1. You made your bed and now you have to sleep in it. Meaning: we all need to take responsibility for our actions, even when they come back to bite us. Own it – and learn from it. (Notice how when I say this proverb, I avoid the lay/lie confusion? Even for this English major, that one always stumps me!)
2. Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. I’ve often said this to colleagues who start worrying about potential institutional changes well in advance of them needing too. A few weeks ago I said this to my 3-year old who was worrying up a storm 3 days before a swimming lesson he was going to. When I said this, suggesting that we postpone his worrying until a more relevant time, he said, “Which bridge Mama? Ross Island Bridge?” Funny, that boy. Good reminder that proverbs don’t always translate well.
3. Hello new day. Ok, so this isn’t really a proverb, it’s a lyric from one of my favorite Roger Clyne & The Peacemakers songs. It’s a nice and happy rock & roll song. I say it every morning (sometimes out loud and sometimes in song) because I need the reminder that I get to have a fresh start every day; that yesterday’s “stuff” doesn’t necessarily have to follow me. Check it out – you’ll want to sing along:

See? Sing along:

Well I feel lucky, I feel cool

What can I say?

Every time I give away a dollar or two

I find three more on the way

Now for better or worse, the whole Universe

Is singing along with every song I play

Hello new day!

Of course when I am not feeling so happy and optimistic, I might be heard grumbling this one, which actually may not be a proverb.

Yet. . .

\ˈri-chə-wəl, -chəl; ˈrich-wəl\

Mac (the boy) and Oscar (the dog) have a simple but meaningful ritual. Every night while Mac takes his bath or shower, Oscar waits by the bathroom door. After Mac is in his pj’s, has brushed his teeth, and has gone potty one more time, Oscar flips over onto his back, and then this happens:

Ritual bedtime belly-rub.

We might not be able to sleep without it.

Last Sunday we did just this. With his own trekking poles and Camelback, the 3.5 year old and I ventured into the woods.

My hiking partner.

Now Mac’s been hiking a lot before because it’s something that my husband and I love to do. But until last weekend, he was always in the backpack or the stroller. And about last fall, he just got too heavy to schlep around on our backs, too wiggly to sit still in the stroller for the duration, and too unpredictable in both mood and matter to deal with on the trail. (He was, after all, still a toddler.) So we’d not been in a while.

One of our first long hikes together when Mac was about 9 months old. Memorable for one of us.

But now that he’s three, potty-trained, and has learned to listen (most of the time) and not run into the bushes unaccompanied (after all, one must stay on the trail), I decided that it was time for him to get his own feet on terra firma. After a hearty breakfast of pumpkin bread, we hit the trail and started walking. We looked at flowers and listened to birds. We admired the Gorge (and the trains we could see from our high perch above it).

A hike with views of the Columbia River Gorge

We wondered where all the big rocks came from.

"Mama, there's a lot of rocks here!"

We talked about where the deer might sleep, and examined a large and suspicious patch of white fur along the path (likely from another hiker’s dog, but still…maybe it was from a rabbit, or even a polar bear?!?!?) We rested and had a snack by a waterfall before turning back to civilization, the car, and the trains / bikes / trash trucks / and legos that beckoned him.

Waterfall lunch spot.

Back to nature. That’s where we went. For 2 whole hours, and almost 2 miles, we went back to nature. It was everything I had hoped for. I was optimistic that I’d started something good with and for him: that I’d created a nature-lover, a child who would take care of the earth and its inhabitants, a child who would not suffer from nature deficit disorder. I couldn’t wait to do it again! Success! Bravo mama – nice job!

When we got home, Mac’s dad asked him about the hike and what we saw and what we did, trying to show his own approval and excitement that Mac and I actually had:

1. Gone on a hike that lasted more than 10 minutes without Mac declaring he wanted to go home and ride his bike, and
2. Completed a hike that did not involve me — at any point — carrying him.

And what does that kid say about his hike? Let me quote:

Dado, I got to go pee pee in the forest! Let’s go hiking again – I liked going pee pee in the forest! That was cooool!

This is his take-away, his key memory of our time together in the forest. This is why he wants to go on a hike again.

To pee!

In the forest!

SERIOUSLY KID!?!?!

My intent was to have him know what the breeze sounds like among the ferns, experience the earthy smells of rotting wood and new green leaves, hear the birdsong, and feel the thrilling cold spray of a mountain waterfall on his shoulders. My intent was to elicit an appreciation for a different kind of playground, to admire its beauty and mystery and power, and to realize important ways to take care of it. My intent was to have him get back to nature.

And yet, apparently, I somehow accomplished something like this, though not exactly this.

Back to nature, we went. Back to nature.

And where is nature?

Nature: Where a young boy can pee in the forest and be thrilled to not have to flush.

None of us are to be found in sets of tasks or lists of attributes: we can be known only in the unfolding of our unique stories within the context of everyday events.

~Vivian Gussin Paley

Clear Path, by Harriet Schwartz

We often spend so much time coping with problems along our path that we forget why we are on that path in the first place. The result is that we only have a dim, or even inaccurate, view of what’s really important to us. ~Peter Senge

May the end of the year bring you back to your path, and may you find cause to celebrate each step along the way.

__________________________________

With gratitude to my colleague Harriet Schwartz, who took the picture above – this and several others can be purchased on her website: Harriet Schwartz Photography.

It’s called: Find A Parking Spot

It’s also sometimes called: Stuck In Traffic

Here is how you play this game.

First, you have to find a parking spot for all the cars:

Then, all the cars need to line up to get on the bridge:

Then, the cars need to be next to other cars that match:

Then, all the cars need to go back to the parking lot to find a place to park, all while watching out for the trash truck because it’s bigger:

Finally, all the cars have to get back together again to be in a traffic jam and/or another parking lot:

[Oh, and to be clear, "People" in the title of my list do not equal "my students." I have a separate list for what I'd like my students to learn; appropriately, that list resides in my syllabus.]

I’ve been formulating this list while walking my dog every morning because that’s (the only time) when I have the space and solitude to think. Usually I spend this time thinking through projects at work, creating my grocery or to-do lists, or mentally remodeling my kitchen (and oh my! if you could only see what I see, you’d have pot rack and island envy!). But about 11 weeks ago (of course), before the hectic nature of Fall Term was upon me, I read a similar list, and so I decided to dedicate some of my dog-walking-meditation time to the topic.

My god -- I mean, my dog -- Oscar.

I start at the top with #11, though they are in no order of priority or importance. I’d like people to learn all of them, equally. I begin with one about walking my dog because it is an ongoing challenge that Oscar and I face during our morning workouts and it directly affects our ability to get our thinking done.

11.  Please learn how to walk your dog so your dog doesn’t decide to come meet my dog (in the dark!). A leash might help with that. (Owner of the bouncy, barky labradoodle, I’m requesting this of you specifically; Oscar doesn’t like labradoodle surprises that early in the morning. We get, as you well know, kind of cranky when your barky, bouncy doodle comes bounding up to us, from behind, at full speed.)

10.  Please learn the difference between affect and effect and between imply and infer. Also, a colleague recently brought to my attention the frequent confusion about the terms irony and sarcasm (prompting him to go so far as to write an eloquent treatise on appropriate usage of said terms), so for his benefit, let me add these to the list as well.

9.  Please learn that turn signals can save lives.  Or at least make you a more likable and considerate driver. (Chip – that one is just for you. You’re welcome.)

8.  Please learn the correct and effective use of “Reply All” in an email.

7.  Please learn to use your words instead of throwing a tantrum if you don’t like something. (This one is mostly for the toddlers out there, but it applies to a few adults I know too.)

6.   Please, please, please learn to use Google Calendar to schedule a meeting with me instead of sending a minimum of 12 emails back and forth over a 2 week-period. (It’s a productivity tool, folks.)

5.  Please learn that grading, learning assessment, and measuring learning are different; they can be aligned (and should be aligned if you’re going to do them all), but they are not necessarily the same thing. Please stop conflating them.

4.  Please learn that guacamole is made with avocado as an ingredient; however, avocado is not the only ingredient.

3.  Please learn how to correctly and effectively use “CC” (and “BCC” for that matter) in an email. (Yeah, these email things get to me. I mean, it’s old technology now and we still don’t know how to use it? Really?!?)

2.  Please learn to substitute good vegetable broth for beef or chicken broth in French Onion Soup. You can do so and not lose any substance, and in many cases you can substantially enhance the flavor not to mention the nutritional value by doing so.  (Just once I’d like a restaurant to make French Onion Soup with wild mushroom broth. It’s so good when I make it at home, and on the rare occasion that I eat out at a place that serves French Onion Soup, I’d just like it as an option.)

1.  Please learn that deadlines and meeting times are most often in place for a reason. It may not be your reason, but they are there for a reason. (This may need to be a lesson in courtesy, time-management, or awareness, depending on the offender. Come to think about it, it may need to be a lesson in how to use Google Calendar!)

That concludes my list. It may very well conclude my use of Top # lists in this here blog as well because I’m just not very adept at making them (as I’ve just demonstrated). And, I may need a follow-up post in which I provide tutorials for each of these; I mean, what fun is it to arrogantly declare what other people should learn without getting to teach?

Since someone, waaay back 11 weeks ago, prompted me to consider the question, I’d love to hear it from you, too: what are the things you’d really like people to learn? (Keep it clean, people. Keep it clean.)

My own Twitter Effect is characterized by some — no, all — of the following:

1. Like @injenuity, I sometimes forget I have a blog! I am not posting as often on this here blog, and the posts I have written seem less — well, less ________________.  Just less.
2. Because I receive Twitter feeds from people I am trying to learn from (I carefully select the people I follow to avoid Twitter Litter), I sometimes feel like I might miss out on something important if I don’t check Twitter at least three times a day. The sky could be falling and if I miss Chicken Little’s tweet at 3:01 informing me of this news, I might not otherwise find out! This is perhaps the only negative experience of my Twitter Effect, and, to be fair, it’s totally self-induced.
3. I no longer need to read many of my RSS feeds because I get them through Twitter; by the time I remember to check my RSS feeds, I’ve already seen most of the posts. However, because of #2 above, I am keeping my RSS feeds; they help control my anxiety about potentially missing something.
4. I am continually amazed by what a good source of learning Twitter can be, which is why I keep using it so diligently.  It helps me scan key publications easily (example, The Chronicle of Higher Ed); it keeps me connected to certain goings-on in conferences that I can’t attend in person; I get to hear multiple perspectives on any given topic that might otherwise not come together in any organized space; and I get to connect with people I might otherwise never have known.
5. I am also  continually amazed by what some of my good sources of learning will tweet on Twitter — many of my Twitter superstars are actually humans with sick kids, pear trees, and great recipes to share. That’s cool! I like that they are human and care about whether or not their favorite football team wins in addition to whether or not their students are learning or their university gets its needed funding.
6. Finally, as I’ve been diligently working at living an integrated life instead of a life in silos, I have found support with Twitter. I follow organizations and people who are in my professional realms, I follow my yoga studio, I follow my local farmer’s market, I follow friends, and I search and follow specific topics that are of interest to me.

My own Twitter Effect is neither bad, nor good. My own Twitter Effect just is, and I’m ok with it, even though I sometimes forget that I have a blog. (And a kid. And a husband. And a dog. And 2 cats. And a class to teach. And a paper to write. And dinner to cook. And  … ok, ok,  just kidding. Twitter humor, people. Twitter humor.)

Thanks Gerry Balding on Flickr for making this image available.

Learning over a lifetime is …

…a gradual traversing of a succession of increasingly more elaborate bridges … First, we need to know which bridge we are on. Second, we need to know how far along the learner is in traversing that particular bridge. Third, we need to know that, if it is to be a bridge that is safe to walk across, it must be well anchored on all sides, not just the culminating side. We cannot overattend to where we want the student to be — the far side of the bridge — and ignore where the student is. (pgs. 60-61)

~From Robert Kegan’s chapter “What ‘Form’ Transforms?” in Jack Mezirow’s (2000) Learning as Transformation: Critical Perspectives on a Theory in Progress.

1984 Ford Tempo - my first car when I turned 16 in 1986. My grandparents were kind enough to hand it down to me when they bought a talking station wagon (oh the technology!). In retrospect, I think they realized they'd be stuck with the huge repair bills that a 1984 Ford Tempo required, and they wanted to get rid of it. I can't blame them, and without it, I wouldn't have had any wheels at all! I will always be grateful - I learned a lot with that car, including how to change all the belts every 3 months.

When I was 16, my English teacher had us write our obituaries as if we were 80. At the time, it seemed like a morbid and time-consuming exercise (and, frankly, at this time, it still does!), but I guess the idea was to look forward to set some goals and have a sense of future self.  As she said, “How do you want to be remembered?” Maybe she went to an MBA-ish leadership workshop and they did the exercise there, as in “What do you want your legacy to be?” Um, well, I thought I still wanted to have a lot of friends, so this is what my obit read after three revisions:

Melanie Booth, 80, of San Diego, had a lot of friends. She will be missed by all but one of them.

What can I say? I was a smart ass; I refused to accept the premise of the exercise. (And I got a “C” grade, on my own obituary! WTW?!?)

In any case, looking back may be a lot easier, and in some ways, more fun, but I don’t have a letter as much as a list. Here are the top 3 items on that list:

1. The many jobs you are working now (the “clean up person” at the orthodontist’s office being the most disgusting) will pay off later in terms of your ability to juggle multiple tasks and priorities at once, think on your feet with grace (most of the time), and most importantly, develop your work ethic. Missing your friend’s beach party because you have to work is not the MAJOR LIFE CRISIS that it seems to be.
2. It doesn’t matter so much where you go for college as much as it matters that you go, and that you finish. And then, that you keep learning well after graduation.
3. Never underestimate how smart and supportive your parents are. They may embarrass you, annoy you, and piss you off (and in some ways, probably always will), but they will help you out immeasurably in the future, as they already have in ways you don’t even realize yet. (Exhibit A: In 2009 your mother will gift you the family heirloom food processor as part of the Booth Family Early Inheritance Act of 2009. Yes, yes, the one that only works every fourth Tuesday at 3:13pm. Cherish it. Take care of it. It will make hummus for you like no other.)

What in the world would you say to your 16-year-old self? Try it – it’s a great exercise in reflection!