"Surviving a January Blizzard" A poem created by two Kansas elders

In a warm and cozy home 
I sit and watch 
the wind and snow rage 
against the living room window.  
Best of all, 
a January blizzard
often gifts me with the chance to read
slowly
to think about that which confounds me.
If I'm lucky,
I drift into sleep,
where funny dreams 

bring smiles to my drowsing face.  

 by Elders Aldwyn and Grandmother Windsong 

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“Eager To Learn— Immigrant High School Students Demonstrate a Notable Difference From Many US Teens" by Teacher, Myster E

           

As a retired Physics teacher, I substitute teach in a large high school where I experience a wide spectrum of humanity: various socio-economic backgrounds, races, and ethnicities.    Some students appear healthy, vibrant, confident, highly motivated; others seem sad, unkempt, and sometimes angry. I teach classes loaded with students of the second type. This is where I meet with rebelliousness and apathy, which are great challenges for a substitute teacher.

Recently, I had a student who returned to school after being hospitalized for a week for psychiatric reasons. During the same period, another student had a panic attack and I had to send her to the school nurse.  Later on that same day, I observed a student sitting at her desk for 90 minutes staring at the walls, refusing to do anything.  As I approached her, I saw she had tears in her eyes and she said she was ready to walk out the school and never come back.

The following day, I experienced an entirely different situation as I substituted in a class of English as Second Language students.  The students were children of immigrants from various countries such as Niger, Micronesia, Syria, and Guatemala.  Many students were rather timid but attentive, shy but ready to give you a smile.  As soon as they walked into the room, they were ready to get to work. Although they had deficiencies and difficulty with the English language, they showed eagerness to learn and they were receptive to my helping them. 

Why are these immigrant students different? Perhaps they realize that education is the main means to improve their lives. The contrast of the situation they left behind to the new opportunities in the United States may create incentive to learn. Their family support must also play a role.

What about our students who seemingly have given up? My experiences in teaching were mainly in smaller schools and smaller towns. In forty years of teaching, I was never confronted with this kind of apathy. Invariably there was individual attention toward a failing student by the school and also the community. There were more opportunities for a student to be involved in school activities, youth organizations or a church group. I am not implying that the big city is the only reason for our failing youth. If family support is missing, however, something personal has to take its place.  A personal relationship with an adult, such as a teacher, a pastor or a foster parent, is one of the most powerful ways to help a struggling adolescent.  

These personal relationships usually offer some form of security, stability and structure, which are necessary before a troubled youth starts thinking about education. Immigrant families in general, seem to understand this better than many of our own families. Can the schools, the communities or our social services step in to fill in the gap? At stake is the future of this country.  -- 

Elder Myster E 

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"On Seeing What is There" by Grateful Seeker

I was bone-tired.  After more than a month of continuous deadlines, obligations, preparations and enjoyable visits, I had no meetings, no phone calls, no pressing time commitments.  

Sitting comfortably with my brother and his lovely wife in their home, I relaxed into the warmth of the easy chair and reflected on the day.  I had come to visit them, and to watch my grandson compete in the Frostbite Regatta, held in Wichita on a bend in the Little Arkansas River.  

This is my grandson’s first year on crew, but he loves it and has a talent for the sport.  He holds the position of “stroke”, which means he sets the pace for other rowers.  His mom was there, helping the teams prepare for the race heats.  We had all joined her on a bridge above the river for a good view of the event, which lived up to its name “Frostbite Regatta”; cold and windy.

Now it was evening, a generous full moon had risen from the horizon, and we could all relax into the comfort of the warm sitting room.  Fatigue overcame me.  I asked to be excused to retire to my little suite, have a warm bath, and retire to bed.

 The guestroom accommodations are charming.  My brother and his wife live in the home originally built by my grandfather, and extensively renovated to be a beautiful contemporary farm house.  They transformed my grandfather’s bedroom and a parlor into a guest bedroom and adjoining bath.  The furnishings are antique, and tastefully appointed.

I gathered items from my suitcase and stepped into the bathroom.  Before running the bath, I should locate a bath towel.  I looked below the sink and in an adjoining storage area below the counter.  That’s where I keep bath towels at my house.  No towels. 

 

Not wanting to bother my brother and his wife, but needing a bath towel, I reluctantly returned to the sitting area and asked where the towels are kept.  They both looked a bit startled and followed me back to the bathroom.  There, they pointed out a tall built-in cupboard right beside where I had looked.  Opening the door, I was presented with the sight of every manner of linens: fluffy towels and washcloths, crisp table linens, colorful spreads and more.

The obvious lesson for me was “If you need something, step out of your zone of expectations and habits.  Open your eyes and see what is there!” Every once in a while, we need a good virtual “knock in the head” from the universe, and that was a good one for me.  Now I’m trying to raise my awareness in other areas as well, to fully participate in the creative potential of life and notice more of what is there all around me.   --  Elder Grateful Seeker

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"The Tickle of a Riffle" by RiverSoul

     I grew up with my knees in the water.  Considering the natural curiosity of children, and the tens of thousands of small streams that move water across the surface of our world, I was just one in that endless parade of kids through the ages who have played in and wondered about naturally flowing water. 

     A kid busy wading in a riffle is the very definition of oblivious.  Some realized emotionally   that the water filling their playground was bound for somewhere else.  All played with a sense of wonder.  All were ever searching, with few knowing, or really caring, what they found.  All felt the cool tickle of riffling water, and sensed the ripple of brain waves responding.  Anything new was interesting, touchable, miraculous-- worthwhile.  

     Perhaps some, as did I, got riffle bottom dirt under their fingernails.  Perhaps some, as did I, developed a linear curiosity.  Perhaps some, as did I, and by fourth grade, knew a great love of geography and the searching out of places, both local and around the world.  Part of my searching was for where streams flowed, for the routes the waters in which I had played had taken on their journeys to the sea.

     Later, I thrilled to the meaning of what is called “the water cycle,” that describes how water evaporates from the earth’s surface waters, becomes airborne, and is returned to the land or oceans as rain, snow, sleet, or hail.

     And I realized that a stream can be used as metaphor for the linear journey of life:  flowing across the land as through time; twisting and turning through canyons of despair or out over broad, flat, uneventful, sometimes restful, plains; maybe collecting into deep quiet pools; sometimes stumbling over rough rapids; maybe ruffling through shallow riffles; or plunging into a fall, but ending, always ending, by releasing its essence into a reality larger and more grand.

     Who is to say which is more important:  the adult lessons we learn about water and the ways we use it to describe the human condition or the wonder a kid experiences when she or he feels the tickle of a bubbly ocean surf or that of a rushing, gurgling riffle.

     Where was your childhood surf or riffle?  For most adults that question yields only wistful memories of long ago.  At age 86, I’m still drawn to shallow, rippling waters where I become that boy again, experiencing the tickle of a riffle.

                                                                                                                                  --Elder  RiverSoul

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