A Compassionate Carnivore?

I would be a vegetarian ... but meat just tastes so good!

My mom and little brother have been in DC this week visiting (our Spring Breaks actually matched up this year), and we were eating Monday night at the Charthouse, on the banks of the Potomac in Old Town Alexandria. Nearing the end of our very non-vegetarian meal, we were discussing the merits of Maryland Blue Crabs - is it really worth all the work it takes to eat them? As my brother saw it, the idea of eating a half a dozen blue crabs in one sitting was quite disturbing. It was ok to eat shrimp because they were small and didn't really have much personality, but he had much more compassion for the smaller blue crabs, relatives of which we have seen on numerous occasions clambering over rocks (and each other) at the Oregon and Washington coasts. He hated the thought of killing those little crabs. I, of course, noted with irony the hypocrisy of it all. He (and I) were both a little bothered by the killing of animals, but neither of us have the self-restraint to turn that distaste into vegetarianism. As Michael stated, meat just tastes so good!

I do relate to his sentiments. My grandfather used to take us to the fish farm near his house when we were children. Each of us would grab a handful of fish food and toss it into the pond that was overstocked with fish. **Translation: there were nearly more fish than water.** I probably could have reached in and grabbed one if the thought hadn't disgusted me. Literally dozens of fish would swarm to the spot where the food pellets had been dropped and one of us kids (with Grandpa's assistance) would toss our fishing line into the thick of it. There was no question of whether or not you would catch a fish; within seconds, the line was wriggling and a fish pulling hard on the other end. A quick jerk of the line secured the catch and the unlucky trout would be reeled in and removed from the hook. We would pause for the obligatory "fish face" picture (no, you don't get to see one), and someone would kill the fish. It was this last part that caused me serious anguish. As a young child who would soon be expected to eat the fish, I could not bear to watch it being killed. I had no problem with it once it was filleted and no longer looked like a living creature, but I could not handle the actual death.

I am not a vegetarian, nor do I consider it likely that I ever will be. I do, however, understand the idea behind it all.

Or the haunting question of the opposition: If animals weren't meant to be eaten, why were they made of meat?

Buona Pasqua!

Happy Easter!



After a very thoughtful lesson last Sunday by our fabulous home teachers, I've taken some time this week to contemplate the significance of Holy Week and Easter. The first thing that came to mind was one Easter season about 13 years ago, coming home from Merry Miss with what I considered to be the perfect Easter lesson to present at Family Home Evening. I had a basket of plastic Easter eggs, boldly numbered from #1-12 with a thick black Sharpie. Instead of robin eggs or Cadbury mini-eggs (my aforementioned favorite), each egg was filled with the following:

1. Three dimes - Judas received 30 pieces of silver (Matthew 26:14-16)


2. Cracker - last supper (Matthew 26:17-29)


3. Chocolate kiss - Judas betrayed Christ with a kiss (Matthew 26:47-49)


4. Feather - Peter denied Christ three times before the cock crew (Matthew 26:69-75)


5. Soap - Pilate washed his hands of the blood of Christ (Matthew 27:24)


6. Purple cloth - they put a purple robe on Jesus (Matthew 27:28)


7. Thorn - a crown of thorns was placed upon Christ's head (Matthew 27:29)


8. Nail - they nailed him to the cross (John 19:18-19)


9. Piece of sponge soaked in vinegar - when Christ asked for a drink he was given a sponge with vinegar (John 19:28-30)


10. Rock - Jesus' body was laid in a tomb (Matthew 27:57-60)


11. Piece of tape - after Christ's death the tomb was sealed (Matthew 27:65-66)


12. Empty egg - this represents the empty tomb after Christ had risen (Matthew 28:1-9)

As a teacher, I can really appreciate the value of tangible symbols in teaching a concept, especially to adolescents. Producing a nail or a vinegar-drenched sponge from a traditionally sugar-filled plastic egg will forcibly turn thoughts to the scourging and crucifixion of our Savior. However, it is the twelfth egg which strikes me as profoundly significant. After the deep, infinite suffering in the Garden; after the scourging and public humiliation inflicted; after feeling the Spirit withdrawn and the full weight of the world resting upon his weary shoulders, the Savior of the world died. It was not, however, the final death that many in the world fear. Instead, after three days, the Savior rose from the tomb and again walked and talked with his disciples.

But why? As hard as it is to comprehend the basic plot line of the Passion, it is harder still to comprehend the immense love that Christ had for each one of us, and the plan that would require his great suffering. For now, let it suffice to say that I am overcome with gratitude when I think of this sacrifice. It is only through His sacrifice that I may be saved from my sins and ultimately perfected and sanctified. It is for this, today, that I am most humbly grateful.

OCD? Maybe just a little...

I discovered something about myself this morning. I suffer from OCD. Not the full-on, wash-your-hands-obsessively-and-make-your-bed-with-a-ruler-edge-type, but OCD nonetheless.

Case Study #1
Tomorrow is Easter, and I was preparing for it in the best way I know how - eating a handful of Cadbury Mini-Eggs. Only one problem. As I poured the candies into my hand, there were five: one pink, one white, one yellow and TWO blue. This was not going to work. The leftover blue had to be eaten, and quickly.

Case Study #2
I can't grade papers if they are not alphabetized by the students' names.

A little ridiculous? Perhaps.

You're doing what, again?

Why is it that every time I take the time to sit down at my computer to post, I completely draw blank on what might be fun to write/interesting to read? I'm working on it. In the meantime...

"Washington D.C.? Really?"

"You're kidding, right?"

While I've heard it phrased a number of different ways, this is the general reaction that I get from people back home when I tell them what I'm currently doing with my life. I figure I should spend a little time explaining why I'm doing what I'm doing. In case you need an update, I spent my last semester of BYU (Jan-April 2007) in Washington DC doing my student teaching at Duke Ellington School of the Arts. Think of the movie "Step Up", but a slightly more ghetto version. Now, most people thought I was a bit crazy for student teaching here, but just passed it off as another one of my little adventures before my real life started. The shock came when I moved back to DC a month and a half later in hopes of teaching there permanently. Yes, I agree with all of you that teaching is hard enough without adding in the inner-city element. And I also agree that it's a little unusual for a little white girl from Eagle, Idaho to end up teaching in Washington DC. But I've always felt that if I were to teach, I should go to a place where I'm really needed. Not just as a history teacher, but as someone who can meet these kids where they're at, and help them get to where they can/want to be.

Let me introduce you to my world.

www.ellingtonschool.org

Stories will be forthcoming. (And there's no shortage of them, so watch out.)

Phylum Democrata

I promise I'm not quite as conservative as this post may lead you to believe. But red or blue, you have to admit that it's funny.

The First Day of School (or My Pre-Teaching Anxiety Resolved)

Last Wednesday morning, I had one of those lightbulb moments. You know the ones I'm talking about - when you have the sudden realization that you've been thinking about something all wrong for years. An epiphany that really changes the way you look at something. Well, on Wednesday morning, I discovered that teachers at at least as nervous to go back to school as the students are. My knees were shaking as I trudged up the steps to the school, as I skirted around the security guards and the metal detector (after convincing them that I was, in fact, a teacher) and as I climbed the steps to my classroom. They were still shaking as I walked back down those steps because my classroom was locked and the key taken by the room's former occupant.

My school, however, has discovered an ingenious way of curing new teachers of that nervousness. Imagine this: you've slammed your finger in the door, and it's throbbing madly. Just as it gets to the point where you can't take it anymore, someone cuts it off. The finger, I mean. The initial problem - gone. Unfortunately, a much bigger problem has taken its place.

So there I was, a shaky-kneed first-year teacher trying desperately to calm her nerves and prepare her still-locked classroom for her first class. I also still hadn't received a roll or any sort of list showing who would be in my class. First period (my prep period) drags by, prolonging the time when I would actually face my first class. The bell fails to ring to announce the start of second period, so I stand patiently at the door for an extra few minutes to welcome the stragglers into class, direct them to their seat and point out the warm-up assignment written on the board. There are 12 (read: twelve) of them, all told. To those of you from Utah or Idaho, where a normal class size is about 40, this might seem tremendously small. In actuality, our classes usually run between 15 and 25, so I wasn't shocked by 12. When only four students showed up to my third period class, and even fewer in the succeeding four class periods, I began to worry. My nervousness about the first day was gone, replaced by frustration at the much larger problem at hand. I had only seen 18 students all day. Total. Students schedules hadn't been finalized before school started (and actually still haven't been finalized, a week later), leaving students with glaring gaps in their schedules. Students I had last year would find me in the halls: "Ms Chamberlain, can I come be in your class? I don't have a history class."

Aha. Anxiety gone.

Benvenuto!

You made it! Congratulations! This is your official welcome to my blog. I'm actually pretty impressed that most of you are here, because (for many of you) it means that you read my Facebook profile closely enough to realize that I even had a blog.

While I have your attention, let me explain that I actually started this blog a couple years ago as part of an assignment for a Technology in Education class. I had intended to use it to post pictures/stories/thoughts from my semester in Italy, but didn't have reliable-enough internet access while I was there. So...here we are for Round 2! Maybe I'll be more consistent, maybe not. And I'm not promising anything entertaining, witty or thought-provoking, although I'll be sure to try!

Ciao ciao