with a different cancer. The doctors, she says, don't know what it is. It is apparently rare and aggressive.

Jody greeted my father wit a lot of affection, rubbing his shoulders as he sat and ate. She's been there for years now--ever since that McDonald's opened up on the corner of 67 and High School Road. Dad has been going to meet his friends there for nearly as long as that, I think. Jody knows him well.

I haven't been following Facebook very much in recent weeks so when she first mentioned the cancer, I wasn't sure what to say since she had obviously posted some of the info on Facebook and I had either missed it or had forgotten that she had. Either way, I waited to see if I could figure out what was going on. She sat down and talked to us awhile. It is apparent that she needs to talk about the cancer thing, that that is restricted a bit by the social situation. I still listened and asked questions about it as much as I could. In another situation I would have talked and listened a lot longer. People need to talk about these things. She mentioned that sometimes at night, when she can't sleep, she would get up and write things down and that seems to help her sleep a lot better.

She showed me several pictures on her phone, starting with her wedding picture. She wore a white dress that looked a bit like a granny gown, and he war a suit and vest. His jacked had those really wide lapels and his hair was like a large Afro. It was easy to spot the era and it gave me a bit of whiplash when it jerked me back in time again to the 70's. She flipped through the pictures and showe me one of her husband on a motorcycle with a big beard and hair to match, and then finally to pictures of the recent cancer on his throat. "It's gotten wors since the picture was taken," she said. "He doesn't want people to see him like this because he's not sure how to react to them when they see it, but he doesn't seem to mind me letting them know by photos."

My heart really went out to her. She's such a good person. Why does life have to be sooo painful I ask myself again.

The conversation went in other directions since my dad and the others were around. Jody told a story about George, one of the other seniors that used to come there for coffee in the mornings with my father. George is dead now, but when he was dying, Jody said she got a call from him. "You'd think," he said to her on the phone, "that the manager of McDonalds would come and visit a regular customer on his death bead."

"What can I bring you, George?" she asked.

"How about a strawberry shake?" he answered.

jody took him a strawberry shake and visited with him several hours as he lay on his death bed.

I've reflected on that story since this morning--thought about it all day, in fact. I thought, what a remarkable person she must be, to have developed relationships like that; to have cared about these old seniors sitting around gabbing every morning. A wonderful, giving human being whose husband has come down with cancer a second time. Why, I wonder. I don't have an answer for what has been called "the problem of pain." there really isn't one. Life is full of pain, but what I am thankful for is that life also presents to us people like Jody. People whose hearts are full of love and care. People like Jody remind me that there is good in this world. Jody, I wish you the best. I will pray for you and your husband. Come what may, I want you to know that you give me the kind of hope I need this Christmas. I need to know that such things as love, kindness and compassion are still alive the way you have shown me in the few moments that you sat down with us today. I wish you well this holiday. God keep you.

St. Nicholas Day Boxes

When my children were little we observed St. Nicholas Day by having Elizabeth and Peter put their shoes out on the night of December fifth. They would put notes to St. Nicholas in the shoes and go to bed. That night we would take the notes (many of which I have saved), fill their shoes with candy, cookies and small toys. The next day they were very excited to find the treats in their shoes. But the shoes were little and couldn’t hold very much, so one year I hit on the idea of making special boxes with a picture of St. Nicholas. I drew the pictures and designs, painted my boxes, cut them out, and glued them together, then filled them with the cookies and treats.

Over the years I have made many boxes by hand, in many shapes and sizes. Now that my children are grown, I’ve altered things a bit. These last couple of years I decided to give boxes to my coworkers and friends as well, but making so many by hand would be quite a daunting task! So I made my usual artwork, but this time I reduced it all to fit on 8 ½ X 11 card stock and had them printed off. Then I cut them and assemble them in mass.St. Nicholas Day is a big event. Often I would read one of my three Peter the Pirate stories involving St. Nicholas to the family. Two of them I have posted on the sidebar of my blog, if you are interested. The middle story I’m still working on for the audio version. (Didn’t have it ready for this year either.)

We have emphasized St. Nicholas over Santa Clause because Santa is just a little to commercial for our taste and we like the connection to a real person who lived in the fourth century and who exemplifies generosity and compassion.

I thought I would share this year’s box with you all. I miss the times when our children were little and the excitement and expectation they had then. Elizabeth is a college and I hope she sees, in this blog, what she has to look forward to. I really miss her today. So Elizabeth, if you catch my blog, Happy St. Nicholas Day to you, and to everyone else as well!

The Texture of Autumn

I am often torn between empiricism and transcendentalism. A mouthful of words there, but that’s about as pithy as I can get. Why do human beings look at a year with its four seasons and so easily see it as a metaphor for a human life cycle. The seasons are the result of the tilt of the earth as it orbits the sun, aren’t they? Less light and colder weather triggers trees to shut down for the winter. Trees don’t really die; they simply lose their leaves as sap flow is conserved for the tree to weather the winter. Nothing metaphorical about it. There is no universal being sending us messages through nature about life.

But I just can’t help it. It seems too apparent that Spring (I capitalize seasons, get used to it), is like birth and growth; Summer like the productive years of a human adulthood; Autumn, in the brevity of its glory, is so much like old age and dying; and Winter is like Death. To walk under a tree that is exploding with yellow and peach and not feel a change in mood is impossible for me. And, I know I’m crazy, but, when I’m alone in the woods, I often have to stop and feel the bark of a tree. I feel the texture, but I also imagine that I feel the spirit of the tree, like a heart beat, and I feel that I communicate with the tree and know that the message comes from the roots and the soil and the moisture and the sun in the leaves and the wind in the branches and I find that heaven and earth are connected through the tree itself. It is as if human beings disconnected from this language thousands of years ago when we formed words on the tongue and started to speak with the mouth rather than speak the heart and spirit.

Or is it merely a tree’s bark that I feel? No meaning in it at all. Evolution—descent with modification—is random, says the empiricist—no meaning or a sense of purpose behind it at all. But I do not think it is human to live without meaning—even if that meaning is a Who rather than a Why, if that meaning is found through Love. Ah, Love, says the empiricist, does not exist—only biological urges, drives, predetermined genetic coding for the survival of the human species—that is all. If I am to believe the empiricist there is no love and no meaning, then I live in a rather cold, unromantic world. I have a hard time accepting that. But what ever is true is true regardless of what I can accept or not accept.

If I am to believe the empiricist, even I do not exist—I, that is as an entity, as a person. I am but a stimulus-response machine. There is no self, only what can be called personality formed by genetics and environmental conditioning. I am also brain chemistry, alter the chemistry and alter my personality.

So I am stripped of meaning, love, and even a self. Does anyone really believe that? Does anyone really live that way? It seems so apparent that there is more to the world than that. Don’t you, dear reader, sense it too? Put your hand on the bark of the tree sometime. Feel deeper than just the texture. Feel the texture of the soul of the tree, the soul of the earth, the soul of the sun on which it also feeds. Touch the bark of the Cottonwood, sacred to the Lakota, the one tree at the sacred center, of the sacred circle. There is a lot of air and water in Cottonwood. It seems to speak louder than other trees.

If this seems insane to you, consider this: a world without love, self, or meaning is a far greater definition of insanity. Look it up: Insanity—without reason. If all that exists is the result of randomness, then there is no reason for anything. So I talk about apparent reason. It is reason that is implied or inferred from all that is, but cannot be proven—proven in the empiricist sense anyway. Our intuition, as subjective as it may be, ought to guide us in to meaning and purpose, not objectivity. This is counter to our training and education—to the current meta-narrative that science takes such stock in. Not that I ignore science—science deals in the world of facts, but I do not believe that facts are Truth. It may tell us if some things are true, but it does not deal in Truth. Truth, just like the elusive person or self, must be known intuitively, and, like a person or self, can never be fully known. It is inexhaustible. Truth is not static, not an absolute, the way to know it is not rational. It is ever changing and yet ever the same, it is paradoxical. But the human mind, not brain, can grasp the paradox. The mind goes beyond the brain, stretching out, dreaming, and conceiving the impossible. The mind is unlimited and its imagination is boundless. This imagination will take us to the stars in great ships, one day. The Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria, the Mayflower, the Endeavor, the Enterprise and thousands more will leave this little orb and sail through the universe like dandelion seeds on the wind. We have only to imagine it, and dream it, and it will become real.

So I am reflecting on Autumn, the inward and outward Autumn, reminding me of my mortality and my immortality: the brain that dies and rots, the mind that rises to meet infinite thought and becomes one with God, as the Apostle says, in the day when all things return to God, who will be all in all. That which is born of the flesh is flesh: that which is born of the spirit is spirit. The empiricist; the transcendentalist.