Service Learning

At this point, Cookie Monsters is becoming more of a quarterly report than a weekly reader.

The greatest irony is that I really need a little more CM ethos in my life -- clearing out the clutter, getting back to basics, and celebrating small pleasures. I've spent the better part of fall semester working on lots of new work projects, dealing with two curve balls that kept me out of the office for a while (my grandmother's death, a brush with bronchitis), and just feeling sort of boring and dull.

One of my new projects this fall has been to launch a new Service Learning initiative at Trinity University. Several years ago, I attended a workshop on Service Learning hosted by the Vermont Campus Compact. The whole idea of service learning is to give students a "real life" hands-on experience to use the theories and skills developed through coursework. Projects have a partner in the community -- and the project should be mutually beneficial to the organization's needs and the students' abilities. Thus, the project should be symbiotic, allowing students to give back in a way that helps an organization. The project can really come in any shape or size, last for an hour or for a thousand hours. One working definition is:

"Service-Learning is a teaching and learning strategy that integrates meaningful
community service with instruction and reflection to enrich the learning
experience, teach civic responsibility, and strengthen communities."

Anyone who has ever taught understands the value of applied learning. Not only do students have the opportunity to internalize and use skills, but working with a real partner gives the project authentic value, intrinsic worth. Therefore, even if you overlook the benefits to an community organization, it's a great teaching strategy with substantive merits.

It was easy for me to conceptualize service learning in the context of the education department. Whenever someone approaches me to talk about becoming a teacher, the first thing I do is to send them out in the field to get some confirming evidence. Before you apply to a teacher ed program, you really should spend time in a local school or working one-on-one with kids. This class gives formal structure (and academic credit) to this exploratory experience. Plus, as a small, private liberal arts university, many of our students are community service minded. They are already active volunteers -- I just wanted to find a way to support that, academically.

Therefore, students have the freedom to design and execute a project of their choice. They pick the partner, decide when and how to serve, and define their own goals. It's very open-ended, but also entirely responsive to student interest.

This fall we're piloting the course. With 35 active participants, and each committing to 20 hours of service, the members of course are on track to contribute 700 hours of volunteerism to the San Antonio community – working with schools, hospitals, tutoring organizations, individuals, and shelters. I am really touched to see this good work up close, admiring my students' commitment to make a difference in the lives of others.

As part of the "work" of the course, students write a proposal and a reflective final paper. Also, during the semester, they must make two contributions to our class blog. Also on this note, my friend Mike has written about class blogs and I've found his insights to be very valuable.

Yesterday afternoon I had some drop-in time for students to come in and talk about their work. I helped brainstorm ways for students to find additional hours (if needed) and had a chance to hear more about their successes.

Two students told me about the experience of mentoring at-risk middle school students. I have both of these students in my urban education class -- two motivated, involved young women who happen to be thoughtful, talented, and hardworking. One student is a cheerleader and another is an aspiring pre-school teacher.

One student told me about her mentee, a 15-year old 8th grader, who was repeating the grade for the third time. Another is working with a "tough student," known for her attitude and reputation for cussing at teachers and getting into physical fights daily, both at home and at school. They talked to me about seeing a pregnant 7th grader walking through the hallway. These are real life, at-risk kids. We don't know how their stories will end.

It sounds like the Trinity students are actually making headway, connecting to their 8th grader and establishing some sort of (unlikely) bond. Independently of each other, they told me that when they leave the school, they always call their mom or dad to check-in. They talked about the guilt they feel, for their stable homes, support networks, and positive opportunities. When they talk about their mentees, both almost cried.

A Feast Moves On

Last night, I got an email from the owner of one of my all time favorite New York City restaurants, Village, to announce that the establishment would be closing on Saturday. Yes, I like this place so much that two years after I moved to Texas, I continue to subscribe to the patron mailing list. The closing announcement lingers in my gut with a palatable sadness - the reason for closure felt like a calculated, personal injustice - "Our lease is up and, in a distinct irony given the times, the landlord was able to find a new tenant to pay double our rent."

Nothing makes me more nostalgic than talking about New York, especially the glimmering, golden, remembered and reconstructed New York of my youth, the evidence is all over my face. Village is a shining relic from my most recent time living in NYC in 2006. Unlike the cheap bars and restaurants I frequented as college kid on summer vacation, Village seemed to meet me where I was in my mid-twenties, refined, deco / European / Parisian flair, solid, delicious, and affordable. The service was always great and the dining room, well-appointed. Among the mainstays of the menu, one of the best roast chickens I've ever had - a steal for $30 prix fixe, a fabulous, bad-day-fixing, fluffy yellow omelet paired with simple salad and matchstick frites, and an ooey-gooey grilled cheese that was exactly what a wise, foodie friend called "the sleeper hit" of the menu.

I won't take any unearned credit for discovering the place, but once was I turned onto it, I claimed it, it became my go-to spot. Back in '06, I worked in Harlem and lived on Long Island. On a daily basis, I endured a one-way commute that routinely took between 60 and 90 minutes, depending on the mercy of the train deities. In that year, we did very little entertaining at "home," a crummy one-bedroom apartment with an even crappier kitchen that was 60-90 minutes away from the culinary capital of the world. Therefore, Village became a kind of surrogate dinner party space. It was a neighborhood kind of place, even though I lived nowhere near trendy 26th Street.

As I was reading the email about the restaurant's closing, in my mind, I saw a parade of cinematic flashes. I imagined myself seated at the various tables in the dining room - sharing a downtown dinner with my husband before rushing to hear Josh Ritter at the Beacon, a late dinner with a film professor friend on a rainy week night, reconnecting over wine with an old friend who deals coins. I remember meeting Yoshi for Belgian beers at dark bar downtown, and after several rounds of Chimay, stumbling out and finding Village - exactly what we needed at that moment - salty, yummy, bistro perfection. Village always fortified me with exactly what I needed.

What will now forever be my last trip to Village, was a wonderful, exuberant send-off. It was the Friday dinner of a long-weekend spent in New York City with friends last September. We were giggly and beside ourselves to spot one of the most famous contestants of Project Runway sitting a few tables away (in my reality tv-infused world, this constitutes a major, A-list celebrity). We tried to play it cool - when BAM - a piece of plaster fell from the ceiling and landed on Jack's shoulder, leaving a white trace behind on his black jacket. It took a minute for us to realize exactly what had happened, but once we determined that everyone was fine, we moved on to our appetizers, a free round of champagne cocktails helped.

I am usually prone to photographing my food, or the company around the table, at restaurants. For some reason, I never took a single photo at Village. There was probably part of me that wanted to take a picture during the most recent trip - especially one of those "you think I am taking a photo of my friend, but I am actually snapping something behind him - in this case, Austin Scarlett." I can't share it with anyone else, but I find great pleasure in replaying this jovial slide show of the stylish dining room in my memory, sipping it up in tiny portions. I am very sad thinking that I'll never be going back.

Dignified and Adult

I ever do get around to writing a blog entry, here's another topic for my list!

Why on earth do people go to the trouble of "un-friending" you on facebook?  

I just find that terribly childish.  I mean really... is it worth the effort of un-friending (not that it takes a tremendous amount of labor) just to make a statement that you are clearly NOT friends with someone, lest anyone suspect otherwise?  

Do you remember my friend (we'll call her) Sheila?  I'm sure you've heard stories.  If not, the long and the short of it is that she wasn't very good at being a friend.  She said some crummy things after my miscarriage and then failed to show any excitement when I got pregnant again, to which I took offense.  These being the latest acts in years of unsupportive behavior, I'd had enough.  We haven't really talked since.  No blow-out, no fight, we just kind of fell out of touch.  That's the dignified and adult way to un-friend someone!  

I saw her at a mutual friend's baby shower, no problems.  We were very civil and very friendly to each other.  I don't talk about her with our mutual friend.  It was all very mature.  However, I JUST noticed that she removed me as a friend on facebook.  It must have been within the past couple of months because I didn't notice it until very recently. 

That just seems silly to me.   Why bother?

A day late...

And my guess is that this post will come up more than a dollar short. After a quiet month, some sort of chatter is needed to revive the conversation.

I feel like transition is all around me these days, yet, it's my path that seems to most certain.

It's strange, for years, I was the one moving every summer, looking for and then starting a new job, and exploring a new town. Every year, it was revival - everything new. Yet, this year, I am the one in stasis. One friend is launching a new business, another has just given official notice and plans to start law school in the fall, while another has an eye-turned to the market and considering making a move. In another city on the East coast, two of my friends are simultaneously awaiting their own big changes - one is sitting for her nursing exams on the brink of launching a new career while another awaits the birth of her first child (a son, due anytime now). P and I just learned that two of our friends are ending their relationship. My sister is looking for a condo and my parents are planning to sell their house, downsize their monthly bills, and take up residence in my grandmother's home (she moved to a nursing home over two years ago). I don't have plans to visit the East Coast until next December, but it's odd to think how different it all could be.

At work, my building is over pretty intense construction - walls are coming down, sprinklers are going in the ceiling, doors are barricaded by rubble, and you have to watch your step with all the nails and wires all about. It's noisy and dusty and it's given the summer a distinctly chaotic and distracted feel. After eight hours of drilling the other day, I insisted on a junk food dinner and several hours of lounging on the couch before bed - I was wiped out. The great irony is that the construction should wrap up in August, the completion date coinciding with my vacation.

A Week's Worth

What is a week worth? What is a week's worth?

About a week ago, I scrambled to cancel a trip to Tokyo after the conference we planned to attend was canceled due to Swine Flu. More accurately, the trip was canceled because of surging paranoia around the virus -- as the ailment has had a very minor presence in Japan and Asia as a whole. We officially canceled our plans on Thursday night, just about three days before we were scheduled to leave. Needless to say, the headaches of undoing the trip nearly matched our combined disappointment. It's hard not to feel sick over it considering the wasted months of reading, research, planning, and imagining things that would never be.

For me, travel and vacations are special, sacred times. Maybe it's because there's always a lot of hype leading up to a trip or maybe because you inevitably take more photos than you would in everyday life, but travel memories are always more potent, visceral, lasting. Had we taken this trip (our first trip to Asia), it would have become a mental touchstone, conjured up forever after at the sight, smell, or look of something familiar. Even though we'd only physically be there a short time, the impact would have been powerfully expansive. The reason we travel is not just to see different parts of the world, it's to look at our home, even ourselves, with new eyes.

Pace is a curious thing. In the days that followed the cancellation announcement, my regular life continued. If anything, the pace felt quick as the days passed rapidly by. Already it's Friday. I can't remember what I had for lunch yesterday. Had we taken the trip, the days would have stretched out to make room for these impressions and new memories - of street scenes, of weird culinary delicacies, of faces in the subway, of the look of the sky at night. Instead, I stayed home and continued with business as usual. Another week blurred together that I navigated it on autopilot with little to show for it.

So in a sense, I feel sort of flat and disconnected thinking about an adventure didn't happen. It would be inaccurate to say that I am sad about it, it's more like I watched a movie that ended unexpectedly and it's sort of a let down. Truthfully, I am no worse off (and even a little richer) because of the cancellation. It's one of those forking paths in life, a what could have been moment.

There are no words

This one-day-early version of CM Blog is brought to you courtesy of my local CBS affiliate. In all of their infinite stupidity, the station opted to preempt this week's episode of Survivor with a shoddily made (locally produced) pre-game special and tonight's San Antonio Spurs basketball game.

Fine. It's the first game of the first play-off series, but we're talking about Survivor, people. This show consistently remains one of CBS' most highly rated shows in the past decade. It's an outrage. OUTRAGE.

Can you tell that I am upset about this? I am not even a sponsor!

My local, terrible CBS station is planning to broadcast Survivor later at 12:30 am. Even confirmed owls such as myself won't be up to watch it live. Here's the thing about the delay, it messes up my favorite part of watching tv - dishing crassly with friends during the commercial break or via instant messenger. As soon as the camera cuts away from the action, cue the mobile. I could probably make the argument that this part of the viewing experience is more pleasurable than watching the show itself. Fandom is powerful and addictive.

I've tried, but with American Idol and Survivor, it's just not as fun to watch it alone. The social dimension makes it, especially when the shows take surprising / creative / strategic turns. At their best, it's pure exhilaration. Every now and again, I watch a show after its initial airing on DVR. This happens when I have evening plans or my usual viewing companions are similarly disposed. The only way to describe the experience is flat, even dull.

With tonight's Survivor, my curiosity got the best of me and I had my loyal phone friend give me the updates of the action and challenges during each break. Even though I already know the outcome of the vote (and it was definitely a doosy), I'll still watch it myself. I'll have my cake and eat it too.

Yes, prime time television is that important to my little life.

Ladies Night

In English, there really isn't a gendered equivalent to the term Ladies Man. And no, I don't mean the sleazy Tim Meadows' SNL character of the same name and of reputed courvoisier-sipping fame. Taken literally, ladies man could be a male who is most comfortable in the company of females.

Were the situation reversed, you would never call such a gal a Gentleman's Lady. Not only does the phrase sound clunky off the tongue, it doesn't feel like the right descriptor. Call me what you will, but I am woman who feels most herself in the company of men.

In high school, I was thick as thieves with many great girlfriends, spending a particularly high amount of time with my field hockey and lacrosse teammates. But in the decade since, I've amassed a much higher number of male friends, probably at a three-to-one ratio. Case and point, at my wedding, I was supported by a Maid of Honor (my sister and only sibling) and a self-proclaimed Man of Dishonor (also known as my gay best friend, a frequent contributor to this blog).

Ever since arriving in San Antonio, I've greatly expanded my set of female friends - warm, funny, smart, awesome women. Last night I went out for "girls night," a casual dinner and wine tasting at a local haunt. It's been forever since I did something like this. While we talked about lots of things, at one point, the conversation turned to bras and turned sharply to boobs. Ladies night out, indeed.

Between the 10 of us, we have well over 150 years of brassiere wearing experience. Yet, despite our assumed expertise on the topic, no one had a solid recommendation about the best bra on the market. We might as well have been rating jock straps or garden hoses, no one felt strongly enough about the matter to be able to tell a friend. There we were, ambivalent and to a degree, dissatisfied about nearly all bras for some reason or another.

In the past, I was tempted to try out the Spanx bra, a kind of revolutionary undergarment that seems to me, very 21st Century. Despite the fact that I've spent more money on clothing items I've barely worn, I just can never justify the $62 price tag. For you toothpicks and string beans out there, Spanx is a line of slimming undergarments designed for those of us who want to tighten up various body parts without actually exercising or dieting. They are, coincidentally, a life saver (and much sleeker and more comfortable than a rubber girdle).

Many women, myself included, also expressed an unwelcome anxiety associated with bra shopping, citing (oddly) two uncomfortable customer service experiences with meddling Russian salesladies. Given how self-conscious the shopping experience is, I know that I have just picked the best of the worst to escape the store and be done with the confounded chore.

Even though I didn't leave the evening with any special tips or insight into the issue, sometimes it's nice to be in a like-minded company of sisters.