Por FIN llego la contestacion, y?

Pues, como la Senora T me dio estos codigos para usar los acentos, me imagino que debo aprender como ponerlos.

Gracias tambien a Zhenya por animarme en practicar. Que bueno tener personas amables que nos animan cuando lo necesitamos lo mas.

Hoy tuve la segunda entrevista. Sabes, no me hicieron ni una pregunta en espanol! Dos paginas de preguntas, tres personas y un colegio nuevo. Un "magnet" school para los "media arts". Al pensar en esto, me imagino que van a tratar de usar mucho mas la tecnologia. No puedo decir mucho acerca de esta entrevista. Conteste suficientemente, pero al fin siempre pienso en ALGO que debia haber dicho. Por ejemplo "Porque no dije nada acerca de escribir el curriculo para conformar con los estandares del estado?" "Porque no dije nada de las ideas que uso en la clase, los proyectos o la realia?"

Pero al fin se que ya esta para Dios decidir que va a pasar. La realidad, la pregunta verdadero es si ellos quieren trabajar con la con quien tiene la entrevista. Una persona puede tener todas las respuestas mas perfectas y un CV que brilla como el sol, pero si las personas al otro lado de la mesa no le gusta como es esta persona, no hay ninguna oportunidad. Depende en como dices lo que dices, tus maneras, si puedes inspirar la credibilidad. Creo yo que todo esto es asunto de suerte.

Por ejemplo, yo se que los viejos casi siempre me daran el trabajo, si me estan dando la entrevista. Pues, casi siempre. Pero las mujeres, no. No se porque, y probablemente no quiero saber.

Pues, basta pensar en esto es un gasto de tiempo.

Ademas, hoy en noche empece pensar en como vamos a tener otro nino. Empezar un trabajo nuevo no voy a poder tener hijo...no se. J dice que no hay como podemos vivir en su suelda. No se. Al pensar en como vamos a tener un nino, es como soy cuando viajo... no pienso en como, solo que lo quiero mas que todo y ...

pues hasta pronto mis amigos. Les avisare la resulta de la entrevista que tuve hoy. Gracias por haberme animado seguir espanol. Les agradezco!

Hay que practicar.

La habilidad de hablar espanol bien no se puede separar del tiempo que esta usado para comunicar. Como los musculos, hay que usarlos si no los quiere perder.

Ya se que mi espanol tiene fallas, equivocaciones y todas variaciones de cosas no bien dicho, pero les pido la cortesia de ser simpaticos al iluminar las fallas.

Hoy no tengo acentos. Quizas buscare como hacer los acentos. Pero quizas no. El proposito de esta practica es para hablar mejor, para ser entendido en las entrevistas que voy a tener para ser maestra de espanol.

Krashen dice en su teoria de aprender idioma que la ansiedad mientras hablar idioma extrano causa una persona de hablar peor, olvidar detalles gramaticales, perder la facildad que antes pudiera haber tenido. Vi esto al olvidar, en una manera que me da pena acordarlo, como se usa el verbo gustar en una entrevista. Fue increible. Me ha pasado mas que una vez, tambien paso en una prueba oral para conseguir la certificacion de ser maestra de espanol: se me olvido la palabra "correo". Queria morir. En el carro despues de la prueba grite CORREO! CORREO! CORREO! PORQUE????!!!

Pague 125 dolares para fracasar la prueba y olvidar correo. Empece a llorar calladamente. (esto es broma)

Pues, quizas piensas "Pues, quizas la realidad es que no hablas espanol muy bien?". No la acepto esta idea.

El problema es mas con mi ansiedad, mis pensamientos que son complicados y el deseo de comunicar mis pensamientos complicadas con un idioma que no, pues, no tengo la oportunidad para usarlo. Se que mi espanol es bueno porque si no, mis amigos no me hubieron pedido pelear con los taxistas para mejor precios o negociar con los empleos del hotel cuando habian pelitos negros en las camas de nuestros cuartos.

Pues, basta ya.

Decidi hacer esto porque el hombre me llamo del colegio donde tuve entrevista y me dijo que me esta recomiendo para un trabajo de maestra de ESL medio tiempo en vez de el trabajo para que tuve la entrevista...maestro de espanol full time. Al oir esto se que tenia que practicar mas y asegurar que nunca, pero nunca, dije nada de ser part time. Asi es mi plan para conseguir un trabajo como maestra de espanol. Ademas, seria una buena idea si no dije nada de la edad de las personas... soy el peor con "small talk" en espanol. No tengo idea en que decir, y si no digo nada piensan que no puedo hablar espanol. Gar!

Hasta pronto mis amigos.

No, dear, life doesn't make sense sometimes

Nor is it fair, right or otherwise logical sometimes. I say sometimes because there are those moments when all is good and right and as it should be.

But not today. And not in the year 2000.

In the year 2000 I closed a bad chapter of my life at an Internet startup where with my skills of speaking Spanish and Russian, I served as an office manager. My life was breaking up into little pieces and floating away like the polar permafrost ice sheet. My job was really frustrating because I was doing something that in no way met with my rather bizarre skill set, my living situation was poor...and in result, I felt angry sort of most of the time.

So I turned that new leaf and went back to school at Good Public University, who offered me a fellowship to get my MAT in Spanish.

The program was administrated by a new, very enthusiastic new professor who was really quite wonderful. The problem was there simply were not enough places for us to go and watch classes be taught that were nearby. We were put with whoever was available, regardless as to whether they would be a good mentor teacher or not.

I was put with OMW (old mean woman). She was a top notch, highly effective teacher who somehow elicited total control over her class and her students all but walked in at attention to her room. I was intimidated. She was on par with a drill Sergeant. But man could she teach Spanish. But would her students speak to her? No. Did she EVER make even the MOST MINUTE grammatical error in Spanish? No. Not even a tiny one. Did she mix it up with great projects that she seemed to pull off effortlessly? Yes. Did she grade papers and hand them back in about 15 minutes after they were turned in? Yes. Her armor gleamed. She was feckless. ALl of her overheads were in 18 point font to be read clearly, her drills were effective, the students were engaged. She was just amazing.

I am a very different sort of person. I tend to learn by trial and error. I am pretty laissez faire, or at least I was. I didn't want to be psychotically exacting and I didn't want to have my students march at a military cadence, I wanted Spanish to be fun.

From the moment I walked into her door, I was trying to see how to get along with her. I worked very, very hard. My day started at 530 AM and ended when I got home from work at 11 at night. They way I saw it, her recommendation was going to make or break my ability to gain employment after the MAT was over.

My first assignment that she gave me was to make a sign for her door that informed the students of something. I no longer remember what, so I took a piece of paper and neatly wrote with a marker the message. When I gave it to her she looked like I just handed her a turd. She put it up, but over the next couple weeks as I saw her style of teaching (she seemed to never do any preparation, she only was mysteriously prepared)...everything was perfectly color coded for the levels...purple was Spanish 2 and Blue was Spanish 1. All overheads were always organized in baskets, all papers corrected immediately. There were no "piles" in her room. I started to see that this order was not just a casual thing. It was a mandated "way to be". My sign probably should have been computer generated, laser printed and plasticized, then maybe it would have been more acceptable.

I tried not to worry about the discrepancy between what she expected of me and the seeming perpetual disappointment she had with me. But as time went on, the fear metastasized and I put on my coat of "Que Sera Sera" and did my best. Though when evaluation time came, she ripped me a new one. I only seemed to disappoint her, perpetually. Down to the most minute detail she had me in a sling. I started to congratulate myself for things I did right to not feel like such a loser. But in front of my professor she lambasted me. I did what was natural, I cried.

I was resigned to deal with my lot, but my anxiety grew and one day in speaking with my professor at the University a colleague overheard and was surprised to hear what I was dealing with. Thankfully, she immediately reported it to her own mentor teacher who then sent a nasty email to my mentor teacher. Naturally, this made things much better. After that I was removed from her room. She didn't trust me anymore.

What I was dealing with was a palpable distaste that she had for me. The students knew it. When I wrote in Spanish on the board, my handwriting was never neat enough, if I forgot a question mark at the beginning of the sentence, it was more proof of my total unfitness. If I erased a misplaced accent with my finger she got mad because I was gumming up her board. If I pronounced Octubre incorrectly she let me know. I became as nervous and as twitchy as a cat and began sabotaging my own success, I began to doubt my ability to do a job that was totally within my reach.

In Russian there is a word to describe teachers like this, I found out. They are called вредно. Vrednie. It means "harmful".

One day in the parking lot, the final bit came. Another person in the MAT program, though not studying to be a Spanish teacher was walking out to her car at the same time as I. She said she felt bad for my with the teacher I got. I knew it was rough, but I was wondering how she knew, so I asked why? She told me she had heard my mentor teacher bragging about having flunked 5 student teachers before me and that she had no qualms about it again. She was a nice person the girl who told me this, she wasn't one to undermine or speak false. She looked at me carefully and asked if there was a way I could get out.

My heart sunk.

I went to professor and I did the only thing I had left. I wigged out.

I was moved to a different school with a different sort of teacher. Again, he was very knowlegeable, but he was totally disorganized. He would spend ten minutes of class setting up the VCR to show cartoons. I picked my jaw off the floor enough so I thought only of the fact that this guy was going to get me a job. This teacher was organized on one level, with semester calendars and Oral Proficiency Tests, but told jokes the whole class period about his fat brother...the students LOVED him. They all came to hang out with him. And he was so good to them, and for them. Though admittedly, he was teaching to one of the poorer white populations in the state and OMW was teaching to the richest. All this makes a difference too I know.

This week, OMW won teacher of the year. And I suppose she deserves it, she is very effective. But for my part, it is hard to imagine.

One of the harder parts to all this was that the student teacher that was with her before I was with her was beloved by OMW. Ironically, this student teacher had an abysmal first year. My first year on the other hand, my students bought me 2 dozen red long stemmed roses at the end of the year. I hardly felt I deserved it, but all the same.

During Spring Break there was a training at OMW's school, with her friends in charge. I was to go. I went. When other teachers asked me how my first year was going, I think OMW nearly gave herself whiplash when she heard me say how well my first year was going.

So that this woman who honestly did more to crush my spirit than any other teacher I ever met won teacher of the year is hard to comprehend.

But ultimately the last laugh is all mine. I was trained by an amazingly effective teacher. I took a treasure trove from her classroom. I survived her fascist methods and went on to some of the best years of teaching I have ever had. Honestly, I think some people just need someone to see their potential, rather than what they are. I love teaching. I am good at it too, though I still am learning day by day.

Teach

NEA Today magazine ran a special about teacher blogs.

This is sort of a teacher blog except for the fact that I rarely talk about my teaching.

Which is strange because it is really a huge part of my life. When I come home, stopping thinking about school is my first item of business. Sometimes I have a hard time with it.

I teach ESL. The majority of my students speak either Russian or Ukrainian or Spanish.

I teach Health. Am I a health major? No, but I am a bit of a post graduate student of paying attention to the decisions related to health that I make. I used to never think about this and wonder why anyone would. This is where my students are now, so I feel some level of success at having reached them because so many respond positively to the class.

Because I have taught this subject for five years now I have actually had the chance to improve the curriculum and come to know what is reasonable to expect, what will bore them to tears, what they will do, what they will do if I teach it right, and of course, what they won't do because either they aren't capable of it, or they just don't see the point, or they flat out don't get it. I can't say I have had as much success in my reading class, though it does get better and better.

This semester I have a student named Steven. He is the brother of another kid I had who was a sparkling standout. So, it is hard for me to not feel some level of comprehension of Steven and his family, I know his dad, his mom, his uncle and two of his brothers. They are sincere, smart, fun and funny as a family.

Steven however, though he is 18 and should probably have graduated last year, has really low written and speaking skills in English and often just sits more than he gets down to work. This finals I think was hard on him, though he won't say it. I can tell when he writes the vocabulary sentences, they all revolve around other people's opinions of his intelligence and work ethic and his refuting of their judgement of him as lazy or not very smart.

I know Steven is smart. I know he is a good person. And because I know his whole family, I actually think about what I could say to him to drive home the fact that his future is at stake here. Something inside me is seeking these perfect golden words that will change his life. If only, I think.

And another, larger part of me knows that like how I was at that age, Steven has his own choices to make. But I remember wishing that someone could have spoken to my heart to keep me from making the wrong choices. But who would that have been?

I think, in my soliloquoy (you spell it, then) to Steven I would tell him this, and pretend I had his ear.

I know you feel like you cannot see how these little things we do all day long connect to the bigger picture that is your future. But your future, which only you will live, depends on seeing that connection. It depends on it because your education, your english, will direct what kind of work you have. What kind of work you have will be how much money you have each month. To survive, to put food down for a girl you love, or whether she will support you. Whether or not you will be able to afford that winter coat for the child you will have some day. What food you eat, where you live, whether you can afford to have vacations, or even enjoy your work...all that will depend on your job. And your job will depend on your education, and that will depend on what you do now, every hour you spend in these doors.

I know that high school isn't for everyone. Maybe you should go take some classes at the community college and see how that works for you. Will you understand enough? You're smart, will you pick it up over time? Possibly. But if you aren't working here, what will motivate your passion enough to work? If this isn't the place for you, then go find where it is that you feel is a useful way to spend your time.

Basically I want to say poop or get off the pot. I feel for Steven, I have been in his shoes. I think alot of young men are where he is. Making a connection between learning cancer vocabulary and why it is important enough to actually work on it, well that might as well be the Grand Canyon.

In the end, I lose no sleep over Steven. I have had enough Stevens, I know it is his life, and I don't need to be a savior. I guess sometimes I just challenge myself with a mind game of "what could I say to get them to change." It is a futile game, but alas. It makes me a better listener, actually, if you can believe it.

Finals over, in my fifth year I am so glad because I stress about 5% what I used to in my first year. I was perpetually in fear of being canned then. Not that I did anything wrong, but because I was so happy with my job I just figured that it would only stand to reason I would get canned. So much for my optimism, there. The longer I teach the more I know where I will be lenient and where I won't budge. The less I worry about everything because I know that every day is a new chance to forget stupid little mistakes, or really stupid big ones.

I recently had a former student come back and interview me for a final project. The interview went horribly. I was in the middle of administering test makeups, and there was a club meeting also happening in my room at the time. Plus I had to prepare for the next class, and it was lunch and I was starving. Her questions were very, very good. My answers were mostly me rambling thinking about too many things at once and trying to find something that wouldn't get me in trouble and still rang a little true. I wished I could have seen the questions beforehand, I respect the girl and her family alot, I have had two of her brothers as well in my class. Good people. I was disappointed in the quality of the interview. I had no pearls.

So teaching. I suppose it isn't for everyone, but I do love it. I guess my greatest aspiration would be to have an answer to all of those really hard situations...I know there is alot that is up to the students and how they feel about the teacher. So I guess it is being the teacher that they won't mess with, not out of fear, but out of respect.

Better in spanish maybe

I Like You When You Are Silent

from "20 Love Poems and a Song of Despair" collection - 1924

I like you when you are silent because you are as though absent, and you hear me from afar, and my voice does not touch you. It seems as though your eyes had flown away from you and it seems as though a kiss had shut your mouth. As all things are full of my soul you emerge from all things, full of my soul. Butterfly of slumber, you seem like my soul, and you look like the word melancholy. I like you when you are silent and you are as though distant. And you are as if plaintive, a butterfly cooing. And you hear me from afar, and my voice does not reach you: let me be silent with your silence. Let me speak to you as well with your silence bright as a lantern, simple as a ring. You are like the night, hushed and full of stars. Your silence is of the stars, so distant and simple. I like you when you are still because you are as though absent. Distant and mournful as if you had died. One word then, one smile is enough. And I am happy, happy that it is not true. ______________________________________________________________ This is the poem I attempted to post on old ChezWhat? that came out all messed up. I still like it in spanish better I think, because for me there is more mystery to spanish than english.