Sunday, December 31, 2023

Memory-Food-Love-Family

 

Charlie and Ellen Dickinson


the universe is a mystery of mysteries,

who? when? where? how?

the "who" very easy to define as the primal architect,

God, for many of us,

for others, chance settling into the rules

that sets how the game works on the field 

and gives the players time and space to evolve,

and each story has its sequels,


we talk with two cousins, scientists, about their lives, their labs,

her voice excited, her eyes a-twinkle,

as she describes the wonders that revealed themselves

as rules were learned, 

the awe she felt when

pattern gloried before her, 

and still glories in her telling,

molecules growing, coming together,

like with the plants she loves and nurtures,

the fun of a key working, of a key not working,

keeping her ego in check 

so that the thrill of finding the right

dwarfs her proprietorship of her own hypothesis guess,

though she does tell us proudly of a time

when another's take wasn't supported by facts revealed,

and hers was,


as she and her beloved husband age past their working years,

they still love the instruments they play,

the music that sings to them of order, beauty,

of the same rightness they felt in the science they lived,

in the love they share, in the foods we all share

which hug us all with memory and the sense of rightness,

like when an experiment answers a question they've asked,

when a book they've read captures them in the world of its story,

when time with family or friends confirms them in who they are,

at their most basic,


for these two special people,

I particularly love the science in each of their souls,

the minds that love the mystery, and love the quest to solve it,

I also treasure the candies, cookies, and custard they share with us,

plus the overwhelming curiosity and love that reaches out to all of us,

the world is darkening outside,

their Light is a wonderful response,

as he e mailed us back:

"Memory-Food-Love-Family, what a Quartet!"


by Henry H. Walker

December 29, ‘23

Saturday, December 30, 2023

much of where my feelings are


 how do you feel about retiring?


as the months slowly, quickly, tick off,

I feel a relief coming,

like the day before vacation,

I also feel loss coming,

the last time something will be my responsibility,

my joy, my challenge,


who will do it next year? will anybody?

and, if no one picks up the baton I've carried,

is there another race going on that I can't fathom?

or is it time for obsolescence:

my chalkboard, surely to be replaced by a white board,

the School Store, considered to be an anachronism,

ready to be put out to pasture,

as no one else seems to see the great value of it,

let alone spending any extra time pulling it off,

the individuality of capitalism less important to my peers 

than the shared justice of socialism,

my English language arts classes will probably 

discard the books I've chosen,

discard the writing venues I've chosen,

discard the overarching vision 

of why and how to do what the class I've taught has done,

and they will choose what is from them

more than from their learning from my choices---

not choosing to keep what I got right,

or choosing to change what obviously could be better,

instead I imagine the new teacher will, like I did,

follow their own instincts and their own reading of the students,


 this year I am making strong efforts with the whole staff:

to assert my vision as to tuition remission,

as to the needs of the Performing Arts Center,

as to the 60th of CFS:

who we were, 

who we are, 

who we can be,


I am good at what I do,

I center upon the students,

I center at moving forward

when CFS easily relaxes into procrastination,

I continue to contend 

that a lack of consensus as to the way forward

is not a consensus to not move at all,

rather we need to grab at the future, to take a stand,

to do, albeit quickly and with possible mistakes, but to do:

to choose tomorrow over yesterday,

to choose risk over fear,


how often does one want to look back on life

and thank one's self for timidity, for not falling,

when that can also mean not rising?


what I won't miss when I retire

is how often the minor would obscure the major,

I will not miss how often I ran into

a fundamental difference in how to view

what's going on with the students:

with how much are they just contrary?

how much are they a bit lost?

as teachers get tired and frustrated,

I will not miss the tendency then

to assume kids are in control,

 that they are willfully contrary,

despite how much learning differences 

should have taught us how hard the "normal" can be,

should have taught us how much we need to help, 

to accommodate, to judge less and help more,

over the years my perspective often would lose, 

as when my colleagues would choose  procrastination over action,

or they would choose words I thought ill-advised,

the lesser trumping the greater,

I fear an increasing percentage of those 

who consider teaching as job more than as a calling, 

who choose the indulgence of their own selves 

rather than the indulgence of the students we serve,

teaching will never be lucrative in terms of monetary compensation,

rather, teaching can be incredibly lucrative in terms

of the compensation of knowing that one has helped

as students move, in fits and starts, 

toward finding the power within them that can find its way out,


we are at our best when we synthesize

ourselves as individuals and ourselves as community,


I challenge the future to live through that tension,

and to see the glass as filling, rather than as emptying.



by Henry H. Walker
November 16, ‘23

Wednesday, December 27, 2023

Rachel's take on college

 

Why go to college? 

an imagined response from Rachel Frances Walker


I want to go to college to stretch myself,

in and out of classes,

to fully engage with others,

I want to appreciate the great many paths

that people can take in being who they are

and in who they are becoming,


I want to figure how to settle more surely into who I am,

to know a continuity deep within me that will find its way, 


I want to learn to coexist, to develop relationship,

I want to use classes and others as lenses

with which and through which blocks can stack together,

that which is asunder can cohere, order can form itself,

the universe can increasingly make sense,


college for me, now, is where I can joy 

in the wonder of learning, of being, of becoming.



by Henry H. Walker
December  27, ‘23

Monday, December 25, 2023

the Light aches to be seen

 

the power of one's own "take"


as a teacher I savor a particular time in development,

that time when I witness a young person break through 

and coalesce ability and assertion of will into idea, into thesis,

into crafting a lens through which 

they can assert their take on it all,

the very opposite of a parrot mimicking another,


all around us are voices shouting to follow them,

that they are oracles from a truer world,

each of those voices seeks to deny

that truth can be continually revealed,

and that each of us has the charge to notice and speak,

the charge to hear others' take,

deny the chaff and appreciate the kernels,


each person who comes into their power

trusts to risk creation within one's self

and then to see what can hide in shadows,

that truth which the light aches to show us



by Henry H. Walker
December  24, ‘23

Wednesday, December 20, 2023

sorrow, and joy, all intertwined


 tears just below my surface


my tears are always at the ready,

for life itself has much of tragedy within it,

sorrow should always call to all of us,


I am such an optimist, though,

that the joy behind the sorrow

also shouts at me,

while the tears, too, whisper their truths.



by Henry H. Walker
December  17, ‘23

who died?

 

left in charge


every moment is a gift,

and we often never know when the gifts will stop:

my dad died at 57,

one brother died at 49,

my mother at 95,

my other brother at 75,

the age I am now,


they left me to feel the charge

to hold the family,

to keep up the cabin,

to savor every moment I'm still allowed,

I don't deserve anything,

but I am graced with much,


I am of an older generation

who is driven to write and send 

thank-you notes for gratuitous gifts, 

a primal urge to feel thankful

for each connection remade, 

each touch that reminds of who we are

and how large the "we" is in the being.



by Henry H. Walker
December  16, ‘23