Two Weeks Later

The Frye Institute sent me into a deep, deep mull. That’s an excellent thing though hard to manage in some respects. The preceding post came from my center and I’m reluctant to move it from the top of the blog. At the same time, it needs to take its place in the timestream if the words and the parting command and the comments from people I grew to love are to be realized. So there’s another message in a bottle, tossed from the riverbank, sent to the sea.

I hear that the sea refuses no river.

Thank you, friends at Frye. Thank you, friends at UMW. Thank you, friends from other cities and nations. Especially, thank you my family, for supporting me all this time, and for the gift of those astounding two weeks, and the gift of all the weeks and months and years ahead.

I’m back.

Before This Day Is Done

In the waning moments of one of the most remarkable days of my life, I set this down as a reminder of the answer I received:

I believe real school is possible.

I believe I am discovering a community, here and at home and elsewhere on this planet, that can preserve, renew, and re-imagine real school in higher education.

I believe I can help these efforts, both as myself and as part of this community.

I believe I must help. This is my vocation.

I will hope, with “a heart full of grace” and “a soul generated by love.” This too is my vocation.

Remember this.

Frye II

Emory Library Balcony at Dusk

It’s been quite a week.

We’re on break now; classes resume Monday morning. Some of us have gone home, some have had their families join them here, some are staying through the weekend and doing work or sightseeing or combinations of both. If it doesn’t get rained out, I’m going to a Braves game this afternoon with some Frye folk. This morning I hope to get some more work done on a podcasting article I’m writing.

The break allows me to begin to take stock of what I’ve learned, whom I’ve met, and the new horizons that are becoming visible. The break is also a free-form serendipity field. This morning’s breakfast, for example: I went to the dining room with an article to read, not expecting to find anyone there from Frye, or at least not the critical mass that instantly forms after each session as we proceed from a mind-bending class to refresh ourselves at the buffet. But then serendipity struck. A small group of seminarians formed quite casually. The talk began. By the time it ended about two hours later, we had covered Plato, AI, the Book of Kells, kennings, Gothic, the military and war-gaming, organizational experiences, the uses of analogy in education and understanding generally, Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass, video art, manuscripts of silver ink on purple parchment, spell-checkers across variants of English usage (specifically Australian and U.S.) and the subtly enforced convergences of orthography that can result, tablet computers, Bonnie Raitt, Fredo Viola, schools of education, mind-mapping, haptic and ergonomic considerations in hardware, software, and fountain pens, gluggy rissoto, note-taking in journals, mind-mapping both free-form and software-enabled, settling in one spot vs. moving around, conceding vs. considering, microcues in film directors and in contextual learning generally, Stanley Kubrick, the Zone of Proximal Development, IT Conversations, prisoner dilemmas, the way medieval monks would describe good light by saying one could see to crack lice even at midnight, first contact stories, human beings considered as a species, cats and curiosity, cats that are more like dogs than cats (including a Burmese that would play fetch), leaded glass eggs and the trouble they cause going through airport security, rearranging furniture, tolerant spouses, karaoke, low-tech tech, OS X, and I’m positive I’ve left a great deal out.

All that and a Belgian waffle too. A good morning and a fine example of what Bruner calls consciousness-raising about the possibilities of communal mental activity. Part of me wishes I could record these moments more fully, in words or video or audio. Part of me understands that I myself will be the record of the moment, in the sense that these interactions are writing (or revising) parts of me into being, and in very interesting ways. I suppose I am the notes I’m taking. That’s one way to think about real school.

At the Frye Institute

Room With A ViewMy blogging (not to mention my podcasts) is likely to be irregular over the next two weeks as I attend the Frye Leadership Institute in Atlanta, Georgia. By “irregular” I mean, of course, in terms of schedule, not in terms of my famously loose editorial control, which is “regular then most, when most irregular it seems,” to crib without scruple from John Milton.

I have a wonky wireless connection in my otherwise most comfortable room, but here’s a photo anyway of the lovely oaken view from my big window. The view might elicit some chiding. I’m hoping it also elicits some inspiration.

A Donne A Day 9: "Lovers' Infiniteness"

Donne fully indulges his love of paradox in this poem. At his best, though, Donne lights on a paradox he seems to have invented, but in reality has only discovered. Listen carefully to this poem, several times, and if my reading holds up you’ll gradually become aware that a fundamental question of identity, commitment, and fidelity underlies Donne’s verbal gymnastics. This one sneaks up on you: “Lovers’ Infiniteness,” by John Donne.

Fredo Viola

Fredo Viola

I love the Internet, but only because beings from my species (go team!) are always leaving items of wonder and interest lying about.

A link from a nifty entry in Andy’s text blog led me to the amazing and very beautiful “Sad Song” video, which led me to the amazing and very beautiful website crafted by the “Sad Song” artist and musician Fredo Viola. See the video, marvel at the information on the making of the video, browse the site, admire Fredo’s list of faves: “Shostakovich, Britten, Bartok, Harry Nilsson, Stravinsky, Schnittke, BOC, Belle & Sebastian and Bach!”

Extraordinary. Thanks, Andy. Thanks, Fredo.