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Monthly Archives: February 2017

Planned ignoring could be the answer

As a nineteen-year-old counselor at a camp for children from inner city Halifax, I first learned about the idea of planned ignoring (https://www.mayinstitute.org/news/topic_center.html?id=395). I was shocked that there could be such a technique, that being ignored could be recommended as a way to help children, that it could be therapeutic. But then I wasn’t a kid whose acting out, and only acting out, was reinforced by attention. And I suppose it wasn’t in my character anyway, since I did want more attention sometimes than I got. As a person working with children and youth, I thought that all children’s expressed needs, frustrations, complaints, and antics should be responded to in some way.

I have come to know better over the years to respond to people–my children, students, and others, on a continuum of attention, including sometimes purposefully ignoring behaviors or comments that don’t deserve a response.

Now I see planned ignoring as a possible answer to the problem of a Donald Trump presidency. The more I learn about Trump, the more I believe that the only thing that matters to him is attention, and whatever behaviors get that attention will become his modi operandi. So planned ignoring of certain behaviors of his should have the effect of extinguishing them through lack of reinforcement, as long as his more desirable behaviors are reinforced at the same time (https://www.special-learning.com/article/extinction).

Most of us are only exposed to Trump’s behavior through the media, and we know that the purpose of for-profit media is to win our attention long enough that the advertisers see increases in sales. So no one can expect the corporate media, however horrified they appear to be by Trump’s words and actions, to initiate any sort of campaign to ignore him. We’ve seen that his ability to shock, offend, perplex, and provide comedy to the public tends to increase ratings and readership of outlets that cover it. And when increases to readership and viewership of specific types of stories can be tracked, as they can for online media, there’s another layer of reinforcement added, this time for the media to spend more time spreading stories of Trump’s undesirable behaviors, if they are the most consumed.

So it has to come from us. Media consumers can and should make the choice to withdraw attention from all forms of coverage that reinforce negative, attention-seeking behaviors by public figures. Not that we should ignore important coverage, but we need to distinguish between that and coverage that effectively reinforces what’s worst in human nature.

This idea could certainly be applied more broadly, such as to a move to cut down on gluttonous consumption of stories about violent offenders, terrorists, fringe elements, and copy-cat offenders. (https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/monkey-cage/wp/2015/12/04/yes-mass-shootings-tend-to-produce-copycats-so-do-terror-attacks/?utm_term=.2ee9e5a59024)

Is it even realistic to suggest the idea that media consumers can make the kind of concerted effort that could move a person like Trump to behave? Probably not, if it means there is real consensus about what behavior is wanted. Many people love the fact that Trump will say and do anything, and call it a virtue. But from what I can tell, if enough consumers of media did participate in a movement to avoid coverage (and intervening paid advertisements) that’s mostly spin and hype and had no practical application, it could affect ratings and send the heads to media scurrying into the meeting room to adjust their coverage (how ratings are determined: http://www.nielsen.com/us/en/solutions/measurement/television.html).

It’s not helpful to watch five minutes, be appalled, and watch ten minutes, twenty minutes, thirty minutes more. That kind of thing gives some of the least trusted news sources the highest viewership. (http://www.businessinsider.com/here-are-the-most-and-least-trusted-news-outlets-in-america-2014-10) So there’s no incentive to be more trustworthy, and certainly none to provide coverage not solely designed to entertain. Personally, if I get sucked in that way as I pass through the living room, I feel defiled and stupider for it afterwords. the phrase amusing myself to death comes to mind. There’s a book that’s as relevant as ever. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amusing_Ourselves_to_Death)

Neither is it effective, apparently, to specialize in coverage critical of Trump, since although he occasionally gets irritated by it, he probably still believes what he was quoted as saying in The Art of the Deal:

“Good publicity is preferable to bad, but from a bottom-line perspective, bad publicity is sometimes better than no publicity at all. Controversy, in short, sells.”

 SO here’s an invitation to one and all. Ignore most of the coverage, and try to get the essentials from sources not dependent on corporate advertising and have excellent journalistic principles and a history of covering what’s truly important. Some diseases can only be cured by being starved of nourishment.
 
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Posted by on February 27, 2017 in Culture & Society, Ideas, Media

 

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Climate Change? I dare to hope.

Already heard two people suggest that the cold weather could be an indication that global warming might net be an issue after all. I think I need to start carrying around a pocket version of the data that shows the evidence to the contrary.

We are just starting work on climate change in Environmental Science, having finished studying the carbon cycle and the greenhouse effect. On impulse I took pages from a set of slide presentations I found from a conference of Effects of Climate Change in the Pacific Northwest, distributed them one to each student, and told them to decipher their page–What was it about, and why was it in a presentation of that topic? Some had a list of figures, some had graphs, some a series of maps, and all had only basic titles, and a few details. The type of slides you need a human being to animate and clarify. They had to dig, and I hope that it will kick start a conversation about the many impacts of climate change in our own area.

I’m the only Environmental Science teacher in the district, and the course is still, in the districts I know about, an elective. How can that be? Yes, biology is important, but if you use the traditional text and don’t rush, you barely touch on ecology, which is usually located at the end of the text. Small to big picture just doesn’t give justice to an understanding of climate’s effects on the ecosystems and physical processes that protect and sustain us. And so students learn about cells and genetics and the food chain, and pass the End of Course or AP exam, take some classes in chem or physics or tech or ag. science, but never really learn that everything is made out of air, soil, water, and sunlight, and that our only hope lies in learning how to do things just like the rest of nature does.

One of the most discouraging things I heard was when a teacher said no, he never did any waste reduction projects because he had to teach to the AP Environmental Science test, and there was no time. Important, yes, but Environmental Science should never be AP. Better to teach one aspect deeply so the principles of systems and interdependence sink in, and students are moved to action on one thing about which they can really make a difference.

Next to evolution and the unit on reproduction, I’m sure teaching that climate change is real and a threat will the the most likely topic on which I’ll get some parental complaints. No, I’d put it second after reproduction, since I don’t have to teach about choices, only about biology. I ask myself whether I am likely to emphasize the importance of climate change even more, teaching in a mostly Republican community, and I’d have to say, yes.

 
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Posted by on February 16, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Out for a bit of air

Took one of my classes out for a bit of air last Tuesday, hoping they’d be able to experience the delight I did walking down by the creek–maple buds swelling, Indian plum leaves flaming upward, yellow Oregon grape flower starting to unfurl. I had heard robins, a sparrow, seagulls, seen a black squirrel and a varied thrush. Felt the mist where the stream thunders over the rocks down toward the bay.

Protocol had to be followed, with permission forms signed and returned. Only a little over half came in, the last few students probably waiting to see that it was a nice day. Some didn’t like being outside, or anywhere unfamiliar. Even then I had to tell them it was mandatory and counted for participation points, and a few colleagues leaned on my students to get those forms in. Also tried to entice them with the idea of beauty, getting out of the four walls, and the research on the anti-depression and anti-anxiety effects of time in natural spaces.

I guess the trip was a success. Can’t apply a standards based assessment on that one, but some were collecting fallen things to view back in class under the stereo microscope, others took some pictures, a few did a bit of sketching. They all stopped by the thunderous, misty rapids where the quiet, khaki stream takes a sudden leap over the bedrock. They accepted my offer to teach them the names of three plants, and used the eye lenses a little to look up close. And I think it did their souls good, though they might not say so. If I could just get them out here every week, especially as the weather warms, to see the seasonal changes, and get more at ease in the woods. Yes, a few took off without permission, one to go have a smoke, but we tracked them down, not surprised.

I am still working away approximately ten hours a day on my four and a half hour a day contract–but I know that the first years of teaching are a kind of internship with stipend. I spend hours viewing, collecting, and adapting curriculum, and write some of my own. I have to learn and do dry runs of labs, figure out what all is in my science cabinet and what it’s for. I climb the learning curve of teaching students with special needs, absorb and process the wisdom and styles of the teachers around me, get a feel for how the school rules are interpreted, learn from my mistakes.

My family is mostly supportive of this need for me to work so hard, and are glad to see me so interested and engaged. When I was stressing about the cool stuff my class budget couldn’t buy, my husband gave me a green light on using some of our own money, which was a nice vote or support. The principal also encouraged me to be creative and dream up some cool stuff. So I feel more freedom there–bought a worm composter, some stuff to build watershed models.


That was last year. I miss that job, and still harbor a wish to go back if they are looking for a life science teacher. Maybe it’s foolish to already be thinking of leaving my current job, which is long term pending a successful probationary year. It seems a better use of my skills and remaining energy to work with tougher kids. I made it though  the test year, and felt I was accepted. Didn’t have a crisis like the previous teacher, and want to leave like it’s rumored the replacement teacher is being pressured (by students) to do.

 

 
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Posted by on February 15, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Ça roule!

Seeing the sun return, such an important part of my year. Every Saturday morning that slice of sunshine angles in a few inches more. I don’t see the sun much at all in the winter, leaving for work these days before dawn, working all day in a windowless classroom, and exiting my school at dusk. That along with finding out that we are not allowed to plant a school garden makes me feel that my years at this school will be numbered on one hand.

That’s right, no garden. And new pressure to move more quickly, acknowledging that I only see might high school students twice a week at most. So how could there be time to dig, plant, water, and look closely?

I’d hoped to work it with my Friday middle school group, and scheduled a Horticulture and Soil Science section, and a Gardening section–one to be focused on science and the other on practical skills and hands-on. When I fund out I was not allowed to [put in any kind of garden but might be able to do a container garden, I realized that I just didn’t have it in me, being in my first year and already working 16 hour days, to try to gather pots, soil, and set up the regular irrigation and maintenance that would be needed for that, so I informed the principal that I’d have the students make a choice among options I was comfortable with about the class topic. Not even any time to tell the Friday coordinator or parents.

We had a great time with the process of deciding as a class. So much fun, with me giving a shpeal on all the coolest ideas I could think of, them adding a few, then top-three votes, speeches, debate, and a re-vote. Talk about engagement! It came down to Stretch-Walk-Run (getting from very little running to a 5k), Games, and French. Hard to break the tie, too, but when I said that the ability to speak French made one attractive, and that we could combine French and Games, and move a lot too, everyone went for French. In the following days only one parent complained, because I’d taken her donation for the gardening class that now was not to be. But I explained that we could still use it for Horticulture, if that was all right. She said that was fine, and though her son hadn’t been planning to learn French, she thought it would be mind-opening for him.

French! I was actually surprised that came out on top, as it was a long shot I threw in there. We started right away, with a few basic greetings some counting. Fortunately, they know nothing, and I’m fluent enough and have taken enough other language classes not to have to do much planning.

 
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Posted by on February 14, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Longing for a tubal ligation

Finding myself escaping from my house a little too often, especially on the weekends and holidays, when all six of the family are parked there. Like a wolf pack at the point where there has to be a split of leadership, it feels like, and meanwhile there’s lots of noise and scuffling of claws, and the wood floor I refinished last summer is all scraped up. There are numerous “strong personalities” in the household, and in that popular personality type classification, there ain’t no golden retrievers around here (except during the welcome visits of my mother-in-law), nor much channeling of cheerful, fun-loving otter at times like those.

My husband is an early riser and is already up when I arrive in the kitchen for breakfast and chores. He’s researching some Black Friday sales and keeping an eye on the football game. Ive never really adjusted to the t.v. dominating any part of my life, and even though I value good film and even enjoy an occasional light screen diversion, I feel so saturated by tubal excretions lately (it doesn’t take much) that any interest in adding any more, even quality content, has drained away. The sports networks in particular are thieving away our time and quiet, and I call it out to no avail. It’s not just the game for a few hours any more, but the pre-game features and post- game analysis that basically takes all day. I long for quiet especially now that I’m in the classroom several time a week.

My youngest son is waiting for me in the kitchen, hoping for some hot breakfast, and I help him make cheesy scrambled eggs. As I fix my yoghurt and granola, one of the other lions arrive. This is a person who never wakes up cheerful or even pleasantly groggy, and unless we all walk on eggshells (or have already prepared white flour waffles with whipped cream, bacon on the side) there will be roaring within minutes. It’s as if that’s her way to get energized–she seeks conflict, has from her first manifestations of personality. When she was little I clued in that she enjoyed a play fight–the push and shove made her laugh and even feel special–touch as love language. She owns the rough-and-tumble husky, which helps, as I often forget that words don’t mean the same thing. Lately I’m the most likely human recipient of the first blast of irritability, and I feel obliged to remind her once again that rudeness isn’t allowed and that she should go back to her room until she’s ready to be civil. My husband tells me not to take it personally. I don’t want to take it at all.

After trying to facilitate a nice, friendly or at least “do no harm” atmosphere at home, and to maintain some leadership of the domestic environs (not that I want it, but because I’m seen as the main housekeeper when it comes to messes and maintenance) so that the six users don’t leave the kitchen and living room trashed, I feel myself losing ground and slipping into sarcasm, a victim mentality, and decide to make my first retreat, a time to my bedroom. It’s quieter, and I have the calming view of the bare trees blowing in the wind outside the window that covers more than half the width of the wall, rain knocked off the patio canopy and juncos foraging in the garden. But I can still hear the roaring from there, despite the new solid wood doors we installed this year. Not fighting, per se, but the debate over whose preferences to go with as to the day’s activities–walk? movie? pizza? shopping? The daughters throw around personal insults which at other times they’ve told me are just a peculiar expression of love–the term “idiot” being most prevalent, and I count five such in the space of a minute, all from the mouth of the lion. I lean back against four pillows, hoping someone decides to go for a walk or even see a movie. I get in my zone, the buzzing of complaints in my head eases and a more proactive agenda starts to emerge. I can get outside and work on refinishing chairs if I go pick up some more sandpaper and nails. The rain has eased off and maybe I’ll be able to finish building the last raised bed, set up some rain buckets to water the beds of greens I want to plant in the greenhouse for winter salads.

 

 

At my memorial service (a hopeful line of poetry)

You know there will be laughter, before and after.

 
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Posted by on February 12, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

Religion in its fallow state

Pastor George MacDonald (1824-1905) is one of the few preachers whose sermons I can stomach right now, in the form of Robert Falconer this week, a largely autobiographical novel, complete with full Scots brogue.

Sundays now I don’t even attempt to rally anyone to go with me to church service, now that I realize I don’t want to go either. I thought it was just avoidance of the rush and irritable drive there that left us less than spiritually prepared for worship. We almost got there last night for the Christmas Eve service, though. Funny that it was the child most resistant to participation in organized or home religious traditions that first suggested we attend the service.

Which is very unfair to the community we’ve been part of, as they are probably just ordinary decent people, with a smattering of amazing, deep, shining people. I don’t really know much about them, because going to church, the getting ready, in the car, and all the way there without too much hassle took so much energy that we didn’t get very involved beyond that. The church we were going to was made up of predominantly introverts, who though less inclined to spout insincere Christianese, also tend to keep to themselves quite a bit and so don’t mingle all that well, without an excuse, such as having small children, being involved in organizing and leadership, or participating in one of the many small group studies or other regular events. So no one really noticed us when we drifted away. I bowed out of further commitment to teaching Sunday school (having enjoyed that, but knowing I was likely to teach something unorthodox, and being too much in flux with no one to talk to about that)

And there’s a feeling of betrayal. Not exactly disillusionment–my parents made sure we didn’t have too many illusions about organized religion; I even had to ask them not to share so much about the politics and intrigue they saw, so I could gather my own first impressions, and maybe they could include some good ones.

Then we did the same to our kids–shared everything we saw and thought–no illusions there, either. They all have appreciated that, and it hasn’t, I don’t think, made them think any less of seeking a true spiritual path. Which doesn’t seem so urgent when you don’t believe most everyone, including yourself, is lost and damned and we with blood on out hands if we don’t try to warm them.

I’m waiting to want that community again. Not very loyal, am I? No “Till death do us part.” And even though I like to hear a smart, thought-provoking message, which the pastor or our erstwhile congregation always does—to be taught being a nice break in my week of teaching others—I haven’t darkened the door for months. Makes me sad that I don’t really want to. Yet I hope that some day I do.

My husband and I went to the movie, “Paterson” last night at the local independent theater–delightful movie, reminding me to just start getting words on the page and see where it takes me. At the lights came up and we gathered out coats and turned to leave, we discovered that a couple from, or sort of from, that congregation, was seated right behind us. They are people on my mind as folks I wanted to make more effort to get to know better. I confessed that I’d looked at my updated contact list regretfully the day before, seeing that I’d misplaced whatever receipt I’d jotted it down her number on before recording it last time we’d run into them at the same theater. They invited us for a bite of gelatto, and I got a few words in and out. Me speaking to the woman, and my husband speaking to the man, per tradition, though I didn’t grow up with it. He’s a writer too, which I’d known from his time as pastor at a different church–plumber turned Psalm teacher and poet, now happily employed at a workshop in the local men’s shelter. I met his wife years later, but only in passing, though seeing enough in common and to attract that I’d like to connect–a really alive, energetic and smart person, runs, or ran, a catering business, I think. I’d have to get out with her away from my very talkative husband, for sure. When trying to have a part of that conversation, I can’t get much out, even questions that lead somewhere.

We talked a bit about church, made me want to pop in again. The pastor was on sabbatical, and as much appreciated he is, everyone was having a great time running the services in his absence. No professionals in the pulpit or music team, but all kinds contributing. Maybe if I keep expectations low, and refuse to leave right after the service, even if I have to walk home. My husband, dear as he is to me, doesn’t get that the after visiting is at least as important as the service.

I’d like to find some writers there, that’s what. I hear there are some, besides the pastor, I mean. Got the link to his blog while he & family are walking El Camino of the pilgrims in Europe.

 

 
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Posted by on February 11, 2017 in Uncategorized