Too busy to blog!

What an excellent school I have found. What a vibrant city. What engaging colleagues. What polite students. Life is good.

Busy, but good. Challenging, but good. Noisy, but good. Frustrating, sometimes, but good.

The thing is, with scrambling to put our family's life together here in Morocco, navigating a vertical learning curve on both a personal and professional front (not around broad philosophical questions, or around my understanding of "how to be an effective instructional leader," but around things like, "where do I get a three-hole punch--oh, we don't use three holes, we use four with A4 paper...so then, how do I make a photocopy...I can't until the photocopier technician gets back from vacation?"...etc.), and with working hard to get teachers and students off to a good start this school year, I notice I have not posted to my blog in over a month.

I'm sure all my readers are sorely disappointed.

Just as my (analog) real-time, real-stuff, real life is in disarray, so is my digital life. I have a daily electronic newsletter for my teachers (which I am tentatively titling "Patrick's Ponderings" for lack of a better idea), an Ed-line page, a long-neglected personal website, a Facebook page, this blogspot, at least three active e-mail accounts beside the one at school, and still-active accounts associated with my Reedsport principalship.

And probably some other things I can't remember right now.

Please be patient as I unpack my boxes. My real cardboard boxes, of books, clothes, toys, and bizarre things that I have no idea why we packed, and, my virtual boxes of digital life, all over cyberspace.

Please remind ME to be patient as I unpack my boxes.

I'm sure it will all be sorted out soon.

Or, maybe not.

So I will really need to learn French and Arabic!

At this writing I have completed my first week in Morocco. I had heard Casablanca described as a city of contrasts, and indeed I have found that to be true. I have experienced a week of contrasts, a week of ups and downs. I have had a week of exhilarations and depressions in rapid succession. I have had a week of challenges, and a week of challenges met.

One moment, I found myself stranded without a working cell phone, alone, and apparently unable to communicate simple ideas. Three successive taxicab drivers shook their heads sadly and motored away, unable to understand or unwilling to take me to my desired destination. I was frustrated, hot, and breathing acrid diesel fumes. That was a down.

Another moment on the same day, I found myself sitting and enjoying a cold beverage, delicious food and intelligent, stimulating conversation with new colleagues at a comfortable outdoor table in a funky, interesting club. That was an up.

It has been like that.

On the whole, I can see that I've landed in a great spot. Wonderful people, a fascinating city and culture, a top-notch school and the promise of rewarding professional challenge converge to elicit excitement and positive anticipation of the upcoming months and years.

Caveat: the challenges of living abroad, in what is in many ways a developing nation, are certainly present. And, you know, that adds to the excitement and anticipation as well.

It is what we were looking for.

Morocco: I'm lovin' it.  I hope.

Development section

I taught International Baccalaureate Music (theory and history) during my time at International School Manila; one of the topics we spent time on was sonata-allegro form. In a nutshell, classical composers adhered to a general roadmap for the first movement of a symphony: an exposition, where musical elements and ideas are introduced, a development section, where the ideas are explored, modulated and exploited, and a recapitulation, where the original ideas return transformed--in a new key.

A thought occurred to me the other day while driving a long stretch up Highway 101, listening to a public radio station playing classical music. That feeling of unrest, that lack of a "home key," that feeling of many ideas and elements interweaving kaleidoscopically, moving toward but not yet achieving stability--our family has moved into the development section of our symphony.

Which means, if we extend that analogy, all we have to do is hang on, enjoy the nuances of the music, and in time stability will return.

We can do that. And we will look forward to the next movement.

If a tree falls in the forest?

I still keep a journal. I don't write in it all that often, but the way I approach it is that I just sit down and begin typing (or, writing in longhand, because I keep a leather-bound volume, and also a Word file in an expression of perpetual analog/digital indecision). I use a free-write / quick-write / "Artist's Way" / stream-of-consciousness technique. That is, I just keep my fingers moving, or the pen, in the analog case, and whatever comes out is what comes out.

What comes out is not great writing, but it is often cathartic, or stress-relieving. It helps me process. It is not intended for an audience; the process is the product.

I approach this blog a little differently. I spend slightly more time composing my thoughts, and I pause occasionally to gather them. I try to write cogently and with some semblance of organization and purpose. It is intended for an audience.

That would be you.

Here's the thing: I don't think anyone is reading my blog. (Of course, if you (audience) ARE reading this, I am wrong about that). (And, if you are my English-teacher wife, I am in trouble for...nesting parentheses (I love you, dear)).

Which brings me to my topic: If a blogger blogs in cyberspace, and there is no one there to perceive it, does it make a sound? That is, is it valid, as a communication? As an expression?

Because, did I mention, I don't think anyone is reading my blog.

I have an answer to that: it's OK with me if you don't read my blog. It is serving a purpose in my life of expressing written thought to an IMAGINED audience, and that is good enough.

Now, if a man speaks in the forest, and his wife is not there to hear him, is he still wrong?

Call me coach!

Though I insist on "Patrick" from adults, a lot of folks call me "Mr. Gross," anyway. Certainly we are in the habit as professionals of referring to each other with those formal titles in the third person, and also in the second person when in front of students.

And, it made me uncomfortable at first, but a lot of folks (adults) at school call me "Boss," affectionately. I guess I'm used to that now, and it's OK, because, well, I am the boss.

I was about 24 when I first started teaching high school , and I looked young. Some of the students looked older than me, in fact. Even after I grew the beard.

It was a Catholic school with a long, strong, and proud tradition of excellence in athletics. I was the band director. In fact, I founded the marching band at the school. I know I earned the respect of my band students quickly, but I know a few of the seniors had a hard time calling me "Mr. Gross." First, I guess it just sounded wrong to them. (We don't get to choose our surnames. While Gross means "large," or "great" in German, in English it doesn't sound quite as complimentary). Second, as I said, I didn't seem much older than them. I remember the day my bass player raised his hand to get my attention. He didn't want to call me "Mr. Gross." He knew I would not accept my first name as an address from students (though, that was kind of hip in those days).

"Uh, hey, uh...(he found his word)...Coach?"

Like I said, it was a sports-oriented school.

That worked. It fit. It stuck. I was "coach" from then on. I was the band coach. I was happy to answer to "Coach," which I found respectful, descriptive, and complimentary. When I left that school to move on with my career, the kids gave me a wool stadium blanket that said "De La Salle Spartans" on one corner and "Coach" on the other. And I've proudly answered to the moniker ever since.

I'm not a coach of musicians anymore, at least not as my day job. Now, I'm a coach of teachers. A boss of teachers, a teacher of teachers, and a coach of teachers.

"Coach," to me, is even better than "teacher" not because of the athletic connotation but because it implies a personalized, encouraging approach. Good coaching is good teaching, and good teaching is often coaching.

"Boss," just means, "the person in charge." So, my job description says I'm a boss of teachers, and a coach of teachers. I'm OK with that. But I know which is more important.

Stop calling me "boss." Call me "coach!"

Packing

My new plan is to simply sneak away in the middle of the night.

In April, we shipped 25 boxes full of what we at that time thought we would need and want in Morocco, in August.  

Now, it's time for the rest of the stuff.  We have four family members so that will make 8 checked bags total.  (We need to buy some suitcases.  Big ones.)  I'm not really thinking about that yet.

No, it's the rest of it.  There are two categories for the non-suitcase bound items:

1)  Stuff that we will sell in a garage sale.

2)  Stuff that we will put into storage.

Those are the two categories, and we have assigned a room to each.  Fine, in theory.  Now, then, there is the basement.

Item:  two-inch thick file of receipts from 2004.  Maybe a few were tax deductions, I don't know.  Store it?  Trash it?  What about personal/financial information...better shred it.  That is a lot of shredding.  And, along with so many similar files, a lot of space in a storage unit.  I don't want to deal with it, I'll put it in this growing pile for "later."

Item:  My tassel from college graduation.  I'm too old to put it on my rear-view mirror.  Besides, it's pink.  That's what happens when your undergraduate major is music.  Save it.  Sentimental value.  Yeah, but it has mold on in from storing it in a box in the basement.  What if the mold spreads to other stuff?  Just throw it away.  Well, I'll think about it.  I'll put it in this growing pile for "later."

Item:  1000 piece puzzle, still in shrink wrap, a memorial skyline photo of the 1997 "handover" change of government in Hong Kong.  We were there for that.  (I used to have a tee shirt, too).  The puzzle is a limited edition of 10,000.  Smells a little musty.  Save it?  Finally take it out of the box and put it together?  Sell it on E-bay?  Who knows, maybe it is worth something.  Then again, I doubt it.

I think you get the idea.  There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of "items."  Each requires more thought than I want to give it.

After we are through, it will feel good.  A few nostalgic visits to times gone by, and a profound liberation (remember--it's...ONLY...stuff...); less stuff = good!

Still, maybe I'll just sneak away from it all in the middle of the night.

It's all good.

I am a "short-timer."  I am working very hard to leave well, and to be in two halves of the world at once.  I am working to prepare for a successful start to the school year in two places.  I think I am doing a pretty good job at it, really.

But, I can't help but notice--it is seeming more and more like I am not here.  Last week, my office  staff scheduled a meeting without consulting me.  I say things, and it seems just a little bit like folks aren't really paying attention, at least not as much as I'm used to. 

"Oh, that's just Patrick talking...yadayadayada.  He won't be here next year."

So no one has come right out and said that.  But, I can hear them thinking it.

And fair enough.  As we are making schedule and staffing and budget decisions--difficult decisions--I am fully present, and making them well (I hope).  I care, deeply, about this place and its future; about these people and their future.  But, at the same time I have this surreal sensation:  it is all academic.  It is all theoretical.  (For me.)  Notice I said, "their" future and not "our" future.  This is difficult for me, and it is an adjustment.  

My family's future is on another continent.  My modal conversation with people I see less then daily, goes something like, "So, are you getting all packed?...You must be excited.  What an adventure!...Of course, you guys have lived overseas before"...  (My predictable responses replace the ellipses.)

It is exciting.  We are getting all packed.  We are happy about where we are going, and what we believe (based on past experience) awaits us.  And, we are sad.  This is a good school, a good community, and a good home.  There is a grieving process, and our family is moving through the various stages of detachment/loss:  denial, anger (well, angst), bargaining, depression, acceptance. At the same time we are going through an anticipation, excitement, and preparation (elements of the "expat adjustment cycle" referenced by some HR professionals).  If you like to codify and classify things into predictable patterns and cycles.   See, I'm sure we are headed to a good school, a good community, and a good home.   

So in the end, "it's all good."  That doesn't mean it's easy.