kahunamatata’s posterous

You may have noticed the current Google Doodle is based on Big Bird, as Sesame Street celebrates it's 40th anniversary.

I grew up on Sesame Street, of course. Loved Oscar the Grouch when I was feeling devious, Cookie Monster when I was hungry, The Count when I was ... okay, no fan of math, I hated The Count. I had the toys and other Sesame Street goodies growing up (and later many things from The Muppets). When I was in middle school, my family even traveled to Dallas, where we took in a Sesame Street themed amusement park. I always marveled at Jim Hensen's fantastic creations and even dreamed for a short while of becoming a puppeteer. As I've grown older, it's still a joy to watch Sesame Street with my increasing brood of nieces and nephews as they grow older. There is a deep appreciation of Sesame Street's willingness to tackle weighty issues such as diversity and racial issues.

Throughout this entire time, though, perhaps the one character who meant the most to me was Big Bird. Growing up, I was always the biggest and tallest kiddo in the room. I was the weirdo kid with imaginary friends, not so different from Mr. Snuffulufugus ... even now as an adult, I joke around and call my best friend Angela "Snuffy" because often we are not at the same events at the same time. My height and weight continue to be issues and while I'm not 8 feet tall, as Big Bird is, I certainly can relate to being relagated to the back row of every group photograph.

One time my alma mater, Hastings College, brought in artist Caroll Spinney to Hastings, Neb., as part of the Artist's Lecture Series. Caroll has voiced and animated Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch since Sesame Street went on the air. While his presentation was very moving, at the end of the night, I was invited to a special reception with Caroll at a professor's home. He brought Oscar the Grouch out and let us hug his furry green body. Students in the room asked Oscar to say, "Git 'R Done!" to much laughter and delight.

During the evening, I found myself alone with Caroll for a moment in the kitchen. I explained how my size helped me relate to Big Bird on many levels. I was tearing up in front of him with emotion reserved for one of my heroes. It was at that moment that Caroll summoned Big Bird, who gave me a very sweet message about how I was special and unique because of my size. It was a very powerful, heartwarming moment. One big hug later and we were back at the party. Maybe I'm a total dork, but I believe that when the student is ready, the teacher will appear, even if that teacher is in the form of one of our childhood heroes.

Meeting Caroll Spinney and in turn, Big Bird, came during a very low point in my life and helped set in motion a series of events that enabled my life to eventually get better. I will forever be grateful for that conversation.

"Bad days happens to everyone, but when one happens to you, just keep doing your best and never let a bad day make you feel bad about yourself" ~Big Bird

http://www.google.com/search?q=sesame+street&ct=bigbird-hp&oi=ddle

www.carollspinney.com

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We are called upon to share the story of a teacher who changed our lives.

Growing up and watching my Grandma Cicotello's former students return to her at various times over the years left a huge impression on me. Even when I headed to grad school to become a teacher myself, the head of the education department realized with great pride that my Grandma taught his son in elementary school.

Growing up, though, I was always the outcast. I was the awkward, weird, poor, fat and tall girl who was always picked last for everything. When the school bullies were told to "pick on someone their own size," well, that usually fell on my shoulders. This left my self esteem in some very low places.

For all of the teachers who impacted my life, perhaps the most profound was my high school social studies teacher, Mr. Rich Wilcox. My family scraped together money for me to go on the all-school retreat my senior year. I spent four days trying to boost my self esteem and work on issues. During the retreat, female students hurled themselves at Mr. Wilcox, as he was a young, good-looking, charming, intelligent and funny guy. On the final day of the retreat, we handed off a shirt to another person in the group. During Mr. Wilcox's turn, he told the group a beautiful story of one student who made a profound impact on his life, despite what other teachers had said about this student being weird or hard-to-handle, he'd found this student a joy to be around. Many of the female students were crying, wondering if they would get Mr. Wilcox's shirt, when he closed with, "And if you ever want to go see Rocky Horror Picture Show with someone, Laurie is the person to go with, so I'm giving my shirt to her."

Yeah, it took a while for the stink eye to clear the room, but the upshot was that in that one moment, I was suddenly not the outcast, the troublemaker, the weirdo, the fat girl, the tall girl ... in that moment, I was valued, honored and respected. That particular memory kept me alive and kicking in some of my darkest hours over the years since.

My interaction with Mr. Wilcox was a lesson I took with me when I went into classrooms both in Hawaii and Nebraska. Teachers often tried to "warn" me about certain students, but I preferred to find out for myself. Most of the time, those certain students were like me, outcasts for a number of reasons and floundering because even the staff had turned on them. I loved those kids so much more. Kids who were awkward, who were "unique," who were too tall, too short, too thin, too fat ... I remembered how Mr. Wilcox treated me and passed that along to my students again and again. My students have gone on to do some extraordinary things in recent years, as you might expect.

But you won't find me in a classroom. The one year I spent teaching on Lana'i was a year spent fighting with the Hawaii Department of Education and constantly watching the backslide in the aftermath of the 2001 strikes. Infamously, our calendar was calculated incorrectly that year and we had to add in several teacher in-service days. This threw the parents on Lana'i into a major tizzy over babysitting and other issues. I know firsthand how destructive it is to suddenly have instructional days sucked out from under your feet.

It is very sad watching this debaucle play out because when I moved back to Hawaii in 2007 to work in Gov. Lingle's office, I realized I could be making $10K more as a teacher, but was glad to hear we finally had a governor who appreciated my educator friends and the needs of students. Now, I don't think that is so true.

From what I understand, school administrators are taking their furlough days during school breaks. I always thought teachers were paid during those breaks as well. Why not just reduce their salaries by whatever percent and say the furloughs begin the day schools let out for the summer?

And, no, I'm not advocating teacher pay cuts on any level. It's not like Hawaii pays great wages to their state employees as it stands. There just needs to be another place for the money to come.

Raise our taxes, raise our fees, raise whatever you have to, but leave students and teachers alone.

Malama pono!

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I received a strange email today. I'm compelled to share this in its entirety because it brought me to tears. I honestly don't remember the person who sent this note, but there is an important lesson here:

***
So, this is gonna be your wierd email of the week!
I used to be in your Girl Scout troop in Aurora. Not sure what grade, sixth maybe? Anyhow, I wanted to take a moment to aplolgize for being mean to you all those years ago. I had no reason to pick on you, as you were perfectly nice to me. I was an "outsider" and have come to see that I found kids that were more outside than I was and hasstled them.
I realized years ago from a TV show what had been going on in your family while I was spreading my adolescent "sunshine" all over you. You had enough to deal with and certainly didn't need more crap for me!
Please accept my apololgies and my congratulations on how you have succeeded and used your expereice to help others. I really am sorry that I vicitimzed you.
***

Growing up, I do remember being brutalized by my peers growing up for things beyond my control. Years ago, I met songwriter Mark Wills, who wrote the song "Don't Laugh At Me," which noted:

"I'm fat, I'm thin, I'm short, I'm tall
I'm deaf, I'm blind, hey, aren't we all

Don't laugh at me
Don't call me names
Don't get your pleasure from my pain
In God's eyes we're all the same
Someday we'll all have perfect wings
Don't laugh at me"

How can we stop bullying behaviors? As a teacher, I often watched kids being brutalized for all manner of things and was glad when I could stop the harassment, even if only in that moment. But even in the workplace, people still resort to bullying behavior and it's not acceptable.

I remain committed to understanding why people resort to these actions. While I'm not sure it's possible to entirely eliminate such hurtful and hateful actions, as we come to understand one another, we will see that we are not different: We all have a need to be honored and recognized for the things that make us unique.

Malama pono e Aloha 'oe,
Laurie

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Last week, Anne LeClaire spoke to the Hawaii Writers Conference about how she is silent every other Monday. Then, Traci Toguchi asked on her blog how long you've you been able to stay silent.

A few years back, people gave actors Katie Holmes & Tom Cruise a lot of flack for Suri's "silent birth," something Scientologists practice. I was curious + read up on the details, mainly that you try to keep your environment as minimally invasive as possible to reduce stress. The thought was intriguing.

In May 2008, I went in for surgery to remove a Phyllodes Tumor from my left breast. I decided to try this "silent healing" technique myself. I went radio silent on social media. Shut off my phone completely. Nurses would ask if I wanted the TV on + I refused. I didn't even pick up a magazine. As I waited alone for more than four hours in the surgical prep area, my thoughts drifted to how hungry I was then, but I suddenly found myself in a different place mentally. I didn't talk or joke w/ hospital employees, unless necessary. If I heard other TVs, I blocked it.

When I got home, I spent two days by myself, in total silence. By the 3rd day. I hopped in my rental car + drove to the North Shore, where I went climbing on the rocks + enjoyed nature in silence. I healed really fast.

A couple weeks later, I had to go back for a second surgery on the same tumor. This time, I was overconfident + felt I could take myself to the same place mentally. I texted, tweeted, talked story. While I left the TV off, I read magazines + tried in vain to nap. Post surgery, I started joking w hospital staff. Later that night, we went to a loud restaurant + I foolishly downed a margarita. This time, I spent my time in bed on the computer, excited to start my new job.

The pain did not go away after 3 days. It didn't go away for more than two weeks. I called my surgeon, insisting something was wrong.

When things finally cleared up, I took time to reflect + realized my mistake. While I may not agree w Scientologists on much else, I agree that doing meditative + silent work during medical procedures is imperative to faster healing.

Mahalo for listening! Aloha,
Laurie

http://tinyurl.com/okvfn6 (Traci's Blog)

http://www.anneleclaire.com/

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The idea of riding a bike as an alternate form of transportation came up in a conversation this week.

It got me to thinking about high school days and riding my bike all over Denver. In fact, several times I made what I considered to be an insane bike trip to a friend's house (see my general route here: http://tinyurl.com/mz8vvp ) and then all around tony Cherry Hills Village in Denver.

Mind you, this was before cell phones, but I would leave my house at the crack of dawn and bike all day to my friend's house. We'd visit and then I'd ride home, getting back in time for dinner. Perhaps the thing that made the trip easier was a dedicated hiking/bike path along the Highline Canal.

When I headed off to Nebraska for college, I spent my freshman year biking all over the campus until the big snows came. Even then, on clear days, I would whip around town. That lasted until my sophomore year, when I finally got a car. After that, my bike gathered dust in our garage. My legs, while never toned, slowly morphed into tree stumps. Gvien that I've read about bicycling being great for your circulation, I have to wonder if returning to biking wouldn't help my legs to improve.

Even with dedicated lanes on the streets here, though, I'm terribly nervous about riding a bicycle here. It sure would come in handy at the bus stops, though. Hmmm, I will need to consider this a little more ...

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When I was editor of the Lexington Clipper-Herald in Lexington, Neb., my sports editor refused to give me sports stories & photos to be translated for our monthly Spanish newspaper, Que Pasa. He said it would be "too hard" to distinguish the Hispanic kids from the white kids: as if the only news that should be covered in Spanish was about Spanish-speaking people!

To this day, I think we could have increased the interest in sports for ALL students had he not been such a prick about giving me those stories. (And honestly, wish I'd had a way to reprimand him for insubordination.)

I'm glad ESPN ran this story and really hope more young people get involved with all after school activities. I worked with two amazing ELL students who went on second and fourth place finishes at the Nebraska High School Speech Tournament. One of those students is doing amazingly well now at a university in Chicago. I am so proud of him for all that he's accomplished. After school activities are so important!!!

http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/womenshistory2009/news/story?id=4012596

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http://www.reason.com/news/show/132495.html
 
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The issue with HFCS is that you never feel full when you are eating it. This is why since the early 80s, we have seen soda products increasing to sizes never before considered. Growing up, I was told that my dad\'s best friend\'s stepmom would have cases of Tab delivered to their house. Clearly, in the 60s, Tab wasn\'t made with HFCS or aspertame, which has similar evil qualities. So if someone is going to abuse a product, it won\'t matter whether it has sugar or HFCS or any other material in it. That being said, for nearly 30 years, my generation has watched as we go bigger and bigger on drinks. I once bought a 64-oz mug with the intention of filling it with ice water every day, only to find myself lured by 69-cent refills of raspberry ice tea made with HFCS. However, I have found that my body really does seem to know when I\'ve had enough sugar. When I drink 365 Cola from Whole Foods, or Aloha Maid products here in Hawaii, or even Mexican Coca-Cola, I am quite satiated with 12 oz. I\'m not compelled to down ounces and ounces of empty calories. And it\'s an easy sell. Last night at the movies, I asked for a \"medium\" drink, which is still 32 oz. of HFCS in a cup. The kid at the counter was like, \"But for only 25 cents more ...\" and suddenly I\'m hauling around a 44oz. monstrosity of raspberry ice tea. This is a total loss leader for businesses, given how inexpensive it is to produce fountain soft drinks. It\'s pure profit for places, so why in the world would anyone want to give up that cash cow? The bigger problem seems to be that HFCS and Aspertame are in so many products on the market right now from condiments to soda that it will be hard to see a discernible difference by reducing consumption. The times when I\'ve eaten less to no HCFS -- such as during a trip to London a few years ago -- my weight literally fell off. I lost almost 10lbs in two weeks. Things don\'t have to be labeled \"natural.\" That\'s a bullshit marketing ploy. But we do need to have HFCS and Aspertame removed from our food supply. Bring back the sugar! Heck, bring the sugar back to Hawaii! Our economy sure could use that boost right now anyway. I fully support the shift back to sugar from HFCS/Aspertame. Our nation\'s health depends on it!
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This is an interesting proposition. When I was editor of the Lexington, Neb., newspaper, I figured out how to make it profitable inside of 12 months. However, dumbass publishers have yet to understand and implement the things that I did to float that boat.

So, yes, let's look at making small papers non-profits. Maybe they can actually make a difference in small communities. God knows the editorial staff at small papers already make salaries comparable to nonprofit employees anyway. I can't tell you how awful it was to ask freelancers to write stories and offer them less than $10 per story because my publisher was that tight with the finances.

I still contend that shifting the locus from sales to editorial will help the bottom line for papers. Boosting the editorial staff and the quality of their output will *always* lead to success on the advertising side.

"I don't so much mind that newspapers are dying — it's watching them commit suicide that pisses me off." ~ Molly Ivins

http://www.honoluluadvertiser.com/article/20090324/BREAKING/90324028?GID=Xt4rM%2FJrUDTS3UEKPB7JL4o6D5HJYRLUANQ447WA19Q%3D

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Turtle lived at the bus stop by the Honolulu Academy of the Arts.

He was this big slow-moving guy who always wore this heavy brown sweatshirt, so I nicknamed him "Turtle" in my mind. Clean-shaven, he blended in with the brown edging around the lawn. Occasionally I would see him eating and wondered if someone left him things or if he ventured from his spot on the left side of the bench. Once in awhile, Turtle would be on the lawn of the Arts Academy, but mostly he sat and stared as the world came whizzing past him in cars and buses.

If I wondered about Turtle, I never asked. Never talked to him and never saw him talk to anyone. He looked at us with sad sorrowful eyes. People looked at him with disdain and disgust as they walked past. I never went near Turtle when waiting for a bus, aiming for another bench altogether. I never handed him money or food.

Who was Turtle? He didn’t seem very old, maybe in his thirties or forties. What fate had befallen him that he would sit there day in and day out? Unlike some homeless folks, he didn’t have a good deal of belongings with him. If I remember right, he didn’t have much more than a stuffed out brown backpack.

In recent trips to Straub Medical Center, I hopped off TheBus and noticed Turtle was keeping his hood up. He quit shaving and sported a full grayish black beard on his moon-shaped face. The Turtle retreated into his shell.

Yet, here was this person I would often see several times a week in passing. There was no relationship there, but a strange awareness of his place in the world. Part of my street smart upbringing leads me to stay away from people who are homeless. There’s too much at risk as a woman. Yet, I saw Turtle and maybe it is enough to recognize his existence.

Rest in peace, Turtle.  

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