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Windchimes, Lavender, and a Leather Whip
June 2005
 "I know I’m radiating an angry red right now, but why should we all have to be here? I am supposed to be on an Alaskan cruise right now!" A striking woman, Susan, eyed me levelly across the classroom. "I have paperwork here to prove that I don’t need to be in this class. It’s ridiculous. The state assumes we don't know anything about teaching kids! We shouldn’t have to be here."
Thus began the intensive 45-hour class I taught this month in Sonora, California. To put this class into perspective, the vast majority of educators who take this class are forced to take it by the State of California, usually on their own time and money. They are not happy about being there, to put it mildly. These are teachers with many years, usually decades, of teaching experience who are here to learn more about teaching students whose first languages are other than English.
Fortunately, I have taught this course many times over several years and know that every class begins with people venting their anger and frustration about being forced to be there. After not teaching the course for a few years to stay home with my babies, I began the first class I taught upon returning by saying, "I know you’re being forced to be here and I know you’re really angry, but I’ve been home by myself with three babies and no matter how mean you are to me, you’re the best time I’ve had in years!"
In Sonora, we dove into the material, reviewing what we would cover and what they could expect from the test at the end and the portfolio required for certification. This always brings up a new spectrum of anger and anxiety.
Because of the circumstances of this class, I feel high levels of silliness are an essential component of teaching this class. I remembered my dad's advice to "take what you do very seriously, but not yourself."
Over the course of the next week our class talked and laughed and discussed and learned. The 18 of us became a cohesive group with its own distinctive personality. We garnered private jokes only we understood. We also discovered that South Dakotans roam far and wide. I talked quite a bit about the ranch in South Dakota where my kids were spending these two weeks with their Grammie and Bop Bop. As we went around the room and people introduced themselves, so many people had South Dakota connections that by the time we reached the final people to share, they wondered if perhaps this was a way of getting extra points in the class.
"I’ve seen the movie “Fargo," Ed tried hopefully.
"Nice try, but wrong Dakota," I laughed. "Mixing up the Dakotas, Ed. People have been shot for less up there."
An odd assortment of things began to collect on my desk immediately. We discovered the first day we needed something after the first day when by mid-afternoon my saying in a loud voice, "Let’s come back together as a group" was absolutely and totally ignored. Lynn brought me lovely wind chimes to ring to gather people’s attention from noisy, productive talking.
"You look like you need a whip wearing those clothes," Susan said to me at the end of one day about mid-way through the course. I was wearing what I had previously thought was appropriate attire for both presenting and church, drover pants cuffed to show the turquoise tops of my cowgirl boots, blue blouse, and rhinestone studded belt favored primarily by pre-teens, and a gorgeous chunky coral necklace my dad gave me for Mother's Day this year. Susan's comment reminded me of my dad's inadvertent comment about people's 'costumes' after coming to church with me in Santa Fe this spring. The next day Joane placed a leather whip beside the wind chimes on my desk.
Mary had so much anxiety about the test that I was delighted to discover my spritzer of lavender essence in my purse. We kept that on my desk and broke out as necessary to spritz people in need of its soothing and calming fragrance. I threatened to drink it or inject it directly myself when Susan said toward the end of the course that it has been "relatively painless." "I'm sure I shouldn't take that personally," I teased. The cobalt blue bottle joined the wind chimes and the whip.
The week held many beauties for me. A morning of delicious food and conversation, a beautiful horseback ride through the foothills, a marvelous independent book store, The Mountain Bookshop, and one beautiful lunch on a Sunday that I otherwise would've been alone and missing my kids.
The class sparkled through the final exam.
On the last day of class, Lynn presented me with a teddy bear. It is a soft brown bear. It's little red t-shirt states "Somebody in Sonora Loves Me." In one hand the bear holds a spring of lavender and in the other is a tiny whip. Around her waist is a pink belt with a tiny pink pistol (symbolizing my own little Pink Pistol, Wynn) made of paper. A gift that touches my heart enormously.
To Brenda, John R., Joane, Kevin, Marjorie, Russ, Sue, John H., Robert, Mary, Stephanie, Elaine, Lynn, Ed, Charlie, Betty, and Karen, thank you so much for a wonderful week. I will never again hear the bubbly sounds of a windchime, smell the soothing fragrance of lavender, or palm the braided smooth handle of a leather whip again without thinking of you all teaching me about learning, laughter, friendship, new ideas, teaching, and living.
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