Tag Archives: Expanding Minds Program

Occasions

  By laurelfelt | July 8, 2011 - 3:10 am |
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Tuesday was a whirlwind of activity, a feat of quick turn-around, multitasking, thinking on the fly… winning.

I supervised a pre-test assessment for children, investigating: 1) whether they blueprinted prior to building a toy, and 2) what they built. For the older children, I kicked it up a notch, adding in a qualitative component on the fly, locking my method, and even developing a standard script to introduce the activity. I felt like a PhD. As the younger kids worked, I finished commenting on last week’s students’ journals. During lunch, I came home and worked on a blog post or two. As the older kids worked, I wrote the daily newsletter for the younger group and sent individual emails to each family. After a maximum of seven minutes, I popped up and administered my exit interview.

Some of the children commented:
-“I liked this activity because it was challenging for me and because it was for seven minutes work.”
-“I loved it. Because it’s fun to have a challenge like make things in seven minutes.”
-“Like. I liked how I made the material even though I had only seven minutes I had to quickly make whatever came into my mind first.”
-“This activity was fun because you had a time limit and you could show your creativity as well as you could, you could use your brains as well as you could, and it was fun as you had a limited amount of material and you had to use what was given you couldn’t use more or less. And you were not given proper material, you were given material that was tough so our imaginary was expanded.”

The time pressure was exhilarating for me too. I finished with the last child with two minutes to spare. I was proud.

After work, we grabbed a case of bottled water on our dash home, then quickly hopped in the shower, changed into our most culturally appropriate finery, and makeupped within 20 minutes. Our evening activity was a pre-wedding celebration for Vasundhara’s first cousin, where I chatted with Vasundhara’s brother (a NU-Kellogg graduate), her grandmother (who, during her youth, had co-managed a matchstick factory with her mother), her mother (an elegant woman who passed off her lush violet sari as “plain”), and her friend (a USC graduate). Small, fascinating world. I also sampled all of the Indian foods and desserts (which says quite a lot at a spread of that magnitude!). The most captivating element of the evening was the initial choreographed dancing performed by friends and family of the bridal couple. Each woman’s outfit was different, although they were uniformly bright-colored and gorgeous. None of them wore Western fashions, while men were basically 50-50 split between native dress and button-down shirts and pants. The music, I learned, was more contemporary than back in the parents’ day; but to my Evanston-born eyes, the steps and gestures seemed steeped in long-established tradition.

Back at home that night, I thought about how all of it was possible. How could we have been so lucky as to attend an Indian wedding (lite) during our brief time here? It was a dream come true. How could I have thrown together a study, which all of the children seemed to enjoy, and finished it by the end of the day WHILE completing so many other agenda items? Is it true what they say about work expanding to fit the time allotted — if you have a lot of time, it takes a lot of time, and if you have a small amount of time, you get it done within those narrow parameters?

I visualized rising to the occasion — maybe you just need a challenge in order to discover your own strength. I mulled special occasions and their celebratory imperative, regardless of whether they fall on a Tuesday (personal note: my parents got married on a Tuesday). In French, the word occasion means opportunity… (personal note: In French, d’occasion means second-hand, so let’s not let ourselves get too far gone with the linguistic revelations.)

I came home and smiled for the camera my own damn self. If the day had taught me anything, it was that you have to make the most of your resources when the getting is good. It all may turn out beautifully.

Milestones

  By laurelfelt | July 5, 2011 - 2:31 am |
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One week ago, we met new EMP friends and kicked off our summer enrichment program.

One year ago, I acknowledged the Fourth of July in some minimal manner as I was the lone American of the bunch: Canadian roommate, French boss, Senegalese coworkers, Spanish buddy.

Two years ago, I celebrated with my sister and folks at a reunion of my dad’s side of the family.

Three years ago, Sarah, Erin, and I watched many communities’ fireworks from the top of the Glen’s parking garage, then tried to get some sleep before our (arduous) bike trip in Alaska.

In 2001, I observed the Fourth of July on the American ambassador to Austria’s lawn with my parents.

In 2000, I watched the fireworks explode over the monuments of Washington, D.C…

And during my youth, I always celebrated back in Glenview, enjoying family and junk food and cell phone-less meet-ups with friends, dusk and fireflies and Glo Sticks and lawn chairs, giggles and suspense and delicious freedom. The significance of civil liberties, I’m not sure that I wholly grasped. But sitting on a blanket with friends — some girls, some boys, no parents around — that felt like freedom. Walking around outside, in the dark — that felt like freedom. And maybe that’s the only way to grasp such an enormous concept, by taking it in with small bites, or interacting with a miniature version of the master (a fractal, as I learned in Miss Jay’s math class).

This week in class, it was like night and day from Monday to Monday. Our very first day had been bedlam — we were all getting used to our new space, new relationships, new names, new jobs. This first day was much smoother sailing. Only half of the children were new to program, we three teachers knew one another’s styles, and the veterans could model for the newbies’ benefit.

Personally, I wonder about the magnitude of my change from last year to this year. Can I similarly say it’s like night and day? How different is my person and my life now from how it had been then? Last week, I wallowed a bit when I looked back at my blog and realized that some of the issues I’d been struggling with then, I was still struggling with now. No change. Then I reframed, wondering if I had returned to the origin but was one level up, as I’d suggested in a recent post. Now I think that my person, my life are remarkably different — not least of all, because I’m cognizant of last year’s experiences. My heart has been through an odyssey. My body and mind have been exercised enormously. And I’m valiantly trying to make the most of the lessons I learned the hard way. No matter how similar past and present circumstances, I am different because I’ve lived through the past. And it is this enriched individual — me — who negotiates presently.

Next week, next year, I hope to engage in the breaking of patterns and upholding of rituals. There’s a difference. The wisdom that’s come with age has taught me that.

Process and products

  By laurelfelt | July 3, 2011 - 6:51 am | ,
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This past week of Art Detectives encouraged participants to examine an artifact and consider, “How was this made? Where was this made? When was this made? Why was it made? What does it tell you about the people and culture who produced it?”

As we spent the past few days presenting the children’s process and products at Open House, scavenging tourist-hungry avenues for souvenirs, rejiggering next week’s curriculum, and visiting ancient temples, the significance of these questions loomed large…

How does a well-to-do Indian parent discern the magnitude and value of a child’s learning from a: (hieroglyphically) carved bar of soap, (rose petal and) watercolored picture, (papyrus-inspired) weaving of paper bag strips, (ancient Greek-inspired) painted clay pot, (Roman mosaic-inspired) arrangement of construction paper pieces? Our EMP Art Gallery offered parents a chance to explore the means of production, experimenting with the materials that made each piece. And the sheer quantity of *stuff* was convincing for this audience.

So how does a well-to-do Indian parent discern the magnitude and value of a child’s learning from: a child-invented toy pieced together from recycle materials? What if this artifact looks unpolished? What if this is the only tangible product of the week? How does this parent see the process, and how worthwhile is the process if the product fails to impress? Our teaching team hatched schemes to unveil process and multiply products, but it was somewhat of a struggle. Were we hired to: a) deliver process to privileged children; b) deliver process and teach their well-to-do Indian parents about the value of process; or c) deliver process, teach about process, and still deliver product? C, I think, is the correct answer. And is that bad? Are progressive Americans too prone to err on the other side, saying that incorrect information and/or poor quality output is okay if someone was “trying their best” or “expressing themself”? Where do we draw the line?

Haggling over products — dime-a-dozen knickknacks clogging Colaba Causeway, I thought about process. How were these scarves and nesting dolls and wall hangings and sandals and bindis and bangles and everything made, in terms of quality and labor conditions? Why were they made? To what extent do they express anything genuine about the culture, save its need to satisfy tourists? On my travels, I’ve often wondered whether the products hawkers vend embody caricaturized versions of their own culture, manufactured to reify foreigners’ (mis)conceptions of their temporary hosts… After all, how many French people wear berets? And yet, how many embroidered berets are sold at gift shops facing the Louvre? How many Senegalese people own carved giraffes? How many Indians carry elephant-mirrored handbags? And yet, back in the States, what joy will these representations of the fantastical Other bring?

Exploring product — the cavernous temples on Elephanta Island, rock-cut shrines to Shiva dating back to the 5th-8th century, I wondered about the who in the process. Who were the people involved in the construction of this work — the visionaries, the models, the carvers, the apprentices, the clergy, the worshippers? I’ve had the privilege of touching ancient stone all over the world, from Jerusalem to Tours, Athens to Bergen. I used to wonder about the hustle and bustle of long-gone marketplaces, wished I could touch the remnant and be hurtled magically back through time. On Sunday, though, despite my recent engagements with commerce, I didn’t think about marketplaces. I thought about women. What role(s), if any, were women given back then? Were they allowed to touch tools, carve stone, pray in the holy of holies? Did they collude in art and religion’s exaltation of the phallus? Outside the temple, two nursing mothers — monkey and dog — tended to their clingy young. Was that the lot of ancient women as well, kept from the high-profile artistic and spiritual by the down-to-earth artistic and spiritual — child-rearing?

This week of EMP is dedicated to toys — creating new products from recycled products (e.g., used waterbottles and containers, bottle caps and bits of fabric and packing foam, etc). So much stuff. Our objective is to focus on the process, the development of ideas, blueprints, and prototypes, the iterative processes of building, testing, and modifying constructions and blueprints… And yet, our questions were about the product children love best — “What is your favorite toy?”, and our process includes selling the product — writing promotional copy, designing a graphic, even shooting a commercial for the ambitious elders. Consumerism. Of course, creating one’s own advertisement raises consciousness to the constructed nature of advertisements in general, their objectives and methods, and so a case can be made for its immunizing, media literate influence upon consumerism… It’s complicated, especially since we’re beholden to pleasing our cultural community by delivering a certain quantity of product that boasts a certain quality.

Still I mull which god to worship, the god of process or the god of product… and I wonder to what extent they’re both false idols. Or vessels…

I’ve decided that I want the theme for this upcoming year to be Joy. So maybe we shouldn’t fixate on the how or the what, the process or the product, but how they make us feel. Isn’t that largely what motivates creation and acquisition — a deep-seated craving for satisfaction? So whatever floats your boat, perhaps…

To hedonism?

Voice

  By laurelfelt | June 30, 2011 - 8:05 pm | ,
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I sang, cajoled, and commented myself hoarse.

The children were busy in the block area and summoned me to see their structures. Approvingly, I listened to their narratives of each creation. Together, we counted how many blocks. When conflicts arose, I spun them like a seasoned politician, reframing destruction as addition (the Hindu god Shiva’s many arms would have given us thumbs up) and half-hearted check-ins and apologies as very friendly fixes. The children smiled. So did I. And took a deep breath.

I sang our way through transitions with rounds of “If you’re ready and you know it, come over here” (hooray for literalism!), “My name’s Tyrannosaurus Rex” (actually, rather than obsessing over dinosaurs, these kids rattle off the name of Beyblades — hello, media), and “Miss Laurel Says,” (yes, they call me Miss, as in “Your shirt is wet, Miss.” “Yes,” I replied, acknowledging my omnipresent pit soak. “Yes it is.”). At Snack, we again played The Name Game. At the end of the day, we sang Jambo and Paw Paw Patch. The classroom was alive with the sound of — music? Whatever you call my singing.

At lunchtime, I found my voice in a different way — as a teacher of older children and writing coach. I dove into commenting on the stories and observations they’d recorded in their Art Detective Notebooks, praising their process, thinking, creativity, and detail. I loved it.

And when these big kids joined us for their 4-7 pm session, I came alive with casual chat (topics ranging from end of the world, medical emergencies, and math) and a rocking session of Big Booty. I’m not sure that they’ve ever seen a damp-browed, 31-year-old American woman shake her groove thang in a rhythm-based call-and-response game with a very silly title, but by the end, they didn’t want to leave.

Sweat-soaked, I waved them goodbye. My voice was spent. But I hope it reverberated that evening, in one way or another.
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Stepping out

  By laurelfelt | June 29, 2011 - 8:23 pm |
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Delivering and demonstrating unambiguous benefits — cognitive, social and emotional, physical, etc — had been our emphatic charge since way back when. But today our boss declared that she’d figured out what was missing: fun.

“Oh,” said Emily and I, turning to each other and nodding. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

In the morning with the younger children:

I welcomed some girls’ entry into the block area, encouraging them as they delightedly built complex towers. We read the kids’ wiggles and switched up our schedule, seguing from Arrival straight into Snack, singing them the silly Name Game to their giggly delight. We kicked off Meeting with “Jambo,” and they leapt from carpet, one by one, to show off their jumping skills as we sang them hello in Swahili…

At lunchtime, we teachers made a beeline for Colaba Causeway, managing to add a few more garments to our meager wardrobes, grab a quick bite in a cafe, and make it back to work in time for the second shift. Success! THAT’s how you maximize three hours.

In the evening with the older children:

We laughed and joked more than we ever had, for each day we keep getting to know one another better. I shared with one information-appreciative child a math cheer I learned back in junior high (“Secant, tangent, cosine, sine, 3.14159!”). Running ahead of schedule, we cooked up an activity on the fly, incorporating our art detective ways into a version of hit improv game “What are you doing?”

In the morning, when I asked children at Wrap-up about their favorite part of the day, several children enthused “everything!” In the afternoon, when I mentioned that the week’s workshop was more than half over, a sweet-natured boy observed, “Time goes fast.”

Prior to our workday, Emily and I had stopped at Cafe Coffee Day rather than wait until the coffee/chai-wallah brought us a beverage mid-morning. After our workday, Emily and I took on the town — first time we’d done that, first time our bodies felt equal to the task. We climbed into a cab we had flagged down ourselves, rumbled down to the Woodside Inn, and sipped on a coconut mango martini (me) and Indian white wine (Emily). Before returning to our abode, we bargained on the street for a few shirts whose price, at last, was closer to the “dirt cheap” description we’d been anticipating all along.

Cumulatively, I’m not sure if all of this represents stepping out of our comfort zone or stepping back in. At heart, all of these activities better represent me than their alternative:

I am a silly singer who digs a good improv game — playing it serious and schooling with a straight face just isn’t my style;
I am one to jam several activities into a too-short day — taking in a two-hour lunch and skipping out on the scenery doesn’t sit right; and
I am an adult well-accustomed to independence and personal negotiation — letting someone else dictate my itinerary and speak on my behalf is altogether foreign.

In escaping the routine we’d somewhat established during this first week in India, we actually returned to our old ways.

Welcome home.