Kite-Like

Either I wasn’t paying much attention to what my week would look like after I came back from California, or I didn’t take it seriously enough. Either way it has been a bit of sink or swim. I think I have my head above water, but it might be too soon to call.


Had a grade level meeting that I ran today after school, then a grade 6 assembly in the morning, and a parent coffee morning on Friday. The presentations and activities are coming together. The video is mostly ready, will have to add a few clips I wasn’t able to shoot in the morning, but it is coming together.


And less than a month to plan/design my workshops and Learning 2 Talk for Learning 2.0. Deep breath. It will all come together. It will all be fine.


Three day weekend coming up and Mairin and I were talking about taking the kids to see Captain Fantastic, because…..why not? Can’t wait to see what Kaia thinks. In other news, we were back at the skate park tonight and it felt good to be back on my wheels. No major falls and the wrists are feeling good.


I had an entire post ready in my head about brand loyalty, but too many work tasks and slideshows have melted those words into the far reaches of my brain. It’s time for some Dave Eggers (His latest book by the way is OFF THE HOOK) I am in love with every sentence.


I feel disconnected and unmoored. This is not necessarily an uncomfortable feeling right now. Feel like a kite adrift, waiting to have my string pulled or to crash into a tree. For the time being, I will enjoy the view and try to catch a breeze.

Stretch of Hours

“She was tired of her journey through a day, the limitless moods contained in any stretch of hours.”


                                                                                                                                 Dave Eggers


There is the dread of waking- the act of being birthed from the darkness into more darkness shocks him every morning a new. Could this be the day when his body quits, the heart stops, the brain seizes and refuses to move forward?


No. This is not that day. His thoughts begin to churn as soon as the sleep is wiped away, and he checks his stats. A few emails. Some likes. A love. A text from Jason. A scan of Time Hop makes him feel good about his past wisdom. Maybe all his thoughts, ensnared and enslaved after all these years will amount to something resembling a body of work. Or maybe, he should put the phone down and stop thinking for validation. He clears the little red notifications from his phone and slogs out into the world.


He sets the table and gets the waters as his wife, who has been up for almost an hour, finishes making breakfast. He thinks about her devotion as a mother and wife and friend and quietly nurses his appreciation. He thinks that he should tell her more often that he loves and appreciates her, but even thinking about it makes him feel awkward. He will write about it tonight and hopefully she will read it. He knows this is not enough, but he has always felt more comfortable sitting behind the wall of words. He can write anything. Project it to anyone, but a simple thank you for making breakfast everyday to his wife, feels forced and strange. He is not proud of his behaviour. He tends his slight shame as he heads off to wake the kids.


They are tired and still sleepy, but they know the routine. They will sit at the table and need to be done by six-thirty for showers. He reminds them to eat or take a bite every 5 minutes while he gently strums his guitar. "This one could be a song," he says, finding a groove. His youngest starts to sing a melody and he is blown away by her love of music. It feels like this love was passed down from his father onto this tiny child and now it has exploded exponentially. He knows that even if he has done everything else wrong in the parenting of his children- they love music and books, and this is enough. Breakfast done. He washes the dishes and is off to the shower.


This is one of the only times in the day that he is alone. He takes time to enjoy the smell of the lavender soap and shampoo. He washes his face with peach facial scrub. The grit of the pit exfoliates his face. His face is often covered with black-heads. He wishes his face was cleaner. Perhaps a facial, but really he doesn’t care that much. He has started to wash his face and after forty-two years this feels like a feat.


Getting dressed, he is disappointed in his ability to shop. He wanted to buy a more expressive work wardrobe this summer, but his hatred of shopping made him ineffectual at the factory outlet stores. He puts on a pair of red Gap khakis and a plaid shirt. A pair of vans caps off the professional yet “young” look that he settles for. He wishes that he paid more time, money and attention to what he wears, but at this point in his life his wardrobe is a routine. Cargo shorts, T-shirt, flip-flops on the weekends. Khakis, plaid shirt and Vans for work.


Then he waits. The rest of the family showers and gets ready. He reads on the couch and waits to see if the little one will tantrum today. She doesn’t. She is in a very good mood and pleasant and the day starts on good note. They leave the house on time and no one is stressed by being late to a meeting. The car ride is quiet. No music. Little conversation. He admires the sunrise and the greenery on the Singaporean freeway. This really is a beautiful city he thinks to himself, as he curses a driver who refuses to acknowledge his turn signal.


At school, he jokes with some kids. Says hello to peers. Smiles. Prepares the mask and starts his day. He wonders if other people could be crumbling inside at any moment of the day. He is actually in a great mood, so the professionalism is sincere. In his room he lights the lamps and explores his calendar. This looks like a manageable day. No surprises. He covers a mentor class and has fun with kids. No matter what else might be happening in his life, he knows that the time he spends with young people will always nurture his spirit. There is nothing better than spending time with kids in a classroom.


He talks to eleven year olds about the Political, Environmental, Economic and Societal lens with which they might look at the events of their lives. He shares the stories of his life as mentor text, and they seem surprised by his honesty and vulnerability. He tells them about his parents divorce and his inability to make friends in middle school. He prides himself on his ability to cut through bullshit and say what needs to be said. He knows that we are all boomerangs of emotion on the inside and even within the hour we can be burned alive only to rise from the ashes.


Lunch is quiet and fast. Salad again. The giant bean sprouts add a crunch that he enjoys, but they do not take place of the Jalapeño peppers, the salad bar hasn’t had in a week. Lunch duty on the field. This might kill him. It is hot and humid and he fights to stay awake. The boys play soccer and he thinks about how much he hates that game. He would rather watch them do anything else. Running back and forth, how can they get so much joy from something so inane?


Back in his room, the lights are low and the music helps him get through a To-Do list- set this week’s meeting agenda, write the eBrief, create next week’s mentor presentation, start thinking about the parent coffee morning, answer emails. Check. Check. Check. This isn’t teaching, but he convinces himself that it is benefiting learning. He actually likes it. He likes it a lot. Could he be a principal someday? Is that something he wants? Is it too soon to think such foolish things? He’s pretty sure he is doing a good job. People tell him he is, but he is not so sure himself. Next class. More kids. He will find is flow. His balance.


After school, he designs an activity on Pages. Making sure that the colors look good and the fonts are right. He prides himself on making pretty, useful things. His daughter does her homework as fast as she can and then reads.


He knows he will not run today, even though he should. He promises himself to get started next week, or the week after, after all the craziness of going home settles down. Instead, he shares some fries, a coke and apple pie with his daughter on the way home. He feels gross, but filled with joy as they drive home.


On the bed….rest the eyes a bit. oh no. Get up. Set the dinner table. Eat. Everyone is pleasant and has had good days.


This is life. This is family. This is all there is and it is more than he ever dreamed he deserved.


Bed time goes smoothly. Kaia is working through sleep issues, but has a good night. He finishes off a few things from the to-do list like a machine. Copying and pasting, opening and closing tabs, creating- emails, agendas, presentations. Click. Click. Write. Done.


And now…Iron and Wine feels too slow for the pace of his clickity clackity fingers, but the AC is blowing sweet cool air and the one glass of wine taste perfect. He will go to bed before ten and read the latest novel by one of his favorite authors. He loves the language and the things that it motivates him to do.


Then he will live tomorrow.

Where The Wild Things Are

It has taken me a while to finally get around to watching Where The Wild Things Are. I think part of me was so worried about being disappointed that I wanted to keep the idea of the film more real than actually watching it. I mean, Spike Jones+Dave Eggers+Karen O should = perfection right?

Well…yes and no. My friend Anthony emailed me last night after I told him I had finally seen the film:

I liked the movie, but not as much as I wanted. I did cry once however. Hated the boy.

I wanted to share some thoughts, because the film has lingered in my mind all day; I can’t seem to shake it. Please click play on the video below and let the song play as you read, because this song epitomizes the overwhelming sense of perfect sadness this film so perfectly embodies.




Ultimately the film is about dysfunction, emptiness, and human relationships. It shatters the myth that it will be all okay and replaces it with the cold stone truth that human beings struggle to make sense of the barrenness we feel both alone and in the company of those we love.

Although Max himself is broken, he is asked to take fix the problems of a group of dysfunctional wild things. He himself has yet to learn how to deal with his own anger, alienation, and loneliness, yet he makes false promises to the monsters, which in turn set up a series of disappointments for everyone. The film is really about how we cling to others to help deal with our anxieties, never stepping back to see that they too maybe suffering as we do.

Eggers and Jonez examine a series of relationships between family members, lovers, friends, and competitors by exposing their jealousies, competitiveness, trust, and ultimately love.

On the surface the movie is a quirky, sometimes silly puppet show, but upon closer look it is an investigation of the human condition. It is the story of every lonely runaway who has felt that they could find the answers through escape. But as anyone who has ever tried to runaway from their problems or placed them on the shoulders of other, Max realizes that only he can deal with his issues. Not by running away, but by allowing himself to be loved and to truly love others as they are, not as we want them to be.

My friend was right to say he hated the boy; I think that was the point. He is a spoiled, broken little boy, who is unable to come to term with his emotions. By escaping into his imagination and coming face-to-face with the things that are wilder than himself, he realizes that human emotions can be very damaging to himself and to others, unless he learns to control them.

My favorite line of the film was

Happiness is not the best way to be happy.

Play this song next:



From that line on, I remembered that is was Dave Eggers putting the words into the mouths of these beautiful monsters and Spike Jonez was the one pulling their strings. Even in their wretchedness, both Max and the wild things do not simply sit idly by and wait to be overtaken by grief. They let the “wild rumpus” start. It is through play and chaos and fun that they deal with their sorrow. Only once he lets his guard, can Max truly see how fragile and tender everyone is.

Did I think the movie was perfect? Unfortunately no. But it has made me see the classic short children’s book in a whole new light. Perhaps Jonez’s vision is not the one everyone who is in love with the book will want to see, but he opens up your mind and your heart and plants his seed. It will leave you thinking for days after.

Away We Go

Another quick story of connections. I love Dave Eggers. I have read everything he has ever written, so when I found out that he wrote the screenplay for the film Away We Go, I knew I had to see it.



The film itself was a above average, but not perfect. I was expecting something that would change my life, instead I watched a movie that was mildly entertaining. No I take that back, it was really good. No, it was just good. I can't tell. I should write a better review, but I haven't got it in me tonight, so I will just say see this film, don't take it too seriously and enjoy yourself.

But the real reason I am writing this post is to share with you how I found Alexi Murdoch. The entire film was scored by this modern day Nick Drake. This soothingly perfect folksy guitar soundtrack transformed this film into something special.

I am listening to the few CD's I downloaded by Murdoch as I type these words, and even after one song, I can tell he is going to be something special. If you like Neil Halstead or Bon Iver check this artist out.



I am sure I will be writing much more about him in the coming days.