The kitchen table is full of camp supplies and so is the bed in my study.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Acting 101
My class is Acting 101, and you'd think after the past twelve summers of teaching the class it would all be second nature to me. I wouldn't have to prepare or even think about what I'm doing. Unfortunately, that is not the case. I always put off getting the acting class ready until just before camp begins.
I get all my materials out including folders of various stories from Aesops to Greek or Roman myths, previous lesson plans, dozens of scripts the kids have written over the years, various books that would make a good short play. I always try to do something we didn't do the previous year. Since we performed "Anansi" last year, we may do "Curious George" this year. I always use some of the fairy tales and Aesop fables for practice of taking a story and turning it into a script. We only use improvisation, and the scripts are never written down unless I decide to do so after the play has come together or if I start getting really nervous the last week that we'll never get it together unless I write a script. Fortunately, that script is never accepted by a single child.
I'm almost ready to begin final preparations though today I have done everything imaginable to postpone working on my plans. I've taken pictures of my supplies on the bed and the table. I've downloaded them to my computer. I've posted them on my blog. I've changed sheets, made stack of washing to do, sharpened pencils, eaten breakfast and lunch, drank more coffee and a coke, taken extra care to put on make-up and fix up like I'm going somewhere. Now I only have this evening left because I have frittered the whole day away doing everything else, and camp begins tomorrow.
I need to get a grip on this so I won't go in there tomorrow in the frame of mind that we have to learn a script and perform it in two weeks; and we better hurry, and no one can be absent or change classes; and I'm the boss and whatever other nonsense enters my brain. No, it takes preparation to get in the theatre state of mind, in the creative spirit.
I find Viola Spolin is helpful with getting the teacher ready. I also read through some of my notes from previous years. Instead of working on the actual plans, I have to first work on myself and become the playwright/director and think like a child for a few hours. The reward of course, is I find these kids know what to do if I have the right environment and materials and encouragement. It's not about me or performance, but about them and developing them as actors. Once I let go of "the performance" angle, and turn the class over to the best in all of us, the magic happens.
The class becomes a microcosm of society. We have the leaders and the followers. There are some kids that no one wants in their group. There are always one or two who have all the ideas of what we should do and who should do it and they may even get an attitude if they don't get their way. There are the clowns who are there to show off and the ones who almost cry if called on. Some love it, and some act like this is the worst experience of their life until they find their voice, their script, their group. Then the same bored child lights up with enthusiasm.
It makes you wonder if the United Nations should have Acting 101 where they learn to work together and share ideas. For sure, these kids are never the same from the first day to the day we go on stage. But every year I always have these same fears that this year nothing will happen. None of us will have any ideas or I'll forget what to do with the kids or I'll have a nervous breakdown at dress rehearsal because everyone wants to wear the same dress or someone at the last minute decides he's not going to be in the performance.
I suppose this comes with the territory, so for now I will put all my procrastination aside and go to work, beginning with reading from Viola Spolin's, "Improvisation for the Theater."
I get all my materials out including folders of various stories from Aesops to Greek or Roman myths, previous lesson plans, dozens of scripts the kids have written over the years, various books that would make a good short play. I always try to do something we didn't do the previous year. Since we performed "Anansi" last year, we may do "Curious George" this year. I always use some of the fairy tales and Aesop fables for practice of taking a story and turning it into a script. We only use improvisation, and the scripts are never written down unless I decide to do so after the play has come together or if I start getting really nervous the last week that we'll never get it together unless I write a script. Fortunately, that script is never accepted by a single child.
I'm almost ready to begin final preparations though today I have done everything imaginable to postpone working on my plans. I've taken pictures of my supplies on the bed and the table. I've downloaded them to my computer. I've posted them on my blog. I've changed sheets, made stack of washing to do, sharpened pencils, eaten breakfast and lunch, drank more coffee and a coke, taken extra care to put on make-up and fix up like I'm going somewhere. Now I only have this evening left because I have frittered the whole day away doing everything else, and camp begins tomorrow.
I need to get a grip on this so I won't go in there tomorrow in the frame of mind that we have to learn a script and perform it in two weeks; and we better hurry, and no one can be absent or change classes; and I'm the boss and whatever other nonsense enters my brain. No, it takes preparation to get in the theatre state of mind, in the creative spirit.
I find Viola Spolin is helpful with getting the teacher ready. I also read through some of my notes from previous years. Instead of working on the actual plans, I have to first work on myself and become the playwright/director and think like a child for a few hours. The reward of course, is I find these kids know what to do if I have the right environment and materials and encouragement. It's not about me or performance, but about them and developing them as actors. Once I let go of "the performance" angle, and turn the class over to the best in all of us, the magic happens.
The class becomes a microcosm of society. We have the leaders and the followers. There are some kids that no one wants in their group. There are always one or two who have all the ideas of what we should do and who should do it and they may even get an attitude if they don't get their way. There are the clowns who are there to show off and the ones who almost cry if called on. Some love it, and some act like this is the worst experience of their life until they find their voice, their script, their group. Then the same bored child lights up with enthusiasm.
It makes you wonder if the United Nations should have Acting 101 where they learn to work together and share ideas. For sure, these kids are never the same from the first day to the day we go on stage. But every year I always have these same fears that this year nothing will happen. None of us will have any ideas or I'll forget what to do with the kids or I'll have a nervous breakdown at dress rehearsal because everyone wants to wear the same dress or someone at the last minute decides he's not going to be in the performance.
I suppose this comes with the territory, so for now I will put all my procrastination aside and go to work, beginning with reading from Viola Spolin's, "Improvisation for the Theater."
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Camping for Seniors
Probably you are thinking this is about camping in an RV or going to some resort park and camping out. I am sixty-six years old and I've always been a camper when it comes to summer camp; however, I've never stayed in a tent or at any kind of trailer. No, I'm talking about church camps, Girl Scout camps, school camps. I'm still camping. It's a summer camp for 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th grade boys and girls, mostly in the arts and sciences. It's not quite summer school, and it's not quite a sports camp as we do have various subjects that we learn. I mean "we" because every summer I learn something different.
Today is D-Day as camp begins Monday. I still need to go get a few supplies though much is already bought. I tend to start buying staples about March when I see a good price on them. I bought notebooks last summer for this summer when they all went on sale on the cheap. I also have all the gluesticks, crayons, markers, pencils and things we may use making our cookbooks.
That's right, I teach cooking to kids. It's not exactly chemistry at MIT, but the kids love it. Amazingly, such things as turning on the blender or the mixer or cracking an egg is a real hit. Sifting is always a favorite. We even cut with knives, very well supervised I might say and one at a time. Sometimes we get extreme likes and dislikes, for instance the little girl who said she was going to die if we didn't make beignets again this year or the little boy who never ate anything we made. I'm always surprised that they're hungry any time of day, just before lunch, just after lunch, last class, first class. They always want to take something home for their mother or their brother or their grandmother. They want to take samples to their next teacher. The most favorite task is getting to take some crepes or snickerdoodles to the camp director or to another teacher. They love it when the camp teachers stop in for a sample.
We've had a crisis or two over the years from someone having a severe allergic attack to peanuts when he didn't eat them or touch them, but was only exposed to peanuts in the room. We've had a few who have wanted seconds, thirds, fourths so we talk about eating sweets in moderation. We have various ethnic groups so someone from India may want us to make mango lassi or some tell me they can't have meat. Some tell me they are lactose intolerant, but they can have a few cookies or smoothies today. I'm ususally the only one who burns myself, cuts myself or is otherwise "injured."
This year I have made an oath to God, man and country and everyone I meet that I will not be bringing any cookies, pies, cupcakes, pizza, beignets or any other leftovers home. I will distribute all at the end of the day to other campers or the teachers. I tell myself I will put them in the freezer and they will last for months, but any snickerdoodles or shortbread I put in the freezer I have soon eaten up. In that I'm trying so hard to lose weight, extra food at camp will be counterproductive of all the exercise I get.
Did I just mention exercise? By the time I carry all the supplies in everyday, even if I park at the front door, it is quite a bit of walking and carrying. Then I have to go park my car at the nearby parking lot either in front or back of the school. It's then a nice little hike back to my classroom which is downstairs. Then I have to go upstairs to greet the campers, then back downstairs with the campers. We switch classes every hour, and with no prep time between classes except at lunch, I'm busier than a one-armed paper hanger helping kids cook and cleaning up the kitchen. We have no dishwasher though we have a huge classroom with many large tables that all have outlets. There are about seven sinks and lots of plugs. On the countertops we have two small refrigerators, a convection oven, a microwave oven plus every appliance known to man that I bring from home are on some of the cabinets. We also have a fire extinguisher and our very own shower in case there is a chemical spill. That's right, we have turned a chemistry lab into our camp kitchen. Who needs a stove when we have two pizelle makers, a quesadilla maker, a waffle iron, an electric skillet, a grease buddy for deep frying, two crepe makers, a toaster oven and lots of children ready to go. I must say, the convection oven is right up there with my favorite appliance, and the microwave is so great for melting butter, chocolate or heating up things quickly.
I have stalled the inevitable long enough. It is time to go get the chocolate and a few other necessities for next week. Then this evening I hope to devote to preparation for the two acting classes. Is this the year to attempt "Curious George Goes to the Hospital" and Beatrix Potter "Peter Rabbit" or do we go for Greek and Roman myths or Aesop fables again. I'm wondering if the small child who was there last year will return. For three days she wouldn't speak, and then she discovered a pig nose someone had made one year for part of their costume and all she wanted to do was wear it. So I let her. Within a short period, you would have never known she spent three days as a mute, too fearful to be in any activities. Acting is tonight; for now it's off to the store. Nothing is simple, however. Do I go to Kroger or Sam's Club or try Costco this year? Camp pays for everything so does it matter really where I go? That's me, I'm going to save money whoever's money it may be. Even my Daddy said, "We'll never get the Scotch out of you." But then really, why not get notebooks on sale for a dime instead of waiting till they are a dollar a piece!!!
Today is D-Day as camp begins Monday. I still need to go get a few supplies though much is already bought. I tend to start buying staples about March when I see a good price on them. I bought notebooks last summer for this summer when they all went on sale on the cheap. I also have all the gluesticks, crayons, markers, pencils and things we may use making our cookbooks.
That's right, I teach cooking to kids. It's not exactly chemistry at MIT, but the kids love it. Amazingly, such things as turning on the blender or the mixer or cracking an egg is a real hit. Sifting is always a favorite. We even cut with knives, very well supervised I might say and one at a time. Sometimes we get extreme likes and dislikes, for instance the little girl who said she was going to die if we didn't make beignets again this year or the little boy who never ate anything we made. I'm always surprised that they're hungry any time of day, just before lunch, just after lunch, last class, first class. They always want to take something home for their mother or their brother or their grandmother. They want to take samples to their next teacher. The most favorite task is getting to take some crepes or snickerdoodles to the camp director or to another teacher. They love it when the camp teachers stop in for a sample.
We've had a crisis or two over the years from someone having a severe allergic attack to peanuts when he didn't eat them or touch them, but was only exposed to peanuts in the room. We've had a few who have wanted seconds, thirds, fourths so we talk about eating sweets in moderation. We have various ethnic groups so someone from India may want us to make mango lassi or some tell me they can't have meat. Some tell me they are lactose intolerant, but they can have a few cookies or smoothies today. I'm ususally the only one who burns myself, cuts myself or is otherwise "injured."
This year I have made an oath to God, man and country and everyone I meet that I will not be bringing any cookies, pies, cupcakes, pizza, beignets or any other leftovers home. I will distribute all at the end of the day to other campers or the teachers. I tell myself I will put them in the freezer and they will last for months, but any snickerdoodles or shortbread I put in the freezer I have soon eaten up. In that I'm trying so hard to lose weight, extra food at camp will be counterproductive of all the exercise I get.
Did I just mention exercise? By the time I carry all the supplies in everyday, even if I park at the front door, it is quite a bit of walking and carrying. Then I have to go park my car at the nearby parking lot either in front or back of the school. It's then a nice little hike back to my classroom which is downstairs. Then I have to go upstairs to greet the campers, then back downstairs with the campers. We switch classes every hour, and with no prep time between classes except at lunch, I'm busier than a one-armed paper hanger helping kids cook and cleaning up the kitchen. We have no dishwasher though we have a huge classroom with many large tables that all have outlets. There are about seven sinks and lots of plugs. On the countertops we have two small refrigerators, a convection oven, a microwave oven plus every appliance known to man that I bring from home are on some of the cabinets. We also have a fire extinguisher and our very own shower in case there is a chemical spill. That's right, we have turned a chemistry lab into our camp kitchen. Who needs a stove when we have two pizelle makers, a quesadilla maker, a waffle iron, an electric skillet, a grease buddy for deep frying, two crepe makers, a toaster oven and lots of children ready to go. I must say, the convection oven is right up there with my favorite appliance, and the microwave is so great for melting butter, chocolate or heating up things quickly.
I have stalled the inevitable long enough. It is time to go get the chocolate and a few other necessities for next week. Then this evening I hope to devote to preparation for the two acting classes. Is this the year to attempt "Curious George Goes to the Hospital" and Beatrix Potter "Peter Rabbit" or do we go for Greek and Roman myths or Aesop fables again. I'm wondering if the small child who was there last year will return. For three days she wouldn't speak, and then she discovered a pig nose someone had made one year for part of their costume and all she wanted to do was wear it. So I let her. Within a short period, you would have never known she spent three days as a mute, too fearful to be in any activities. Acting is tonight; for now it's off to the store. Nothing is simple, however. Do I go to Kroger or Sam's Club or try Costco this year? Camp pays for everything so does it matter really where I go? That's me, I'm going to save money whoever's money it may be. Even my Daddy said, "We'll never get the Scotch out of you." But then really, why not get notebooks on sale for a dime instead of waiting till they are a dollar a piece!!!
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
My Uncle Tommy
Perhaps everyone has an uncle like my Uncle Tommy. Then again, maybe no one has an uncle like my Uncle Tommy. He was one of a kind. Who but Uncle Tommy would leave his farm in Missouri in his 70s to go prospect for gold in Nevada? Who else would come to my Daddy's funeral in 2000 wearing his only suit that he bought when Eisenhower was the president?
Okay, so you don't have my Uncle Tommy. Let me tell you about him or at least what I can remember, maybe the highlights of the times I spent with him before he died in 2004. Of all things, they cut his hair and shaved him and he wore a suit in the casket. I couldn't help but wonder who is this man? I never knew that man at all.
Uncle Tommy was one of those people who from my earliest memories I thought he was unusual or in my child's mind I thought he was really eccentric. He grew bean sprouts on the back porch; he only drank hot tea, not coffee like my mother and daddy; he often spoke in French though he was a farmer deep in the boondocks of SE Missouri. He filled the walls of my grandmother's house with classical paintings of old masters, and he always hung them at eye level to a giant. He lived with my grandparents even though he had his own farm he called "Buckhorn". As I recall it was a farm with a small shack on it, or what I would have thought a shack to be.
He often took me on walks around the farm to the papaw patch, to pick blackberries or grapes from the fence. As a little girls my mom and I lived on the farm while my dad was in Africa during World War II. I called him my big daddy, and my daddy was my "little daddy" because all I knew of him was a photograph my mom showed me frequently. He got me a goat as I was allergic to cow's milk. I was quite a little farm girl back then on the farm.
Over the years, Uncle Tommy continued to look like a prospector farming in Missouri. He had the long beard and looked like he stepped out of a 18th century novel. I never could understand how he seemed to know so much about everything. He was the one that took me into the front yard to watch Sputnik back when I was a young teenager. He was the one that later told me I needed to let my sister make her own decisions instead of telling her what crayon to use to color her picture. Always at Christmas, he would be the one to go out in the woods on the farm and chop down a tree for Christmas. It never looked like a Christmas tree, more like a branch off a tree with no leaves on it.
TO BE CONTINUED
Okay, so you don't have my Uncle Tommy. Let me tell you about him or at least what I can remember, maybe the highlights of the times I spent with him before he died in 2004. Of all things, they cut his hair and shaved him and he wore a suit in the casket. I couldn't help but wonder who is this man? I never knew that man at all.
Uncle Tommy was one of those people who from my earliest memories I thought he was unusual or in my child's mind I thought he was really eccentric. He grew bean sprouts on the back porch; he only drank hot tea, not coffee like my mother and daddy; he often spoke in French though he was a farmer deep in the boondocks of SE Missouri. He filled the walls of my grandmother's house with classical paintings of old masters, and he always hung them at eye level to a giant. He lived with my grandparents even though he had his own farm he called "Buckhorn". As I recall it was a farm with a small shack on it, or what I would have thought a shack to be.
He often took me on walks around the farm to the papaw patch, to pick blackberries or grapes from the fence. As a little girls my mom and I lived on the farm while my dad was in Africa during World War II. I called him my big daddy, and my daddy was my "little daddy" because all I knew of him was a photograph my mom showed me frequently. He got me a goat as I was allergic to cow's milk. I was quite a little farm girl back then on the farm.
Over the years, Uncle Tommy continued to look like a prospector farming in Missouri. He had the long beard and looked like he stepped out of a 18th century novel. I never could understand how he seemed to know so much about everything. He was the one that took me into the front yard to watch Sputnik back when I was a young teenager. He was the one that later told me I needed to let my sister make her own decisions instead of telling her what crayon to use to color her picture. Always at Christmas, he would be the one to go out in the woods on the farm and chop down a tree for Christmas. It never looked like a Christmas tree, more like a branch off a tree with no leaves on it.
TO BE CONTINUED
Peace in Fifth Grade
Today we were studying about the United Nations. I was planning for them to write poems about peace as one of the activities. While I was waiting for them to come to class, I was thinking about what peace meant to me. I realized as I wrote I wasn't sure I knew. Hopefully, the fifth graders would find it easier to put in words than I did.
"Peace"
Is it a feeling or a gesture
or an idea in our mind’s eye?
I know what it is and when it’s there.
I know the absence of peace
and the struggle of opposing factions.
Describe it, not so easy.
Quiet, maybe or maybe not.
Calmness, sometimes.
A smile, a grimace, a tear!
It could be all three.
Is there a word to describe it
better than the word “peace”?
There are synonyms galore for peace.
We all know the Thesaurus:
calm, stillness, quiet, tranquility,
silence, harmony, serenity,
peace treaty, law and order,
freedom from conflict, refrain from violence.
We can all look up the word,
but do we know the word?
It may be as simple
as my dog laying in my lap
while I rub his head and occasionally
he will coo like a baby.
"Peace"
Is it a feeling or a gesture
or an idea in our mind’s eye?
I know what it is and when it’s there.
I know the absence of peace
and the struggle of opposing factions.
Describe it, not so easy.
Quiet, maybe or maybe not.
Calmness, sometimes.
A smile, a grimace, a tear!
It could be all three.
Is there a word to describe it
better than the word “peace”?
There are synonyms galore for peace.
We all know the Thesaurus:
calm, stillness, quiet, tranquility,
silence, harmony, serenity,
peace treaty, law and order,
freedom from conflict, refrain from violence.
We can all look up the word,
but do we know the word?
It may be as simple
as my dog laying in my lap
while I rub his head and occasionally
he will coo like a baby.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Swine Flu
One friend mentioned he ran a virus scan on his computer,and there was no swine flu. Another friend said he has the wine flu, which was better than the whine flu. Guess it isn't funny, but I am beginning to wonder if the swine flu has been a bit exaggerated. Let's hope so because we don't need a pandemic.
I'm just going to bed and be grateful I don't have any kind of flu and that I'm healthy, thanks to good doctors, good insurance, and good genes. Maybe it's luck that I'm 66 and healthy or maybe I take better care of myself than I think. No, I'm just very fortunate, I believe. Let's hope the swine flu doesn't knock on my door.
I'm just going to bed and be grateful I don't have any kind of flu and that I'm healthy, thanks to good doctors, good insurance, and good genes. Maybe it's luck that I'm 66 and healthy or maybe I take better care of myself than I think. No, I'm just very fortunate, I believe. Let's hope the swine flu doesn't knock on my door.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Things to Do instead of Writing on My Play
Today has a good distraction, The Kentucky Derby. I'm getting a little tired of the interviews with the trainers and jockeys, however. What is this parade of folks around the track. I would like to say I enjoy the ladies' hats but after a while some of them look like bird houses or Mardi Gras costumes. I like the retire principal who takes care of his own horse. I guess I should have been listening better to find out where everyone is walking.
I have always been a horse fan; even as a young girl I read all the "Black Stallion" books. I rode horse occasionally on the family farm but after my fall in the 4th grade I took a very long break from riding horses again. I rode in Macon the summer of 1974 after Thomas was born. Then when we moved to Dunwoody, and I continued riding that fall and winter. David rode with me. We were both getting pretty good riding in the ring. I learned to trot, gallop, cantor, walk, get on and off a horse. I rode English saddle rather than Western. At first I was afraid I'd fall off with English, but after a while I preferred it to Western.
After David fell off the horse and I got scared myself of jumping fences, we quit riding. I resigned my horseback riding career, except for occasionally dressing up like a jockey for Halloween with my hard hat and boots. Now when I remember, I watch the Kentucky Derby and that is about as far as my horseback riding career and love of horses go these days. Now, I'd be afraid to ride as it would be too devastating at 66 if I did fall off the horse.
The mother of a recent student rides horses. She is quite an equestrian, has her own horses that she boards and rides. I've another friend I know from the film industry who also works with horses in some sort of riding camp in the mountains. There are no longer any horses on our farm in Missouri. I do recall as I write that about the same time David was riding horses when he was five and six he drew horses everyday. They actually got better as he drew another horse everyday. I wonder why he didn't become a visual artist. I wonder if it's because I made a suggestion for his painting of Snoopy and Charlie Brown that he understood as criticism. He totally quit painting with that painting.
I hope this has been an enjoyable diversion to writing Scene 2 of my play. I did tell myself early this morning when I was barely awake that I could write this play and never produce it in my lifetime. That way, I have more freedom to write what I really want to say. If I think of it on stage anywhere I start eliminating scenes until there is no play at all.
Okay, I hereby give myself and all playwrights everywhere permission to write and not be censored. Now if I can practice what I preach with the people in my life as well as my own creative spirit.
I have always been a horse fan; even as a young girl I read all the "Black Stallion" books. I rode horse occasionally on the family farm but after my fall in the 4th grade I took a very long break from riding horses again. I rode in Macon the summer of 1974 after Thomas was born. Then when we moved to Dunwoody, and I continued riding that fall and winter. David rode with me. We were both getting pretty good riding in the ring. I learned to trot, gallop, cantor, walk, get on and off a horse. I rode English saddle rather than Western. At first I was afraid I'd fall off with English, but after a while I preferred it to Western.
After David fell off the horse and I got scared myself of jumping fences, we quit riding. I resigned my horseback riding career, except for occasionally dressing up like a jockey for Halloween with my hard hat and boots. Now when I remember, I watch the Kentucky Derby and that is about as far as my horseback riding career and love of horses go these days. Now, I'd be afraid to ride as it would be too devastating at 66 if I did fall off the horse.
The mother of a recent student rides horses. She is quite an equestrian, has her own horses that she boards and rides. I've another friend I know from the film industry who also works with horses in some sort of riding camp in the mountains. There are no longer any horses on our farm in Missouri. I do recall as I write that about the same time David was riding horses when he was five and six he drew horses everyday. They actually got better as he drew another horse everyday. I wonder why he didn't become a visual artist. I wonder if it's because I made a suggestion for his painting of Snoopy and Charlie Brown that he understood as criticism. He totally quit painting with that painting.
I hope this has been an enjoyable diversion to writing Scene 2 of my play. I did tell myself early this morning when I was barely awake that I could write this play and never produce it in my lifetime. That way, I have more freedom to write what I really want to say. If I think of it on stage anywhere I start eliminating scenes until there is no play at all.
Okay, I hereby give myself and all playwrights everywhere permission to write and not be censored. Now if I can practice what I preach with the people in my life as well as my own creative spirit.
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