Trampolining is one of my favorite ways to reschool, for these reasons:

1. It’s incredible aerobic exercise. I’m a regular jogger but get exhausted in about ten minutes. Your legs and booty will feel sore the next day.

2. It makes you feel like a little kid. No matter how old you are, on a trampoline you bounce and giggle like you did when you were five years old. At Sky High, there’s also a foam pit where you can fall in backwards or do bellyflops, and a dodgeball court where the littlest kids will surely get you out in the blink of an eye.

3. It brings out your inner daredevil. You feel emboldened to try all kinds of crazy stunts. I’m normally very cautious, but I end up somersaulting and doing adventurous things like jumping off the bouncy walls (which is how I fell and skinned my elbow). I curbed my risky behavior when I remembered what kind of basic insurance I have and how accident-prone I am. But for a few precious minutes, I felt like Evel Knievel.

This post marks the debut of the video series capturing my spring learning. When I launched Reschool Yourself in August, I bought a digital FlipCam with the expectation that I’d film some of my key experiences and publish video logs. There were just three small problems: I didn’t know much about a) filming, b) editing, or c) publishing video to blogs. I was already expending so much effort writing that I didn’t want to invest the effort to learn amateur filmmaking for the web.

Trampolining in June: If Darren and I had an 80s sitcom, the opening credits would end with this freeze frame.

Luckily, Darren got his own digital video camera (in HD….you think you’re better than me, huh?) for Christmas and is already putting it to use. We took one of my former Spark students to the trampoline gym in Santa Clara, and he took the above (slightly shaky but awesome) video of Darren and me attempting our patented double-butt bounce and flying high-five.

We’ll be filming this spring as we take on a bunch of do-it-yourself projects. These are a few of the ideas we have:

• Building a dining room table.
• Refinishing wooden picture frames.
• Installing a pegboard in the kitchen for hanging pots and pans.
• Screen printing t-shirts that we design.
• Turning a boy apartment into a co-ed apartment in a variety of ways. (I may patent a device that will train Darren to leave the toilet seat down.)

Stay tuned for more video!Similar Posts:

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I keep coming up with new metaphors to describe the chaotic state of affairs right now. I keep saying that I have a lot of “irons in the fire,” or “balls in the air,” or “crazy in my brain.” On Friday morning, as the euphoria from the lazy holidays wore off and the reality of holycrapihavesomuchtodo set in, I broke down in tears. Darren, with his characteristic calm and can-do attitude, offered to help. He suggested that I use the Getting Things Done approach, created by consultant David Allen, that both of us think is brilliant. Allen says that in order to have a peaceful “mind like water” that is ready to perceive any opportunity or challenge, you need to get everything off of your mind and into a specifically organized system. Getting Things Done is one of the most important books I’ve ever read and warrants its own post, so for now I’ll refer you to a summary of it on 43 Folders, a popular productivity blog.

Darren suggested that I start organizing by breaking all my big projects into small, actionable tasks. He suggested that I open a new text document. He said, “OK, what’s on your mind?”, and I told him. As I talked, I typed a list of the projects, and under each one, I put specific action items relevant to each. Here are the projects with an example of an action item:

DOCUMENTARY: Doing lots of on-the-ground legwork to prepare for next week’s shoot.
- Email school bell schedules to director.

RESCHOOL YOURSELF: Writing regularly and moving the project forward in a bunch of different ways.
- Write blog post about moving to Mississippi.

CLEANUP: Cleaning up “my shame,” as I call it, organizing my possessions and getting rid of clutter.
- Deal with clothes on the floor: do laundry, put clean clothes away.

MOVING PREP: Deciding what to bring to Jackson and how to get it there.
- Make master list of what I’m taking and leaving.

GILL’S BACHELORETTE: Planning my sister’s bachelorette party in New Orleans, woot woot!
- Email guests final details and phone numbers.

WIKI & WEBSITE: Writing an online training manual, using a wiki, and website content for the auto repair shop my dad owns.
- Send Dad a list of sections to fill out on the wiki.

These actions would be even more specific with deadlines, which I’ll write about in a forthcoming post.

Once I had the list out of my mind, I immediately felt much calmer than when I had a mass of nebulous “stuff,” as David Allen calls it, occupying space in my brain. Even though these are major projects and I don’t have a lot of time to complete them, I felt that they were much more manageable when broken down into next actions to move them forward. And today, I was able to cross a bunch of items off the list. My sister, in a recent blog post, just reminded me of how satisfying the strikethrough function is for crossing off computerized To-Dos. It is infinitely better than deleting the item, because you can make a crossed-out Accomplished list above your To-Do list.

I’m still juggling six big projects and am still anxious about all I have to accomplish before Monday, January 12. But now, thanks to breaking these projects into next actions, I know how many balls are in the air, and how I can make sure to catch them.

*****************

Your Two Cents: Leave a comment!

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I’ve been waiting until New Year’s Day to share a poem that captures the spirit of both Reschool Yourself and the first day of a new year. The poem, “Ithaka,” is filled with the adventure, self-reflection, and excitement of learning that I hope infuses 2009 for all of us.

One of my favorite Santa Clara University professors, Dr. John Heath, introduced me to “Ithaka” during my recent visit to his Survey of Classical Literature course. He read it on the final day of class, to send students off with a reminder of what’s important about college, and life beyond it. He told them that college is less about absorbing information than about gleaning lessons about the human experience. Ten years after graduating college, they wouldn’t remember the minutiae of their classes, but they ideally would have internalized what had enriched their understanding of themselves and their own personal journeys. “Don’t worry about the details,” he said. “See what it is to be your own hero.”

Before he handed out the poem, Heath introduced it in typical deadpan fashion by saying, “I’m sharing this with you against my will.” He went on to explain, “You know when you like a band, and you learn all their songs and go to their shows, and you’re one of just a few devoted fans? And then suddenly they take off, and everyone starts to like them? That’s how I feel about this poem–’It’s my poem. You can’t like it, too.’” Apparently the poem, written by Greek poet C.P. Cavafy around the turn of the 20th century, had gained instant fame when it was read at Jackie O’s funeral in 1994. Heath was generous enough to share it with me and the rest of his class, and now I’d like to share it with you. Happy New Year!

Ithaka
By C.P. Cavafy

As you set out for Ithaka
hope the journey may be long,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon–don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon–you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the journey may be long.
May there be many a summer morning
when with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbors you’re seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfumes of every kind–
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn, and go on learning, from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you’re destined for.
But don’t hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you’re old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn’t have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.Similar Posts:

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I’ve always written more prose than poetry, and most of my poems are from my teen years, when I was having trouble accepting that I was growing up. The poems are filled with nostalgia for a simpler past and often have a tinge of melodrama, since I use strong language when I’m passionate about something. This one was modeled on a Sharon Olds poem, inspired by a photo of myself at age seven on a school field trip to a local bird preserve. Remember that I was 17 when I wrote it, so please forgive any hints of cheesiness.

Field Trip, 1988
Written 3/12/98

I see them standing on a cobbled path by a white wraparound porch

I see myself with long braids, my hands folded primly, with Mickey Mouse sweatshirt and too-short jeans.
I see Meghan with binoculars around her neck
standing clustered with our classmates wearing bright mismatched colors
and unimpressed faces, their fine washed hair gleaming in the sun.
They are about to turn eight, they are about to enter third grade,
they are kids, they are angels with little round faces and straight bangs.
I want to go up to myself and say Enjoy your childhood — life gets harder,
Meghan will move away, you will hate adolescence,
you will break his heart and he will break yours,
you will feel confused. I want to go
up to myself in the soft afternoon sunlight and say it,
my slanted eyes looking up in alarm,
their faraway stare interrupted,
but I won’t do it. I want to leave innocence untouched,
before boys, before bras, before
melancholy and thoughts of death.
I watch my young face grow older in pictures. I say
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I hope that you are all making merry during this long weekend. I’m feeling particularly content at the moment after one of those days that helps me put my priorities in order. This fall I’ve been operating in overdrive, not allowing myself much decompression time because I’ve worked mostly from home. Today I had a real vacation day where I did my favorite activities: exercising, envisioning future possibilities, indulging in incredible food, and feeling inspired to pursue my passion. Best of all, I shared these things with some of my favorite people on earth. It was a day that reminded me how I want my life to be, and how it’s up to me to make sure it ends up that way. Here’s the rundown of events:

8:45 am: 5-mile jog after a full night of sleep. My sister’s fiance, Brian, and I kicked off the morning with a run through the sunny Sonoma backroads, past vineyards and rolling green hills. It felt good to move after indulging in so many rich holiday delights.

11:00 am: Cohousing Tour in Cotati. Many of you know that one of my most important goals is to live in a community setting one day, with multiple families living in separate homes built on a shared property. Cohousing developments are one possibility, like condo complexes owned by the residents and designed to have large common spaces. Gill, Bri, Darren, and I toured a cohousing community in Cotati that had a toolshop, vegetable garden, dance/music studio, and a couple of costume closets. They had me at “costume closet.” I am crossing my fingers that our own little enclave, perhaps in the south, is in the cards in the next few years.

1:30 pm: Lunch at The Girl & The Fig. My sister, Gill, Brian and I started a tradition last year of treating each other to a gourmet lunch instead of exchanging gifts. Darren joined the crew this year, so we had a nearly three-hour mouth-watering meal accompanied by plentiful red wine. After spending the fall on a modest budget, I let myself splurge a little. Three words: Wild. Boar. Ragout.

4:30 pm: Hanging out at Barking Dog Roasters. While Gill and Bri met with the priest who will be marrying them next month, Darren and I sipped French Roast coffee and quizzed each other on Trivial Pursuit questions from the very outdated Genus edition. (Q: What’s the only Australian city to host the Olympics? A: Melbourne.)

6:00 pm: Inspiration from a stranger. When we got home, I had a hand-addresssed envelope waiting for me from South Bend, Indiana, which piqued my curiosity. Inside was a Christmas card from a woman who wrote, “You do not know me, but I heard of your project to reschool yourself and I would like to make a small contribution to the cause, and to offer you a large encouragement to go after your dream.” She went on to share a story of overcoming adversity to complete two university degrees, and closed with “Good luck to you, and blessed faith to you. Happy Christmas from a stranger in Indiana!”

I’ve had moments this fall of wondering what the heck I think I’m doing, and whether I should be a responsible grown-up already and do something practical. But when perfect strangers have come across the project and resonated with it, they inspire me to see it through. Those of you who have contributed and left comments also fuel the fire — your support and responses have motivated me to keep writing.

8:00 pm: Dinner at Cafe LaHaye. Instead of giving gifts to the kids this year, my parents are taking us all to dinner at Cafe LaHaye, which is a tiny restaurant with limited hours that we’ve all wanted to try for ages.

9:30 pm: Sonoma bar night. Gill says something to the effect of “I don’t even need to go to my high school reunion — I just go to the Sonoma bars the day after Christmas.” We’ll reconnect with some friends we see only once a year, and probably some people I went to middle school with.

It’s been quite a day. I hope you’ve all gotten some downtime this weekend to sit back and enjoy doing the things you love, with the people you love. I love the holidays because they let us catch our breath, indulge ourselves a little, and remember what’s really important to us.Similar Posts:

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Now you're all in big, big trouble.

The photos taken in and out of the classroom this fall tend to be among people’s favorite things about the project, especially those of me looking like Will Ferrell’s Buddy among the elves. I’ve uploaded some of them to Picasa and Flickr, and I’ll continue to do so over the next couple of months. I’ll let you know when I add more.

Shots from each of the schools and me in action. Highlights include the Middle School Dance, Middle School P.E., and College Dorm Life.

http://picasaweb.google.com/mjdicker/

First days of elementary school:

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Remember cleaning out your desk before the winter break? This one stayed open by itself, but other kids needed to prop theirs up with rulers. Most modern desks have a flat surface and cubbyhole instead of a hinged lid, but these are relics from the old days. Mr. Neubacher believes that it’s important for kids to have a home in the classroom and learn to take care of their own space.

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I read “Fern Hill” for the first time in high school English. It captured my nostalgia for what I remember as a fairly idyllic childhood, which gave me a bit of a Peter Pan complex. Why grow up if being a kid is this magical? I’m sure it wasn’t actually quite so perfect for any of us, but like many, I tend to romanticize the past. I especially love the last line of this poem.

Fern Hill
By Dylan Thomas

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the night-jars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace,

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
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During the holidays, I’ll be blogging sporadically. Gill and her fiance, Brian, are in Sonoma this week, and Darren arrives tomorrow. This means there will be lots of carousing and posing for ridiculous photos, but not as much writing. Next week I’ll be buckling down and gearing up to spend the spring in Jackson, so I hope to get rid of the piles of CDs and bags of yellow pads that seem ready to swallow me whole.

I’m still mulling over and making sense of my time in the classrooms. The final step of revisiting the past will be processing “personal artifacts”: old photos, home movies, and keepsakes. Perhaps most importantly, I’ll read the writing that I’ve saved from my school days, such as newspaper editorials, humor pieces, journal entries, personal statements from my college applications, and the short autobiography I wrote my senior year of high school. My teenage writing is rife with school stress and nostalgia for a carefree childhood, and it helps me understand the powerful influence school had on who I became.

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