wishing for Scotland; or, rainy days will always make me think of you

On rainy days when my hair is wet and my sweater is damp I crave Scotland. I want to have tea and scones(okay and sticky toffee pudding!). I want to walk for miles and miles and tour castles. I want to go to bed at night exhausted from having climbed hillsides, followed paths around the many lochs, and having run through rain soaked fields. I want to search for sea monsters and drink whiskey. I want to duck my head as I am led through the low doorway into my new favorite pub listening to lilting voices that sound nothing like mine. I want to lie in a hotel room in Edinburgh and listen to the rain on my window.

I have been to Scotland twice for a total of 11 days. The first trip was nearly 8 years ago and was lovely. A friend and I took a Haggis tour to the Highlands--which I highly recommend. The second was last summer and I was on my own.  I cannot be sure, but I think it rained every day at least once. In my memory it is always raining in Scotland. This last trip, I stayed in Edinburgh mostly, but for a short daytrip through the countryside and a night's stopover at a new friend's. I love both trips equally, but for entirely different reasons. The first trip I love because one never forgets their first, and because the wildness of the Highlands will never leave me. But the second, well, the second I will always love because of a boy.

His name was Ben. I can't remember the last, and frankly I had forgotten his first until a friend had reminded me. He was a security guard at the castle and I met him while asking directions. I don't even know what I was looking for. But, what liked what I found. He was tall, blonde, wild curly hair, blue eyes, and the strongest Scottish lilt I'd heard. For the first two days I had to lean in close to catch words. I had to ask him to repeat things. That can be awkward while wooing. We hit it off immediately. He said he was a writer. He said he had been accepted into an MFA program in New York city, but for various reasons could not go. So, he was working and waiting. I often meet men while travelling, it is easy, clean, no strings. I am fantastic at walking away, so the touring love affair is natural to me. Being such a veteran of the vacation romance I was skeptical of his story. Sure, sure, what better courtship tactic than to tell the American English Professor that you are an aspiring writer. With those hands on her body and that voice in her ear she will believe anything you say. True or not, it was enough for me, I thought it was the best of stories, and a story was really all I needed.

 It wasn't until I had returned to London that belived him. I found a note slipped into the pages of the novel I was reading.  I was sitting at an outdoor cafe with my friend when I found the note. I didn't remember seeing him writing and thought that he must have written it to me while I was in the shower, and put it into my book without me seeing. I can't remember what he said, not exactly, but I remember reading it aloud and my friend and I both sighing. Whatever it was it was enough to convince us that he is a writer. Or maybe a poet. A wordsmith at the least. She was upset with me that I was so sure it would lead nowhere. I remember sahying how I would miss this one. This boy. Now, here I am nearly a year later in America, in a house that is not a home. My hair is wet from the rain. My sweater is damp and smells faintly of wet sheep. As I knew that it would, the affair has faded. The note is lost. Most of that trip is forgotten. I had even forgotten his name, but what I hope to never forget was the sound of the rain on the window and a Scottish lilt whispering "Oh my kitty kat, rainy days will always make me think of you."

Accounting; or, my life in numbers (travel edition)

I love to travel. If pressed I would say it has something to do with the fact that I grew up in a tiny isolated town where I read books about other places and thought "someday, I'm gonna go there."  Usually, I do it big. If it doesn't involve a passport and 9 hour flight or a cross country drive I wasn't all that into it. As a result I have been a lot of places, but never really explored my own back yard too much. Well, like most folks the economy has shrunken my wallet a bit and now I am really not able to afford the "Big" trips. So, in honor of my new back yard approach here is my Accounting Travel Edition.

Ten countries I told my high school English teacher I wanted to visit (in alphabetical order): Costa Rica, Czechoslovakia, England, France, Ireland, Italy, Morocco, Romania, Scotland, Spain.

Number of countries I have visited from that list: 5 (England, Scotland, Ireland, Czech Republic, France).

Number that have been added to the list since then: 62

Number of times I have visited London: 4

Number of countries I could cross off my list if I had gone there instead of London (Again): 3

When I realized that: Just now.

Prices for my plane tickets to London in chronological order:
2003: $521.00.
2007: $362.00.
2008: $534.00
2009: $967.00

Cheapest Flight Deal: Round trip London to Belfast for $4.00

Most expensive "cheap" flight: Round trip London to Czeck Republic $35.00 Plus nearly $350.00 in fees because I missed my flight both ways and had to re-book!

Total number of countries I have visited: 9

Number of US States I have visited: 41

Number of US States I have lived in: 5

US Travel Goal: To see a game in every MLB ballpark.

Number of parks I can cross off my list: Four

Number I visited only to have the team tear it down and build another one: Two

Number I was supposed to visit this summer but facist ticketing practices have ruled that out: 1 (yes, I am talking to you Los Angeles Dodgers).

Number of trips I still have planned for this summer: 3 (Reno, Ashland, TBD)

Trips I was supposed to take this weekend, but may be snowed out: 1 (In theory I am supposed to travel to Reno this weekend. In reality it is snowing... Um, I don't "do" weather, so we'll see how it goes.)

Sunday Stroll; or, what a walk looks like

The River Trail: a walk up Hard Parts Hill  in pictures.

This is one of the "arms" of the trail. This is one of the least crowded part and I have never seen a biker on this one (too steep I think). It doesn't have the separate lanes like the rest and it is in full sunlight. It branches off to the north and is only about a mile long, but it is just one steep hill. It doesnt' have an official name, but I call it "The Hard Parts Hill." When I want to do a really hard workout I park at the top of this hill, walk down the hill and then do the right side of  the River Trail and back. Because of the hills, It is essentially uphill both ways! I called it the Hard Parts Version. I am not ready to the whole Hard Parts Version (YET!). But, I did do Hard Parts Hill all this week. 

The Warning

The Shady Bend (This is my rest stop on the way back up)

The View (This is the canyon. It's hard to tell, but the river is down there)

Going UP

And --Hey there's the car!!

Derek Jeter Friday; or, who has the time to write on a Friday?

I bet this is a homerun. Okay, prolly a single down the right field line.

Puente Stories: "Karly"; or, how one student has changed the "immigration debate" in our house forever

One of the biggest differences between Puente and the other cadre of support services and programs for college students in California is that Puente services and advocates for undocumented students. I think it has to do with where the money for the programs come from, but I am not sure. I do know that Puente is my first taste of working with people who are living in the US without citizenship.  This issue is a rabid one right now and it will only become more heated as we get closer to the next election cycle. I have always held the position that being born in the United States is like wining a type of global lottery. The resources we have available to us as Americans is equalled by few other countries. With this does come responsibility, something the US does seem to grasp, but I often disagree with the way we "share" our wealth. I have always held a vewpoint that  we have to live in a way that shows compassion for our global neighbors. All this to say, I have been known to say that we should just open the borders. I understand now, after talking with students who are going through the citizenship process, that widespread corruption on the Mexican side of the border would make this impossible. But, I still believe that something needs to be done. I don't know what. But something.

I start with this discussion, not to argue or challenge anyone's belief systems or to begin a debate about immigration, but to just establish a context of where I am coming from. In my family, I am the only liberal democrat in a sea of conservative republicans. Sometimes I feel like the only liberal democrat in Shasta County! In my family, most everyone, but me, believes (or at least used to) in building a wall between the American and Mexican border (I think some may think we need one between Canada and America as well). There are some family members who believe more strongly than others, and even some who traffic in racist emails and jokes. Discussions about immigration have ended in angry shouted words, slammed doors, and tears. But, since my experience with Puente some of this has changed. Mostly because I bring home my student's stories. I share their victories and frustrations. Political discussions are different when they are about real people instead of abstract policies. This has changed the way we talk, but by fat the biggest difference for us has been Karly.

Karly's family moved to the United States from Mexico when she was 11 years old. She spoke fewer than 20 words of English, and she that was more than anyone else in her family. She started school in northern California where she was lucky enough to be enrolled in a school with a bilingual education program. At school and on her own she learned English. Within a year she was helping other recently arrived students and immigrants with their English. During the day she went to school, in the evening she helped her family pick fruit, vegetables, and almonds, and at night she studied.

Karly's family has been trying to gain American Citizenship for nearly eight years. There is so much corruption in the system that this process can take between nine and 13 years for Mexicans to gain American citizenship. Usually, what will happen is the Mexican government will approve one family member's paperwork and then demand bribes from the other family members. They put the paperwork on hold and dangle the hope of citizenship in front of them. This puts them in a situation where in order to live together in one country much of the family must live here illegally.  And then there is a special problem for children. When Karly first applied she was a minor. Last year when she turned 18, and when she became an adult she had to file new paperwork. That means that the eight years that her paperwork has been in the system is now erased. It is incredibly frustrating.

Karly lives in a small farming community in another county. She rides a bus for over an hour to and from school everyday. The bus picks her up at  a bus stop in town at 5am and returns her at 5pm every day. It is another 20 minute drive from the bus stop to her home. She has the best attendance of any student in my class. She is the best student in my class. She writes and speaks English with an accent, but her essays are clear and smart. I always know I can count on her to have done the assignment and to have done it well. If class discussion stalls I look at Karly and she says something smart and insightful and moves the discussion along. She revises her essays 3 or 4 times each until they are A's. She reads everything and more. She is inquisitive, earnest, hungry. She is a good student.

Now, the problem is that she is undocumented. This means she pays non-resident fees. Classes that would cost most people about $25 a unit will cost her nearly $200 a unit. The Puente program is 9 total units. She paid nearly $2000 to be in a program that most of the other students paid for litle or nothing. She cannot get financial aid or support from EOPS or TRIOS like the other students. Last semester I bought her books, something I couldn't really afford either, but I wanted to help. There are other challenges as well.  We nominated her for the Puente leadership conference in UC Riverside this summer and she was accepted. She gets to go to UC Riverside for a week long leadership conference paid for by Puente. When she was chosen, we were ecstatic until we realized that she would have to fly there. She isn't a citizen, she doesn't have ID.The tuition at a four year university is going to cost her thousands of dollars. She runs the risk of some overly zealous person turning her into immigration at all times. She cannot get a driving liscence in this state. Of all my students she is the most capable of achieving her goals. She wants to get a Phd in Nutrition. But of all my students she is the least likely to achieve her goals. Because, the system does not want her here.

I often talk about my classes at home. How my day went. How certain students learn or how an assignment would work, or not work. Soon, my family began to "know" certain students. They know that Jason is a jerk. Jesus is a ladies man. Bill is shy. And that Karly is the hardest working student I have. I didn't tell them she was undocumented for a long time. It isn't something you want to talk about in Shasta County--where just being brown is enough to get you pulled over (or worse). But, as her situation became more and more frustrating to me I shared more and more. Slowly, the attitude of some of those around me has changed. The discussion of illegal immigration has become more compassionate. The wall isn't really seen as a viable solution. We all kind of see that there is this much bigger global problem and that deportation and walls aren't going to help Karly.

This story is a tough one. It is good because her situation has changed the attitudes of many people on campus and in my own life, but the tragedy of how difficult it is for her to make a life for herself is heart-breaking. In reality if she returns (or is returned) to Mexico she has nothing. Here she has a shot. It's just a long one.

Puente Stories: "Bill"; or, Disney ain't the only one in the business of tellin' success stories

The program that I currently teach in and co-coordinate is called Puente. I have written about it before. I love the program, I (mostly) love the students, I hate the pay. The program is designed to service historically educationally disadvanted student populations (mostly hispanic and latino). I took the job because as an adjunct if someone asks you to do something you just say yes.


Anyway, we are about two weeks away from finishing the first year of the first cohort. Puente has three phases. Phase I is the Pre-Composition class, Phase II is the Composition class, and Phase III is the year or so that it takes the students to finish the rest of their Community College work in order to transfer. After that (the unofficial Phase IV) is when they finish their four-year degrees and become tax paying citizens who return to their community and act as mentors to other Puentistas. My job is to teach the English classes, organize events, and other administrative tasks. Each group of students who go through these phases together are called a Cohort. So, we just finished the first two phases of of our first cohort.
 
Over the next week or so I will be telling stories about this year. Some are stories of success. Some are stories of failures, some frustrations, and some may be funny (at least to me). All the names are changed for privacy (and to avoid lawsuits). I reserve the right to embellish for the sake of storytelling, to leave things out if it makes me look bad, and to talk about other things if I get bored.
 
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At the beginning of every Puente year we have a mandatory Information Night/Orientation. This event is held on campus in the evening and the students are supposed to bring their familias. In Puente we want students to include their families in their education. Because the program has its roots in the hispanic community the idea of "familia" came about for two main reasons. The first is because family is so important to many hispanics and we want to include as many elements of our student's culture as we can. The second because so many Puente students are first generation college students, and we want to show our students familis what goes on on college campuses. We, at Shasta College, try to stretch the word "familia" as much as we can. To some this means a boyfriend/girlfriend, husband wife, kids, other is it parents, grandparents... and to others a best friend. To my most shy student, Bill, familia meant his mom.  He brought his mom to everything. I quickly learned it was so she would speak for him. A habit that most likely started when Bill was a child and had continued into adulthood.
 
At the Information Night I made my way around the room and introduced myself to every person. Bill's mom was very shy and I had to talk with her for several minutes longer than any other person just to feel like we were comfortable. Her son, Bill, did not look at me. He mumbled his name while staring at his feet the entire time. His mom was trying to speak for him because even though she was very shy as well, she did not want me to think her son was being rude. I told her not to worry and joking said, "By the end of this thing we'll all be best friends."  We all laughed, and I went on with the rest of the night.
 
As the Phase I class started, I noted that Bill sat in very last seat of the row that was in the furthest corner of the room. He spoke only when forced to, made no eye contact with me, and worked with the same student every day. As the semester went on I was careful not to push him too much. Puente is a big proponent of goup work and we put each student into a group, callled a Familia, who they work with the entire semester. I put Bill into a group with all guys that he seemed comfortable with. It worked, he made his way, talking to his Familia, to me when he needed to, and nothing more. In his group presentation he ran the projector. He never raised his hand or volunteered a comment. He was so shy that if he needed to talk to me or ask a question he would text a classmate and have them ask. I would make a point to talk to Bill at least once a day, even if it was just small talk and pleasantries, and I made sure to say hello and goodbye every class. Still, at the end of the first semester he was comfortable with only a very small group of classmates and could talk to me if he needed to.
 
As the Phase II class started, I took special care to push Bill a bit more than I had in Phase I. I put him in a Familia with students new and different students. I would call on him in class. When I would read his notebooks and essays I would highlight points I wished that he would have said in class. I emphasized over and over again that his viewpoints and ideas were welcome and desired in the class discussion, sometimes in a discussion I would say, "Bill, you said something about that in your notebook, do you want  to share your insights with the class?" The first couple of times I tried this, I got a mumbled "Not really." But, usually, he would  say something. And then one day, he raised his hand. I actually cut off another student in my desire to call on him. After that, he would share now and again, and while still shy, it didn't seem quite so debilitating.
 
I knew that Bill was becoming less shy, but I didn't realize how much until two things happened, the first was his mom stopped me one day while shopping to tell me so. I was shopping when I heard a shy voice behind me "Professor Frye."  I turned and there was Bill's mom. She wanted to tell me how much  her son enjoyed the Puente program. She said that she had seen a change in him over the past year and that he said that it was due to Puente. Now, this would be progress enough to please me. Just getting Bill to talk in class was enough for me. This student who was so shy that he would not even text or email professors was talking in class! The second was that Bill was sitting in the front of the class. He had slowly moved seats until he was in the front row (on the side of the room, but still). Victory right!. Well, then, he volunteered to speak at the Puente End of the Year Celebration.
 
I was asking for volunteers and jokingly asked Bill. I fully expected him to blush, laugh, and make a joke as he said "no way." Instead, he shrugged his shoulders and said, "All right." At the Puente End of the Year Celebration he spoke in front of 75+ people. That night he talked about how empowering it was to attend the Puente Motivational Conference at Sacramento State with 800 other latinos who were all striving to better themselves through education. He talked about making friends in the program. He talked about how Puente has changed him for the better. He talked about how he thinks he has a better shot at the future he has always wanted because he is more confident and a better speaker and writer. So often, students say these things because they think it is what teachers wanted to hear, but in this case, it was clear that every word was true. The fact that he was standing in front of 75 people as he said it was proof that it was true.
 
 And while I was touched about what he talked about, for me, the most impressive part was that he talked.
 

tribute; or, cheating a little

So, this is isn't really a post. This is a tribute to the today's post. Here Here Post! You are awesome!

I'm tired. I want to tell you about how Puente is a changing people. The students. My family. Me. But I don't want it to be this tired tired thing. But, I do have stories to tell. So, this post. This post is a tribute to that other one. The post that I owe you.