Love my Job...

...because I get to write whatever it is I want to say, and get paid for it. Here's this week's blog!

Classroom Behavior: Is it good, or is it LEARNING?

This week I ran across a blog that introduced me to a new phrase, which I now love:  behavior for learning.  The writer differentiates between 'good behavior' and the types of behavior necessary for learning to occur.  His point:  when a child sits quietly and follows the teacher's instructions, she is being 'good'....but is she really learning?

I read the blog with a smile on my face, envisioning the four-year-olds I work with at the piano.  Their behavior is inquisitive, energetic, often loud, mostly messy.  Our piano lessons are the opposite of what I've been told to call 'good' behavior.  And yet, if the attending parent expresses concern that the child is 'not paying attention' or is 'acting out', my response is: Great! 

My overall philosophy of teaching and learning: Let's get our hands dirty, let's make a mess, please--anybody?--let us have an experience.  There is, after all, a difference between 'out-of-control' behavior and 'engaged' behavior, and engaged behavior is what I want.  Always.  It's behavior for learning, and learning is my goal.

Messy energetic learning might be easy enough to envision when considering four-year-olds, but what about our college classrooms?  Is it possible to create a classroom where college student behavior expresses learning, for learning, is learning?  And if so, is it valuable to do so?

 If we answer YES, then the remaining question is: How? 

In other words: 

What is required from you, the instructor,

in order to see behavior for learning in your classroom?

And now the fun begins...

Remember that dissertation?

All approvals are in, families have been contacted, 

children have been met:

Lessons start next week!

So, today, my dissertation day 

involved making sure I was ready to go.

As I sat at my desk, 

gluing animals onto construction paper I thought:

How fun is my life?!?!?!  

And I'm here to tell you: SUPER FUN.

With these 'treasure boxes' at the ready and 4-year-olds waiting in the wings, how could it be anything else?  

A whole weekend?

Recently I've been thinking about the Silence of God.

Sometimes, when I least expect it, I find myself awash in the Presence of God.  Sweet and gentle, God reminds me that His love for me involves--me.

But, sometimes, I cannot find Him, cannot feel Him, have to just have faith that nothing has changed since last I knew He was near.

For many years of my life, I thought this meant that I had done something wrong, that God was withholding His love from me because He was unhappy with me.  Over time I learned that unhappy withholding is not in the nature of God, but still I wondered: Why those moments of silence?

There are lessons to be learned, of course; a faith built of perseverance through darkness and of watching God enter at just the crucial times.

But the other day, I stood in my bathroom and had a moment of epiphany.  [It would shock you, how many moments of epiphany occur in my bathroom....].  The moment said this:  When I am with my dearest friends, silence means: comfort.  Is the Silence of God any different?

And my conclusion was: No.  To be comfortable in the Silence of God is to know beyond doubt that He is mine, and I am His.

Now, this little spiritual lesson in my bathroom was real to me, due to the reality of friendships in my life that have given me tangible evidence of what this comfortable silence means.

Case in point: Emily & Aden.  Though they've moved away from me, our friendship remains, though with a bit more planning.  Hence, last weekend found me on their doorstep with a packed bag and high expectations for some good comfortable silence.

Of course, we haven't really had prolonged quality time together in awhile, so there was not much of that silence to be found.  There were however, many joyful moments of 'we're actually together!', much good conversation, and, of course, a lot of deliciousness.

As we wandered through the grocery store,

as we made preparations in the kitchen,

as we lingered over the table

and savored the flavors mingling on our plates,

we couldn't help but notice: comfort.

And as we lounged comfortably on the couches late into the evening, we rejoiced:

We have another day!

A day that began with church and Williamsport friends, 

before we landed at a breakfast joint that would only have caught our eye had we been looking for places to stay away from, if one of those friends hadn't sworn it was the place to be.

We rejoiced in breakfast done the way breakfast was meant to be done and some more of that good comfortable conversation, before we dropped Aden off at home and headed out in our bridesmaids role for some bridal shower shopping.  

Before we knew it, our whole weekend was wholly over.

I climbed into my car,

armed with more of that tangible evidence.

Real, comfortable, wholly good, these friends are mine.
And I? Theirs.

There's a feeling in the air...

...the feeling of some good old-fashioned Ragtime.

Last evening found me on stage for the annual Celebration of African American Music at Penn State, playing up a little bit of Joplin.  Organized by my good pal Darrin (whom I lovingly refer to as Dr. D.), this ensemble played some old arrangements of music originally crafted for the piano.

Ragtime is pure fun [so don't ask me why I look so angry as I play...], and even though our rehearsals occurred dangerously near my bed/brain-shutting-down time, I was glad to play a part.

At the last of those rehearsals, a woman from WPSU radio walked among us with a giant microphone, a set of headphones on her head and a big black box attached to her belt, recording us.  It was a bit unsettling to play as she stood with the mic stuck in the face of my piano, but the result was this broadcast: http://wpsu.org/radio/single_entry/LL-4110/stories, and a feeling of being a part of something neat.

Ragtime, community, celebration, in the air.

Being here, doing my thing

This morning I awoke to a dissertation day looming before me and thought: 'If I sit at my desk in my basement all day, I will lose my mind.'  The thought of my dining room table--often an alternative--felt my pain, but offered me no consolation.  And then, I thought: Cafe Lemont!

Newly discovered, this place screams: Be here.

And so, being here is what I'm doing , 

among the other Lemont-ers (and along with my good bud Caleb), 

in the eclecticism of the furniture,

under the umbrella of these umbrellas.  

Being here, doing my thing, loving my little luxurious life.