seems I'm always playing catch-up

and mustard.

I've become an intermittent blogger of late. I don't know if that's because I've been so dang busy or because I joined Facebook and am having so much fun playing Scrabulous or if I just have nothing much to say. Likely a combination of all three.

Two weeks ago I wrote an essay about teaching the personal essay. In large part my essay was a response to the very different responses my two sections of the personal essay course had to Cheryl Strayed's essay, "The Love of My Life." It began there, anyway. It ended up being an essay about reflecting on teaching, on what it means to teach writing (Must. Teach. Reading.), and on realizing that I'd stopped reflecting on my teaching in important ways. At the end of the spring 08 semester, I will have been teaching college for 10 years. I gave a copy of the essay to the students in both sections, and just as I'd finished copying it, I read a draft essay by one of my students that makes me want to go revise portions of it. Here's the thing that happens when you forget (or neglect) to reflect on your teaching: it becomes easier to forget the effects you're likely to have on students, effects you usually never get to hear about. Of course, it's also impossible to be in a constant state of self-awareness. Sometimes you have to just get through the day. But I'm glad I put myself through this process because it's teaching that ultimately makes me feel like I'm doing something good. Not writing. Not publishing. Though those things feel really good, it's the teaching that makes me feel all fuzzy inside.

Jonathan Kozol was here on Wednesday night as part of ISU's sesquicentennial speaker series. He was fantastic. He's currently on a hunger strike, living on a mostly liquid diet, to protest the re-signing of the No Child Left Behind Act. He talked a lot about the conditions of inner-city public schools, but he also talked about his most important teacher, Fred Rogers. And about his dog, Sweetie Pie, who had cancer in her precious nose. Mr. Rogers used to call Sweetie Pie every year on her birthday to sing to her. S. and I stood in line to get books signed by Kozol, and he took the time to talk to each and every person in line, shaking each person's hand, and genuinely thanking us for coming. S. asked him if his next book would be about Sweetie Pie, and he said, "How'd you guess?" I hope he wasn't kidding.

Today's a day off. What shall I do, what shall I do?