He and I

im usually a lover of all seasons

of new and changing

of fresh and onward

though seasons always result in compromise

and sacrifice.

i feel myself moving through seasons, and not the seasonal

more the destinations of the heart.

though these new chapters and patterns for change, result in inspiration.

i've been blessed by someone sweet in company

and i feel it is necessary to display my gratitude for them in my life

through what i do best:

expression in the arts.

inspired by the song that has held itself on repeat since the moment i met him: 

inspired by love for music represented into the visuals:

inspired by how these lines remind me of where this season is taking him...and how amazing he is going to be here:

thus, the beginning of my creation of the song "rainy zurich", as sound wave visuals, into the philly skyline, as an oil painting.

should be interesting. 

seasons are always changing

always moving aside

trailing along

and moving away, or so it seems..

but they always come back.

Bumps

look, look, searching

smooth sailing, my eyes were focued

not even focused on anthing finite, or radient with color

just simply... focused.

i had a, b, and c to accomplish

i had my two feet to stampede through each one

still remaining focused.

roads were clear, the sky was brilliant, and the breeze was clean with hope

i had a hunch that it would be sailing smooth

from here on out.

you know, those calm seas, the fresh-paved roads, the new train car on its first ride

from here on out

i had my focus locked away.

except one day, a bump in the road came into my view.

i felt the sea shake, i heard the train slow a bit.

a, b, and c were told to "hold on a minute, i'll be right back"

when i noticed the bump in the road

at the very same instance

i realized my left foot was unfocused, and my thoughts were going along for the ride.

i had every intention to remain on my path

i had every intention to travel the seas, the tracks, and the apparent bumpy roads independantly

but i simply bumped into someone else, not searching for the bump, we both bumped into.

we were each other's bumps.

we were eachother's beautiful disturbance

we became the soft sea breeze that inhibits sailing

we became the extra set of tracks that veers the train

we became the bump in the road.

we were both so taken back, by this bump in the road.

look, look, searching...

 simply together... focused.

we closed our eyes, we counted to a, b, and c, clasped hands, and hugged in the rain

we took a leap...

but we still haven't fell...

we still haven't hit pavement

All of Them

moments aren't just when your heart flutters, or when you almost forget-
but a moment is when your heart drops and catches itself just in the nick of time.
moments consist of energy and sound waves reverberating-
of lulls and long periods of unknowns.
moments happen for a split second
and moments last for an indefinite amount of time.
a moment is never the same as the last moment
and will always be in every time zone you travel.

moments occur with unclarity;
with absolute precision and direction
a moment warrants acknowledgement.

it happens when the rain just turns into a down pour, when your head hits the pillow at night, when you knew you gave it your best, and when no one else is even in the room.

Moments can be held, they can be told. Moments can be remembered and can be seen. A moment is fleeting, yet it wants to continue until tomorrow. A moment is yours.

This is your moment. These are your moments.

Currency

Someone told me once:

 "In order to stay awake while driving, when you are tired beyond control, your cure is holding the largest bill outside your blowing window."

 Theory is that you will be so kicked into gear and snapped out of your sleeping state, that the scare of losing any chunk of change will open your eyes. 

I thought:

 "wow, belonging to that statistic would make me a disgrace to my own kind. No. No I cannot be chunked into that sleepy, desperate, money-hungry fact."

Driving to where the trees became taller and the houses made themselves lesser known, my eyes and consciousness began making a vanishing act on me on route 80. Honestly, I can't even blame them- 2 hours at constant speed, it was nearly impossible to glory at marvels after such a long day.

So, I did what any sane, half-awake speeding driver would do.

I reached for my wallet. 

Snagging a 5 dollar bill was really, all I could scrounge up, being a post-college-grad now. Despite the amount, the sound alone of my currency flapping in the open breeze, ready to take its flight out the window without my permission, was enough to awaken my state of mind, and realize I was drifting towards the left a little.

As Abe Lincoln stared me in the eyes in complete disbelief that I just came that close to saying my farewells moments prior, I had my thought:

five dollars woke me up.

mountains, valleys, and diversity in every car that passed, had no toll on my excitement for open eyelids. No change in the volume knob, and no wonderful stretch of land was going to wake me up from the long day I had been through.

what awakens your soul?

Is it money? a job? Love? The prospect of it all? Happiness? Success? Is our currency something that runs our consciousness...because, if we lose it, we'd be lost?

I found myself asking what my true currency was. What had bought me out. I had wondered what would wake me up if everything else failed on that stretch of route 80 in its attempt.

I had an answer. Yet, it wasn't something as tangible as a five dollar bill...

currency.

Pea Pods

sitting in my big love cushioned sofa chair
pondering what these next four weeks will toss to me
and remembeing what the last four years have blessed me with.

i'd have to say, Kutztown, and fellow fellowers around my fellowship,
im rather pleased with how my time here has been
and how it's being, and will be, and will have been, and never could have been and all that other stuff..

you think when you're pea pod in size
"dah, i'll never get to college"
and here we sit, in this love cushioned sofa chair
thinking on the last four years
realizing it's got to be all packed away in four weeks.

i never actually came to believe until now that
we made it.
here we are, and we actually made it.

im a bigger pea pod now,
possibly even a little wiser than i was four years ago, though
i couldnt even tell you half the professors i had last semester.

how is it:
in the moment, the trees around you seem to be going so slow, they're almost going backwards
then you look at the clock,
and you realize, you're actually moving so fast you didn't even see you were moving in the first place,
and now it's half past your bed time.

here we are.
we made it.
a handful of season of people always circling around me
and though im not complaining, because each spiral of personality had its time and place;
four years worth of people seasons.

here we are.
maybe we're all sitting on our own love cushions tonight
separate, but  tip toeing with the clock that wants to race us.
we made it.
somehow...but we did.

Wheels

Teaching on a cart will without a doubt never be perceived of as the “fun” job, but for me, I am trying to tell myself otherwise. Since my last placement, as well as this placement, I have proven to myself that I am in fact capable of teaching no matter where I am. Just like I tell my kiddos every day that they are capable, I too am the same. Would I crave my own classroom with windows covered in student artwork, with personalized cubbies and references to artists in past history to display around my room? Of course my reply is yes. But, when life hands you a cart, you need to push it full of paints (and of course a water bucket).

My students not only have a little more respect for me because they know what I do is a little tedious, but they know I am that passionate that I’d go distances to spread the knowledge for and with them.

Art-on- a-cart has taught me important organization, how to stay on your toes when something goes awry (it almost always does), and how to make the most out of the little you have. My lessons have taken a turn; once teaching from the bold and the beautiful, using gallons of paint, and varieties of papers and techniques, and now to the limited supply of what’s left after two years from an art storage closet. As a practicing art teacher, I have grown both frustrated at times, however more so eager to learn more in lieu of my kids.

 I always tell my students that art isn’t just about paint and cutting. It’s about problem solving and how to fix something if it’s broken. Well, my classroom is broken. How will I fix it? How will I spread the wealth that the creative right brain in each and every one of us has to offer? How can I communicate through color what words won’t ever express on a page? I never thought I’d have to face obstacles such as these, but thank you God for pulling me not only around the hurdles, but also completely through them. I learn something new every day, and I have a squeaky cart to thank for that one.

Patches

What does one do or say when “rats ate your art project”? As a student teacher, I thought I would have to see a lot, but this was not one of the familiarities I was comfortable familiarizing myself with.

I woke up last Thursday, with eagerness and an anxiousness to begin my painting onto rain sticks my second graders had so beautifully and chaotically created. I knew My supervisor, Dr. Rayala was coming into my classroom (that wasn’t actually mine because of the grand ‘ole art on a cart), so I knew this lesson would need to go as smooth as possible. Though, when I walked into my classroom (that wasn’t actually mine, but the storage closet), I noticed half of my rain sticks had been munched away by furry critters in the night. They left their mark with left over paper mache pieces scattered all around the room, as well as droppings, to ensure that I would be 100% stressed out. It worked.

Being in Allentown School District, I knew I’d have my struggles and high demands for being on my toes at all times, but I was not prepared for having to think on my feet like this. What was the “ethical” thing to do in that situation? I thought, and thought, and realized, no matter how much I thought, I had class in a couple minutes, and kids needed art no matter what the circumstances. I “sanitized”, and patched the holes…and moved on. Just like I think many of us need to do while we’re student teaching. Many times, we’ll find ourselves in a rut, and the easy thing is to panic and beat ourselves up (ironically enough, I just taught one of my 4^th graders what the word “critical” meant, and how we are our own worst enemy),  but, we just need to sanitize, patch it up, and move on.

Surprisingly, I was pleased with how the lesson played out. I was “confident” (or as much as one could be, when I knew the kids were touching mice specimen), and was the same Miss Berry for them, as well as for Dr. Rayala. Just when my confidence decided to take a leisurely stroll, my “calming music” on volume level 34, decided to shuffle, and blast out a rap song right before my ears! (of course, nothing can go smoothly..) I raced over to my speakers, hijacked my iPod, sanitized and patched the hole. Distraction could have sunk in for the rest of class, but… Miss Berry patches moments; she doesn’t let the hole get bigger.
As for the rain sticks... they're in my car now.