– If only we could go back, if only!

"Eyes the shady night has shut," by Iseult

"Eyes the shady night has shut," by Iseult

In a conversation about Ted Kennedy’s death and the Massachusetts response, James asked me about what he called my “JFK Jr. project,” a piece on the summer of 1999, when I became scarily obsessed — unusual for me — with the story of the crash of the plane piloted by John F. Kennedy, Jr. and carrying his wife Carolyn Bessette and her sister Lauren.

Earlier this summer, I drafted an essay and then shortened it into a script for a digital story. I recorded it, with help from Anthony Sweeney, in a workshop conducted by my MIT friend and colleague, Lisa Dush, who runs Storybuilders. Later, I edited it in Audacity.

It’s about 4 minutes long, and you can listen to it by clicking the SoundCloud arrow. If you prefer reading, you’ll find the text of the story after the jump.

Continue reading

– Cupcakes and life

CupcakesAt 9:40pm, Jimmy is folding laundry and playing dj. It’s Prince: “I Would Die 4 U,” “Raspberry Beret,” and “When Doves Cry.” Eli is out. I am putting away my sorted clothes, and Lydia and Grace are hanging out with us. As usual, the children introduce conversational threads out of nowhere.

Lydia:  When we go to New York, can we go to Magnolia Bakery?

Jane:  Why?

Lydia: Because they mention it in “Lazy Sunday,” and Andy Samberg loves their cupcakes.

Jane: Lydia, it’s only a cupcake.

Lydia: Mom, life is short —

Grace: — in a long way.

*

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Cupcakes image is from B Tal’s photostream on Flickr. I worked with B Tal, that is, Brian Talbot, at Simmons College, and I once had the opportunity to have one of his peanut butter and jelly cupcakes. They were so great I had to get the recipe, and I have made them for the kids, who have dubbed these THE BEST CUPCAKES EVER. (Who cares about Magnolia?) You can make them, too, by following the recipe that appears under the photo on his Flickr page. Two tips from me — use only 1/3 or so cup of milk in the frosting recipe, and either make a double batch of the cupcakes or a half batch of the frosting, because the frosting recipe, as is, makes too much for the 12 cupcakes indicated. And refrigerate them: like a lot of cake and frosting combos, they are delicious cold.

– Words that cannot be said

PagesWhen I was a child, there were words forbidden in our household.

The following were the big three. Really, these are the words I recall my mother itemizing, after she announced: “There are three words I don’t want to hear.”

I am about to write them, which is a kind of saying.

Stupid

Hate

Kill

My parents had five children. While that made for a lot of fun, it made for friction, too. The forbidden words were ones that are most often useful in situations involving conflict. Say my sister Sally and I were playing the card game Spit. I’m older, but she was faster. In the heat of the game, when I suspected she was on the verge of winning, it would have been normal for me to growl at her and bark, “You’re so stupid and I hate you. I’m gonna kill you!”

But, I didn’t, because the words were forbidden. And just now, typing them? I felt very uncomfortable and even queasy. Those are not my words.

In the house I grew up in, we sat down together every night and ate a meal that my mother, usually, prepared. (Once in a while my father cooked.) It must have been hard to create a menu that all seven of us would find pleasing, day after day. I remember liking almost everything, or at least being willing to eat almost everything put in front of me. Still, my brothers and sisters and I each had our own personal limit. Me? Creamed corn. My brother Michael? Deviled ham sandwiches. (Sally, Emily, Brian: What were your dislikes?) Nevertheless, we could not say, “I hate creamed corn.” Instead, my mother recommended we phrase our distaste this way: “I don’t care for creamed corn.” Wordy, indeed, yet tactful.

My parents also preferred real words for objects, and not slang, especially when it came to the body and its processes. Continue reading

– Dream of kahare

Purple shellsI sit in a restaurant with two colleagues, a female one from my current job and a male one from a job I had 14 years ago. In my immediate view is what looks like an artichoke heart, but paler green. I hold it up to my mouth; I eat. I register “sweet, like fruit,” but my dream mouth doesn’t taste. Still, I sense that this is a discovery: a new fruit. It’s called a kahare, and I know this because I see the word on the menu in my dream. Kahare. Exotic — not from here — and delicious.

Waiting on my plate is something else, the color of black raspberry ice cream and the shape of a long, round-edged bar of soap and as smooth. It is intact; there are no bite marks. Continue reading

– Blueberries on my mind

Blueberries in handWhile I do not know what form this will take, I am embarking on a biographical research project. The subject is Elizabeth Coleman White (d. 1954), an amateur botanist and serious farmer who brought the cultivated blueberry to New Jersey in the 1920s.

Why do we do the things we do? Why do we make the choices we make?

I’ve been thinking about those questions in the last month or two, after I made the commitment to myself to work on this and then started going public by testing the idea in conversations with friends as well as strangers.

No one assigned me to this subject. There is no writing contest of which I’m aware that has to do with blueberries or women farmers. I like blueberries, but I don’t grow them or even live near a patch of them.

I first got the idea to research Elizabeth White back in the summer of 2000, when I read a long article in the New York Times on New Jersey and its blueberries. In a 26-paragraph, three-recipe story, Elizabeth White appeared in a mere three sentences. Still, her story interested me enough that I saved that section of the newspaper. I dug it out several weeks ago, when I was sorting through some boxed clutter.

Article on blueberries

At the time, I was thinking that this might make a good subject for a children’s book, like Jacqueline Briggs Martin and Mary Azarian’s Snowflake Bentley. I even imagined a drawing of a woman, walking through fields in a white summer work dress that is stained indigo in places from squashed blueberries. In fact, I imagined that drawing so much that it started to seem like fact to me: a woman, rows and rows of blueberry bushes, hot sun, white dress, stains. Continue reading

– Explicit teaching

In the first few moments of her three-day workshop, Supporting Reading Comprehension, Writing, and Study Skills at the Landmark College Institute, Linda Hecker prompted participants (I was one of five) to introduce ourselves and say why we came.

When it was my turn, I answered that I wanted to learn and develop more explicit teaching methods, to help not only my students with learning disabilities, but all students I work with. We were invited to tell the story of a student, and I talked about A., who, when I very clearly proposed to him an alternative structure for his paper, said to me: “I understand what you mean, but I don’t know how to do what you’re saying.” I’d like to know, I said to Linda and the group, how to teach better those students who don’t intuitively know all the little steps involved in tackling a big writing task. What’s involved, for example, in summarizing a passage or chapter? I know how to summarize — but do I know how to teach the same skill?

wall_postits

In the workshop, I did learn a strategy for teaching the summary, and picked up a few tools as well. Landmark emphasizes multimodal teaching, which engages a student aurally, visually, and kinesthetically in learning.  Even though their faculty have developed this kind of teaching to reach students with learning disabilities and AD/HD, this pedagogy is applicable to all learners.

Indeed, after three days at Landmark, I wanted to try out some of these exercises and tools not only on students, but on my own reading and writing practices. They’re more than effective — they seem motivating and, dare I say, fun.

What follows here is a select list of some of the ideas, remarks, readings, tools, and websites that seemed most immediately interesting to me. Certainly, there was more. It was a great experience, and, if you teach, I recommend that you go. Continue reading

– A state for writers

Pencil Shavings 2

Lydia pulled me over to the table.

“Look at this,” she said and held up a worksheet that Grace had brought home from third grade, called “United States Regions.”

Lydia pointed to a spot on the U.S. map, on which Grace had labeled all 50 states, where she creatively spelled the name of one of them:

Pencilvanya

Kind of a mash of “pencil” and Uncle Vanya, no?

Which kinda reminds me… My friend James, who lives and works in that state, is blogging again.

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The image, “Pencil Dust,” is published by .klash on Flickr.

– What they call the first version

In Eli’s room, on top of a pile of school work, I noticed a first version of a short story he wrote for his English class.  He categorized the manuscript a “ruff jraft.” Ah, so Eli.

At dinner, I asked the others what they call the first version of things they write.

Grace: a sloppy copy

Lydia: a rough draft (“But I only call it that if I’m sure I’m going to rewrite it.”)

Jimmy: a piece of shit

There you have it.

– Uneasy nostalgia

Outside Founders Hall

Outside Founders Hall

I finished writing and revising “Dead and Gone,” and I sent the essay off to editors of a journal who asked to see more of my work. One editor e-mailed me back today, confirming its receipt. All I can do now is wait.

A few readers and friends have asked about the incident central to the essay: a meeting between my Wellesley College professor and me.

That scene, which is the last bit from the essay I’ll post, is at the center of the story. It’s what I most recall about the professor and  our acquaintance, and it’s what I have turned over and over in my mind as I have considered my college years (1983 – 1987) and what the encounter has meant to me.

Curious? Continue reading