The Arts in Portland Public Schools

               For my final project I will be working with Liz and Rie to tackle the various aspects of the Arts in Portland Public Schools. Because this is such a broad topic we will each be a taking a stance on specific issues associated with the Arts in Portland Public Schools. Right now it looks like Rie will be working on illuminating the financial aspect of the Arts in Portland Public Schools in comparison between two different schools. My understanding is that Liz will be investigating the effect of cutting Arts programs from schools on the students.

                I will be investigating the impact of Arts programs on graduation rates in Portland Public schools. At the moment I am looking specifically into Bridger Elementary but my desire is to get in touch with some faculty at a local high school. My problem is that I was raised in Washington and so I haven’t the faintest idea of which high school to look at or if high schools even a have arts programs here in Portland.

                Regardless of who I choose to interview-- my supervisor over at Bridger or a faculty member at a local high school—I know that the graduation rates of local schools are available online and at the public library so I can at the very least perform a statistical analysis to check for a correlation between graduation rates and the presence of arts programs.

Seperating Ligaments and Needs

                My intention this weekend was to relax and catch up on my homework. To some extent I was able to fulfill this goal but my progress came to a near crawl when I received news that one of my best friends, gone with her family for the weekend, had fallen down a flight of stairs. As her roommate passed on all of the information that she had been made aware of I began a set of calculations that accompany any bit of news that I receive throughout the day, estimating the likelihood of disaster and planning for the worst by default…. thank God my friend had only separated her shoulder and was on her way back to the dorms with a three to six week recovery time and a full prescription of Vicodin.

                That night I helper her to change clothes, put on her sling, ice her shoulder, eat food, do laundry, and various other tasks which had suddenly leapt from menial to skillful as she had lost mobility in one of her arms. The next morning I repeated this process only to find that my caretaking skills had fallen short as I pulled her hair back into a ponytail where it would be safe from the sickness that was sure to ensue. As I blocked out the sounds of her heaving I couldn’t help but to wonder what had gone wrong and was horrified at the realization that followed; I can’t take care of anybody else until I figure out how to take care of myself.

                This past week has been a struggle for me-- perhaps the toughest period of time I have dealt with in my college experience thus far. With a heavy class load came necessary hours of studying which were soon replaced by hours of tedious dramaturgical research. Before I realized what was happening I had fallen behind in all of my classes, lost touch with my closest friends, and worked myself into a chest cold. What on earth made me think I had the right to take care of the people around me when I clearly don’t even have my own needs accounted for?

                It could be that this inherent compassion for those around me stems from my desire to be invested in, or that my poor relationship with my biological father had caused me to compensate in a maternal sense. After much speculation I have come to a far more unsettling conclusion; that my need to care for the people around me allows me to justify my lack of personal care. That is, the more I wear myself out in attempt to keep the people around me happy and healthy, the less time and energy I have to handle my own needs.

                I don’t know what this says about my character or the people I surround myself with, and for now I have no intention of pursuing change. Instead I am grateful that I have been given the perspective to comprehend the motives behind my actions. Of course this comprehension comes with the obligation to change and grow but for now I am just going to content myself with acknowledging the truth.

Spirituality of Relationship

I decided to interview a few of my friends, mainly because this essay is a good excuse to broach the subject of personal beliefs and hopefully hear some testimonies. To begin with I asked some basic questions that each person had to answer and it was immediately evident that the course of the interview would be drastically affected by the answer to the first question: Do you believe in God? Sitting here silently typing, absorbing, I was humbled by the trust that these girls had for me and as I watched their lips move I could see how their spirits stirred within them.

Only one of my three friends had a solid answer throughout the entire process, the other two consistently settled with ‘I don’t know’s. I did not express this to my friends but their mediocre answers were unsettling to me and it wasn’t until half way through the questions that I realized how upset I was becoming. After some speculation I have come to the conclusion that my stereotypically Christian upbringing has conditioned me to react this way to responses that are anything less than conclusive.

It struck me that these girls I was talking with, the girls I had surrounded myself with for my entire time at Warner and who I considered my best friends, are for all intensive purposes, strangers to me. I may have familiarized myself with their vocal patterns, daily habits, senses of humor and eating preferences but the real them, the fabric of their spirits, is completely unfamiliar to me. This truth took me aback and I listened all the closer to their words.

One of my friends told me about an experience she had with what she believes to be an angel and how that experience has brought her faith to life in a way that she had not previously thought possible. As she spoke the pitch of her voice gradually rose and I was compelled to believe her if only because she was clearly still so shaken by the experience. The more I think about this the more sure I am that my response one of awe and jealousy. I have seen tragedy and joy, desperation and hope, but I cannot think of a single experience in my entire life that might lend me the emotion she was struggling to control that night, and I can’t help but to wonder what that says about my life.

Another friend shared that she had never believed in God but was open to the idea so she wagered with Him that if He would prove Himself then she would follow him. That week she went to a church to see her friend get baptized and she said “As soon as she went underwater I was filled with this overwhelming sense of love…it was like I was metaphorically baptized with understanding.” Again I found myself longing for the intensity with which she spoke these words.

As I type I am beginning to pick out a bit of a pattern concerning the stories that I heard that night and the reactions that I had to them. Each story that I reacted with jealousy towards had two elements in common; they all took place in a time of uncertainty and they all involved God speaking to the person in question. I think one of the reasons that I was so jealous about this is because I feel like God hasn’t spoken to me like that in a very long time… then again each person was spoken to in a way that catered to them specifically so it is possible that He has spoken to me in a way that is more subtle those expressed by my peers.

In any case I think it is important to keep my eyes, ears, heart, and mind open to whatever God might be saying to me because these stories have helped me to realize that He may be speaking loud in clear, only I am not paying enough attention to notice.