Seeds of Possibility

Just a little over a year ago I posted a blog about my breast cancer diagnosis.  It was a scary time that brought some of my life’s most important teachings.  I learned lessons I wouldn’t have learned any other way and came to terms with my own mortality.  It was a year of immense healing.  I didn’t expect to be dealing with cancer again so soon.  On Friday I got the call that the labs from my thyroid surgery indicated papillary cancer, a slow growing type.  Once again, I am assured by many that it’s the “good kind of cancer.”  Evidently I have more to learn about this disease, and more to learn about myself.  Last year’s cancer seemed to focus around healing my heart in a multitude of ways.  This year, it’s about voice.

Twenty-one years ago when I had the left side of my thyroid removed, I was not only the director of the school, but also taught second grade.  The surgery was the Thursday or Friday before the last week prior to  winter break, the week we put all finishing touches on the Celebration of the Winter Solstice dances.  It wasn’t a week I felt I could miss.  So Monday I returned to school with the drainage tube still taped to my chest.  I have no idea how I made it through that week but I do remember sleeping my way through the entire two week break.  I also recall completely losing my voice for six weeks.  Teaching second grade at the level of a whisper is quite a challenge.  Not wanting to be without my voice, I decided a week of resting it in silence would be a good idea this time.  And even though the drainage tube was removed before I was discharged from the hospital, I accepted this gift of time.

Although the residual yet-to-be-addressed medical issues still hover around in my mind, I am approaching this week a time to seek clarity about the Seed, the people who are a part of it, and my continuing role as its leader.  It’s a rare time for pause in a full life.  I am making art, writing, sleeping, and figuring out what’s next.  As I heal my voice, my physical body and my heart-mind, I anticipate returning to school with a renewed understanding of the Seed’s intention as a presence on the planet.  In the days ahead as my voice becomes stronger again, I hope I will be able to articulate the Seed’s vision in deeper ways.

While adding the last few lines of this writing, I notice in the garden three yellow finches clinging tightly to branches whipping around in the breeze.  Although it looks like a wild ride for such tiny creatures, they appear so calm.  That’s how I want to be.  Maybe that’s what this latest turn of events in my life is all about.

Last Wednesday I was invited to the Preschool 4s class to teach the kids how to do Chinese calligraphy as part of their “cuisine of the world” study.  The calligraphy is one of the random skills I picked up during my ASU days.  I don’t recall exactly why I signed up for Chinese calligraphy but I’m guessing it had to do with expanding my artistic repertoire.  It was an inspiring course and I loved the challenge of trying to duplicate the characters with my left hand.  For those of you unfamiliar with tradition, Chinese calligraphy is strictly a right-handed art form.  It’s not a skill I’ve put to use as much as others I’ve acquired, but I was happy to bring out my brushes and ink stick to demonstrate the little that I remembered.

As each group of four came to the round table where their blank grids for copying the characters awaited them, it was informative to see how each child approached the work.  Some dipped their drippy brushes in and out of the paint quickly with little concern about the drops landing on their papers.  Others were meticulous about removing all extra paint from the brush before attempting to draw the strokes in specific places.  Some strokes were heavy and black with many of the lines bleeding together into a black blob.  A few of the kids switched to smaller brushes and use the paint sparsely.  Their characters had a drier quality and more accurately resembled those on the example sheet.  Some hurried to get back to their play and others took their time, almost in the spirit of an ancient Chinese master meditatively applying each stroke to the page.  While calligraphers worked at the round table, their classmates practiced their characters 2012-American-style using dry erase markers on the white board.

A couple days later, one of the girls was in the office after lunch waiting for her mom to pick her up.  As I walked by, she offered, “Mary, thanks for coming to teach us about calligraphy.”  They were such spontaneous words, right from her heart.  I thanked her for the comment and said I was glad she enjoyed it.

We never know how the lessons we give children will affect them, which ones will matter and which ones won’t.  We also never know how their responses will affect us as their teachers.  This one in particular touched my heart.  I was happy to share a glimpse of something that was at one time important to me.  Perhaps in the future a few of the children will remember our calligraphy day and it will inspire them to pass along  what they love to someone eager to learn.

On Friday I was ready to write about the beautiful poster all the classes created in honor of Earth Day that included the phrase, “We’ve got the whole world in our hands.”  I thought I’d also say something about the sweet all-school celebration we had in the multipurpose room.  Soft spoken representatives from each class stood up and said what they loved best about the earth.  I certainly would have added a line about the exuberance with which the kids sang “Lean on Me.”  However, as often happens at the Seed, I walked out of my office just as a surprising visitor arrived.  It wasn’t one of our grown-up alumni popping in for a walk down memory lane or a grandparent in town for a spring visit.  It was a 50 pound tortoise named Two.

Two arrived with his owner, the father of one of our toddlers.  After pausing for a few minutes by the front door, he was carried out to the playground for the toddlers and others to check out.  He loved the grass and was a good sport about all the small fingers eager to touch his amazing shell.  He then made a guest Earth Day appearance in the Toddler 2s class before venturing back out to the grass for more grazing.  He blended into the day as if he were just another member of the Seed community.

As I think about Earth Day and all it means personally, to our school and to all of humanity, I feel blessed to be involved in work that I know is having and will continue to have an impact on our planet.  I love being part of a vision that includes opportunities for toddlers to touch a tortoise shell and older kids to be aware of the value of solar panels.  I’m aware of the uniqueness of a PreK class where students have the chance to discuss what they are thankful for and come up with responses such as, “We thank the earth for supporting intelligent life.”  These days when many children and teachers are crammed into small joyless classrooms without windows, it’s a great honor to be a part of a place where curiosity is fostered and being creative is the norm.  As these children grow up, unleashing their inquisitiveness and talents into all aspects of their lives, I believe they will remember the conversations about The Great Pacific Garbage Patch, the importance of bringing their lunches in reusable containers, and why composting matters.  I trust that they will know what to do to be innovative, intelligent adult stewards of the planet, just as they are as children.  I, for one, plan to devote the remainder of my life to ensuring that this happens, on Earth Day and every day.

Years ago I promised I’d sing at her memorial.  On Friday I kept that promise and along with my guitar, two daughters and youngest granddaughter, sang two songs for the celebration of her life.  Caryl Steere was one of my first professors in early childhood at ASU.  She taught me about child-centered education and was an excellent role model for honoring the spirit of each and every young child.  When I studied with Caryl I sometimes took my three-year-old daughter Sarah with me to class.  Caryl always went out of her way to make her feel welcome and later on welcomed my whole family into her life.

When Sarah and her sister Astraea were a little older, Caryl invited us over to her house on several occasions.  She had an array of interesting artifacts around her lovely house, many of them native American storytellers, baskets, and paintings.  The girls never remember her saying, “Don’t touch” or “Be careful.”  She always let them explore, touch, and handle her household treasures.  One of my favorite visits to Caryl’s house was the Saturday we made baskets out of bread dough.  It was her idea.  First we mixed up batches of dough, which were then placed in long snakes over the outside of an upside down stainless steel bowl.  Once the dough was baked, it was removed from the bowl.  This produced a beautiful dough “basket.”  I don’t remember how successful the baskets actually were, but I do remember Caryl’s flour dusted kitchen and the extra trip to the store to get more flour midway through the process.  I also remember her sheer delight with the day, including the messy kitchen in her otherwise impeccably clean house.  The memory of that day remains one of my fondest memories of Caryl.

Over the years she attended graduation parties, weddings, receptions and Seed anniversary celebrations.  We included her as part of our extended family because she included us.  When Caryl turned 90, we joined her to celebrate her special day.  Although I hadn’t seen her in awhile, she looked remarkably the same.  Assisted by a walker, Caryl worked the crowd with ease.  She was dressed in one of her signature cute outfits and sported a plastic tiara and heart necklace.  She wore her jewels with grace.  Somehow seeing those plastic, childlike jewels adorning Caryl on her 90th birthday reminded me of the day we made the dough baskets.  Although she had a flair for always presenting both herself and her  living space in a meticulous, orderly manner, there was always room for playfulness.  Caryl was a lady, and at the same time reserved a part of herself to respond to life with the spirit of a child.  It’s what we all loved about her, and what we’ll miss.  It was an honor to be a part of her life, a part of her memorial service, and a part of her work with children that continues on a daily basis at the Seed.

Saturday night I put the finishing touches on a quilt that’s been in process for almost a year.  It started as an idea for our annual Seed Earth Day celebration and will reach its final destination by the end of the week.  The quilt has an additional special meaning in that it was created for the same day we dedicated Gwen’s Castle last spring.  It’s a work of art that came to fruition by many hands, starting with the children themselves and completed by several dedicated teachers.  It’s truly a metaphor for the kind of inspiring beauty that comes forth when the village pulls together for a common cause.

This week’s silent art auction is one of my favorite Seed events of the year.  It started off as part of the Seed Scramble, a golf tournament to raise money for the school’s capital improvements fund.  After a few years, we scrapped the golf tournament and decided to just go with the art auction.  There have been few regrets about the decision.  Over the years, it’s been fun to see the evolution and expansion of the art work.  We’ve always tried to offer pieces that were made collectively instead of featuring the work of individual children.  This year’s collection is true to that original intention.  The various classes each created one or more pieces reflective of curriculum content around famous artists, favorite songs, or class studies.  Some pieces are large and others are quite small, all beautiful in their own ways.  This year, more than in the past, some of the staff have also included their art.

What I love about the art sale is that it exemplifies the kind of work that happens at the Seed in art and in other ways.  Although much of the children’s everyday art is process oriented, especially in the younger classes, there is also a place for beautiful products.  In all of the group works, the children help make the paper, paint or draw parts of the final pieces, or add their touches to the canvas.  The teachers assemble the final products in the same way they organize studies, orchestrate learning events, and manage each part of the curriculum.  The art auction is loaded with visions of creative minds and it’s always surprising to see what appears on the display tables each year.  Like the quilt, it comes together with the combined intention of dispersing Seed art out into the world and at the same time, supporting projects around the school that enhance everyone’s experience.  On Saturday at 1:00 during the Seed picnic, the parents will do their part by bidding on the art they can’t live without.  It’s many hands coming together to keep a common vision well and alive.

In the Seed office hangs a handmade quilt, created by my 1992-93 first and second graders.  It was made as part of our annual human rights study, which emphasized advocacy for human rights and devotion to making change in the world to improve the lives of others.  One of the students in my class that year was Danielle Draper.  Her photo, along with the pictures of her classmates who were the artists, hangs beside the quilt to this day.

An announcement arrived in the mail last week from Danielle.  In May she will graduate from the University of Arizona College of Medicine and then continue her training with a residency in Family Medicine in Martinez, California.  That alone is a major accomplishment and something of which all of us who knew Danielle are very proud.  But the story gets better.

Attached to the graduation announcement was a letter written by Danielle, as well as one by a 19-year-old young woman she met on the front steps of her house in New Orleans, five years ago after Katrina devastated the Lower Ninth Ward.  Franisha, then 14 and one of fifteen children in her family, survived the hurricane and against great odds, went on to become quite a scholar.  She will graduate from high school later this spring and is planning to attend Grambling State University on a scholarship.  She will be a first generation college student in her family and plans to be a teacher.  In her words, “The reason I strive so hard to succeed in school and become a teacher is so that I can help kids like me who do not have all of the things growing up that I wished for when I was little.”

Danielle is asking that in lieu of sending a gift for her own graduation from medical school, we consider giving money to help with Franisha’s college expenses.  When I read this, my heart was warmed by both stories.  I thought back to our 1st/2nd grade study of human rights and advocacy for who need someone to stand up for them.  Everything I ever hoped for in making a school that would foster stewardship for the planet and each other has come true in Danielle and Franisha’s story.  Granted, Danielle is a compassionate, caring young woman because it’s in her nature and she’s been that way all along.  She may have chosen the path she has without any influence from the Seed.  However, I like to believe that our studies of Gandhi, Rosa Parks, Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad in some small way have made a difference.  As Seeds like Danielle grow into adulthood, they will unquestionably continue making a difference.  This is why we do what we do at the Seed.

Even though it was hard to come back to school after a week of beautiful spring break weather and a garden full of multi-colored sunflowers, I have to say it’s good to be at the Seed again.  Whenever it rains it always serves as a reminder to pay attention to the moment.  Monday morning’s soggy garden and cloudy sky brought me fully present to our day of returning.  I spent all of last week returning to the spring break I had a year ago, remembering each day as it unfolded in 2011.  It was the week I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

I never thought it would matter that much when I reached this anniversary.  However, as each day followed the next, the memory of that same week a year ago held significance.  In 2011 I spent the weekend before the break at a Circus Yoga workshop.  I learned to face my fears as I allowed others to lift me up and “fly.”  The courage I garnered during those few days came in handy, especially on Tuesday morning when the phone rang.  It was the nurse practitioner from my doctor’s office with these unforgettable words: “We got the results back from your biopsy.  It’s not good.”  Even though I was probably in shock, I managed to make a few calls, line up an appointment with the surgeon, buy an art journal, and begin to wrap my mind around the idea of having cancer.  Right away I started making art, which grounded me throughout the next few weeks‘ process.  On Wednesday I met with the surgeon, which was a huge relief. He assured me I had one of the easiest kinds of cancer to cure.  The surgery date was set and I had a plan.  It made it easier to start telling more people, including my parents and daughter who was on her honeymoon in Hawaii.

By the end of the week I’d met with my radiology oncologist, taken care of pre-op requirements, and begun to set my life in order for the coming weeks.  I lined up coverage for my school responsibilities and my yoga classes.  I made a lot of phone calls and sent out more emails.  The responses I received were overwhelming.  As I continued making art, I was reminded over and over how much I am loved.

A year later, I’m healthy and have practices in place to make sure it stays that way.  People in my life still regularly ask me how I’m doing.  My heart is filled with gratitude for all who have helped me on my path of healing this past year.  My garden thrives, as I do, and I look forward to seeing what blooms next in the ever-changing effusion of life.

Last Friday was the 108th birthday anniversary of Dr. Seuss.  Born on March 2, 1904, Theodor Seuss  Geisel was the author of books that date back to my childhood.  I was six years old when The Cat in the Hat was written.  I don’t remember having a favorite Dr. Seuss story but his books always seemed present in my life.  They were important books to me as a teacher, particularly when I taught emergent readers in first and second grades.  His rhymes made learning to read a fun, exciting adventure.  The predictable language gave kids just enough of a hint about the story to take an educated guess about which word was next.  Dr. Seuss was prolific and his writings included an irreverent cat with two sidekicks, colored fish, a unique breakfast of green eggs and ham, and the Once-ler who needed a lesson in sustainability long before it was a popular topic.   In rhyming verse he created the Grinch who, in the words of one of our kindergarteners, “didn’t have enough love.”

As a child I loved the antics of the Cat in the Hat.  I appreciated the way he bent the rules, doing all sorts of unacceptable things with Thing One and Thing Two cleaning up after him in the knick of time before the mom came home. I related to his creativity in the unique moments (of childhood for me) when no adults were around.  I loved the wackiness of Dr. Seuss’s writing and although I’ve never been a big fan of rhyming verse, he always managed to pull it off masterfully.  Of all his books, The Lorax is by far my favorite.  His foresight about overuse of natural resources and the responsibility we have to take care of Planet Earth, were well ahead of his times.

Each time I read The Lorax, the child in the book reminds me of every student who comes through the Seed.  Part of the Seed’s mission has always been to promote planetary stewardship.  Like the Lorax who speaks for the trees, we’ve devoted the past three and a half decades to inspiring children to use their voices on behalf of our earthly home.  In the final pages of The Lorax, even the Once-ler realizes the significance of each of us doing our part.  His last words to the child express what we all must do:  “Now that you’re here, the word of the Lorax seems perfectly clear.  UNLESS someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better.  It’s not.”  We can all say thanks to Dr. Seuss, for caring enough to write such delightful books that not only delight us, but also educate our hearts.