It's spring - or so I read. My view from the Hoehl Welcome Center would tell me that white stuff in the air is snow, not pollen. But lots of great things happen in "spring" term in Vermont - like vacations to Florida.
Ah! But at the Saint Michael's Admission Office, this is the season called "applications," both at the undergraduate and graduate levels (grad has a rolling admission however). People here stay late if necessary to make sure these applications are handled quickly. With grad, it's as if all applications have arrived from Marathon in the hands of a panting messenger. I know the effort behind each one is great.
However, this is my best time: I get to know our future students. I do look at it that way. Each of these applications is a person with a hope that his or her future is about to look better. I admire that; simply for the effort. Often I am humbled by what I read.
I read a file of someone who is carrying out a dream her aunt - killed in one of the planes that hit the WTC on 9/11 - wanted for her. I read numerous ones of Fulbright scholars who have a chance to change their lives and the lives of their families with advancing themselves educationally. It was a demeaning moment when I had to Google to find out where the home country of one of the applicants was. And I believe he spoke at least three languages.
Unlike many undergraduate applications - a Lake Wobegon of missals - most graduate applications do not clamor for attention; the plea is simple: I'm ready.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Being There
I am looking at my watch and realizing that it is 4:30pm and not 3:30pm when I was supposed to go over to the chapel and hear Dr. Patricia Williams speak at our MLK Convocation. I was not there and I missed out. Again.
How many times have I missed an event that would have enriched my life? I know I'm not alone; we can't do all that is presented to us. So many worthy things, so little time.
When I tutored, I had a sign in my room that said, "83% of life is showing up." It was an encouragement to my teenage students to at least show up, even if they didn't want to. There is a meaning simply in providing someone your presence, and, there is an enrichment to oneself by doing so. I often wish I was better at following my own dictum.
We all know so many people whose mere presence says so much. The grandparent who is always reachable by phone, the parent who takes off work to see a soccer game, the distant relative who says "yes" to the wedding invitation, the co-worker who comes to visit in the hospital, or the one who travels a great distance just to hug a grief-stricken friend.
Being there will always trump wanting to be there. I hope I get better at it.
How many times have I missed an event that would have enriched my life? I know I'm not alone; we can't do all that is presented to us. So many worthy things, so little time.
When I tutored, I had a sign in my room that said, "83% of life is showing up." It was an encouragement to my teenage students to at least show up, even if they didn't want to. There is a meaning simply in providing someone your presence, and, there is an enrichment to oneself by doing so. I often wish I was better at following my own dictum.
We all know so many people whose mere presence says so much. The grandparent who is always reachable by phone, the parent who takes off work to see a soccer game, the distant relative who says "yes" to the wedding invitation, the co-worker who comes to visit in the hospital, or the one who travels a great distance just to hug a grief-stricken friend.
Being there will always trump wanting to be there. I hope I get better at it.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Story with a Twist
I had a delightful read today regarding a graduate student alumna. The Graduate Education alum, Diane Siegriest, was interviewed by one of our instructors, Becky Wigglesworth (incredibly fun name, don't you think?) Becky asked her, "What do you hope a former student will say to you ten years from now?"
Great question. Don't we all wonder whether anyone will even remember us ten years from now? Then, have we accomplished something marvelous enough that they not only say, "Oh, yeah, her-r-r-r...," but also , remember that marvelous thing we did? "Oh, yes! I'll never forget..."
Diane was hoping the same thing. She responded this way to Becky's question: "Actually, this happened last spring. A college student who I taught ten years ago stopped for a visit. Her favorite memory was that we danced 'the Twist' in the hallway one day when we heard drums in another room."
Of course, I laughed. Did you?
I thought about parents, co-workers, and of course, teachers, who exhaust themselves daily trying to pursue the ideals of their jobs, gathering up the suit of iron mail, charging into battle because...well, this is what you have to do, right? And then, the recipient of your toil, tears and sweat remembers....this?
So now, to paraphrase Paul Harvey, is the rest of Diane's story: "In the midst of learning to read, spell and multiply, we had moments of unexpected fun, and this student had sought me out ten years later to tell me that she would soon be applying for a job as a music teacher."
May you always have some unexpected fun.
Great question. Don't we all wonder whether anyone will even remember us ten years from now? Then, have we accomplished something marvelous enough that they not only say, "Oh, yeah, her-r-r-r...," but also , remember that marvelous thing we did? "Oh, yes! I'll never forget..."
Diane was hoping the same thing. She responded this way to Becky's question: "Actually, this happened last spring. A college student who I taught ten years ago stopped for a visit. Her favorite memory was that we danced 'the Twist' in the hallway one day when we heard drums in another room."
Of course, I laughed. Did you?
I thought about parents, co-workers, and of course, teachers, who exhaust themselves daily trying to pursue the ideals of their jobs, gathering up the suit of iron mail, charging into battle because...well, this is what you have to do, right? And then, the recipient of your toil, tears and sweat remembers....this?
So now, to paraphrase Paul Harvey, is the rest of Diane's story: "In the midst of learning to read, spell and multiply, we had moments of unexpected fun, and this student had sought me out ten years later to tell me that she would soon be applying for a job as a music teacher."
May you always have some unexpected fun.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Saving My Neck
I bemoaned the fact last time that it took me three months to blog! No further comment.
So, now it's the week of American Thanksgiving. (Being Canadian, I always need a modifier on this event. ) This genuine family event is particularly poignant to me this year. My mom died a few weeks ago and, as is often the case, the survivors understand more deeply the value of their family.
I remember a particular story that resonates with me this time of year, but more so this year than most.
The story goes that a poor family of seven children (this is an old story) always looked forward to Thanksgiving because it was the one day in the year when they ate like kings. Their parents saved all their extra coins and bought a huge turkey. The mother spent all day cooking and adding expensive seasonings, etc., to make the dinner extra special. The children - smelling the wonderful cooking all day - were ravenous and when they got to the table always coveted the juicy breast meat or the tender dark meat.
Protocol at the table was always to ask the mother first what she wanted, and she always answered, "The neck, please." Each year the father obliged, placing the bony neck on her plate. The children were given the rest of the meat. They thought it was always the best dinner ever.
Finally, one year, the father and the children decided that they would not let Mother have first choice. Much to her surprise, the father asked the oldest child, then the next, and the next, what they wanted to have.
"The neck, please," each one said, and the father pulled out seven necks from the center cavity of the turkey. When each had a turkey neck on their plates, he looked up at her and said, "I'm sorry, dear, there are no more necks."
On Thursday this week I might ask for the turkey neck in a final thanksgiving to someone who always gave me so much.
So, now it's the week of American Thanksgiving. (Being Canadian, I always need a modifier on this event. ) This genuine family event is particularly poignant to me this year. My mom died a few weeks ago and, as is often the case, the survivors understand more deeply the value of their family.
I remember a particular story that resonates with me this time of year, but more so this year than most.
The story goes that a poor family of seven children (this is an old story) always looked forward to Thanksgiving because it was the one day in the year when they ate like kings. Their parents saved all their extra coins and bought a huge turkey. The mother spent all day cooking and adding expensive seasonings, etc., to make the dinner extra special. The children - smelling the wonderful cooking all day - were ravenous and when they got to the table always coveted the juicy breast meat or the tender dark meat.
Protocol at the table was always to ask the mother first what she wanted, and she always answered, "The neck, please." Each year the father obliged, placing the bony neck on her plate. The children were given the rest of the meat. They thought it was always the best dinner ever.
Finally, one year, the father and the children decided that they would not let Mother have first choice. Much to her surprise, the father asked the oldest child, then the next, and the next, what they wanted to have.
"The neck, please," each one said, and the father pulled out seven necks from the center cavity of the turkey. When each had a turkey neck on their plates, he looked up at her and said, "I'm sorry, dear, there are no more necks."
On Thursday this week I might ask for the turkey neck in a final thanksgiving to someone who always gave me so much.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Blogged Down
Looked at my last blog...two months ago? Hey, it's summer in Vermont. ("Lawnmowers ever-y-where!" - if you're not a Carbon Leaf fan, you won't get that...). But no one is at their computer who doesn't have to be.
More accurately, it was summer in Vermont; leaving behind about eight weeks which saw great use of your Wellies. We're tree-huggers because we are always trying to find shelter from the rain.
For the past eight weeks, I worked at several administrative challenges: I became acquainted with a new paperless admission system, I finished the last of our new graduate publications (OMG - they actually match!?), I instituted (and subsequently wished I hadn't for the bruhaha it caused) a new paper ID card system for non-matriculants, and had an Open House.
Naturally, there was always the day-to-day that includes emails! I love getting emails from students - both prospective and current. I know that sounds like I don't mean it, but I do! I love hearing from people and being able to help them out if I can, even if it's only to direct them to someone else. I think I would have made a really good traffic cop.
Although I've never, ever liked the agrarian calendar, the new academic year has begun and it brings a temporary injection of energy that we all need right about now. Burlington will be infused with over 15,000 people in just this one weekend (certainly much more if you count the family members that come in, drop off their students, and return home).
As the seasons change, so do we - we Burlingtonians, we Vermonters. We carefully tuck away, like a treasured hierloom, a very, very short summer season, then bring out the rest of the year to share with the neighborhood.
More accurately, it was summer in Vermont; leaving behind about eight weeks which saw great use of your Wellies. We're tree-huggers because we are always trying to find shelter from the rain.
For the past eight weeks, I worked at several administrative challenges: I became acquainted with a new paperless admission system, I finished the last of our new graduate publications (OMG - they actually match!?), I instituted (and subsequently wished I hadn't for the bruhaha it caused) a new paper ID card system for non-matriculants, and had an Open House.
Naturally, there was always the day-to-day that includes emails! I love getting emails from students - both prospective and current. I know that sounds like I don't mean it, but I do! I love hearing from people and being able to help them out if I can, even if it's only to direct them to someone else. I think I would have made a really good traffic cop.
Although I've never, ever liked the agrarian calendar, the new academic year has begun and it brings a temporary injection of energy that we all need right about now. Burlington will be infused with over 15,000 people in just this one weekend (certainly much more if you count the family members that come in, drop off their students, and return home).
As the seasons change, so do we - we Burlingtonians, we Vermonters. We carefully tuck away, like a treasured hierloom, a very, very short summer season, then bring out the rest of the year to share with the neighborhood.
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