Ahhhhh…familiarity!

In just a few days the official watchers of the seasons will declare that the autumnal equinox has arrived. But for anyone who works in a school schedule, autumn pretty much arrives when those metaphorical school bells ring anew and one finds oneself feeling the familiar contours of the rhythms of the school life yet again. Ever since I went to Happy Hours Nursery School (dare I say that it was in the fading days of the Johnson administration???? Egads! Now I feel a little more grey at the temples! By the way, since I am already in the middle of a digression, I might as well veer a little more off-course…this summer I went to see a friend at the church where Happy Hours Nursery School existed for nearly 50 years and the pastor of the church took me around and I remembered much from those days when I had Miss Helen back in those fading days of the Johnson administration—and no, not the Andrew Johnson administration…back on track) I have been in school mode every single autumn, whether in a school for many years like Westwood Elementary or Hackley, or being new, at say Gamble Junior High, or like here in Jordan in 2007. Such a familiarity about the school process and autumn…

There has been a wonderful familiarity in the last couple weeks about the return of our students and even though our school continues to grow at an unheard of rate (we now have 400 students! Two years ago at this time we had 108—okay, enough digressing) as I have been showing around some of the new faculty to places in Madaba and Amman, it has been comfortably familiar.

A week ago I took a couple new teachers into nearby Madaba to show them around some of the historical sites and just to practice navigating this strange, is-it-Berlin-after-the-war?, city. We go into St. George’s Orthodox Church (home of the famed mosaic map of the world from the 7th century) and we bump into the head priest, and he wants to visit with us. Well, it turns out that Father Nick has family in Cincinnati, and he and I launch into his familiarity with my hometown. It turns out that Father Nick has recently returned from many years in Cincinnati—he still has dozens of relatives there—and his ownership of a chili parlor in Cincinnati. No way! My family patronizes chili parlors! It turns out his family’s franchise is about 5 miles away from the center of our gravity on the west side, but still, what a fun, familiar man with whom to swap stories of Cincinnati. I may have to go those extra five miles to patronize his family’s Gold Star Chili!

Then on Saturday I took Elizabeth (a new teacher, but also a dear former student actor of mine from Hackley in my maiden voyage of 96-97) into Madaba to meet Ziad, the Kris Kringle-like owner of “Carpet City”—purveyor of carpets extraordinaire, raconteur, and wheeler-dealer who has sold KA faculty dozens of carpets. We go into to say hello—I hadn’t stopped in for quite awhile, and before you know it, mint tea is served, and Elizabeth has become an owner of a splendid carpet from Iran. I remember my first visit to this emporium in January, 2008, and how exciting it was to work with this nice man and make a purchase. What a familiar tale of, “I only came in to look, but I couldn’t help myself!”

As we left Ziad, we looked across the street into some of the shops selling mosaics, watching the skilled craftsmen take the tiny tesserae and create patterns and pictures, especially lovely ones of the famed Jericho olive tree of peace and harmony. Madaba isn’t new to me anymore, and it has begun to feel cozier and cuter—well, okay, until one has to drive around this place. It may be the most stressful place on earth I have ever driven a car! Even that stress is familiar as I navigate around the city from the barber shop to Madaba Best grocery store and the other shops and storefronts.

Then Sunday I decided Elizabeth needed to visit “the candy store.” Oh, this is a store—I hope my lawyer friends aren’t paying attention—I could begin a digression about The Golden Girls and they might just skim for awhile and gloss over the fact that I patronize a bootleg DVD store. This store is chock full—by the way, it is a real store, and not just some bootlegger’s van on the side of the road—of DVDs of movies and TV shows. Rehema and I used to go and neither of us exhibited much restraint as we paid our $2 per disk…I still haven’t even watched all I have bought there in the last 2 years; some of the fun is just the excitement of buying it for so cheap!

So anyway, I haven’t been for many months, but I remember the directions perfectly to the store in the corner of the ritzy section of Amman. And there I introduce Elizabeth to the familiar and wonderful DVD “candy store.” Eventually the sales guy remembers me and helps me load up. I get last season’s episodes of 24 and a couple of seasons of Monk and Nip/Tuck, and the first few episodes of contemporary Mad Men. How fun and familiar to look through the scads of DVDs and decide what I want to watch in some late-night hours of illicit TV pleasure. (By the way, Elizabeth does our friend Anne proud—she really loads up at the store!)

And there are other familiar moments to enjoy…I am back teaching AP Art History for the first time since 2006-07 at Hackley, and the familiar joys of tracing the world’s history through the paintings, sculptures, and architecture rush back to me. I have on my walls posters from those glory years at Hackley, and it is exciting to introduce my great students in Jordan to the visual images through time. Today was the first major test of the school year, and there was that familiar, earnest quiet and hum as the students plowed through all the questions and prompts in the test on Pre-Historic, Ancient Near Eastern, and Egyptian art. Not that I compare all that much, but these students have the same zest and engagement as those thrilling students at Hackley. And don’t forget—they are writing their essays in a second language. The familiarity of that intense test quiet was as welcome as…well, as the changing leaves will be soon to those of you in North America.

Some of the familiarity is not that welcome, however. In the last 24 hours we have had what occasionally is all-too familiar here: pulled fire alarms. Last night at 1:00 AM and then again at 3:00 AM someone decided to pull the fire alarm, causing all 90-some of us in the dormitory to rush into the night air (“Oh, look Orion looks spectacular now,” I heard someone say.) shivering (yes, at 3:00 AM even I shiver in Jordan standing there in gym shorts and t-shirt and slippers). I don’t remember the number, but pulling the fire alarm probably has occurred about 10 times per year in these first two years. Today, during one of my Art History tests, the alarm was pulled again. Gag, the familiarity of that stupid act probably resulting from a dare.

By the way, as the alarm sounded today, a little more than halfway through one section’s test, my students didn’t want to leave their desks! They were enjoying the test, and thought we should just stay inside and finish their task. You never know if it is a real fire, and I did that once at Hackley, and got justifiably chastised for putting a quiz above the notion of safety. I do remember another time at Hackley when a fire alarm went off during a quiz, and we just simply took the quiz onto the quad, finishing it with the swirling masses around us. I loved that the students did not look delighted to abandon their first major test!

Along with these familiar strains sounding around me, I have been enjoying some surprises in my students, the kind of things that mesmerize you at their potential. The other day we were discussing the art of Pharaoh Akhenaten, an unusual Egyptian ruler who changed the conventions, the rule book, of Egyptian art. Akhenaten has himself depicted in a shocking, androgynous way. At first it just looks freaky, but I asked the class if there was anything particularly powerful in that choice of androgyny. Omar, a young man I taught for a few months in 9th grade, offered that it could be a very savvy move. “We have seen images of the power of women in art, and we have seen images of the power of men in art—but if you are both man and woman, that might double your power.” Very interesting speculation Omar! And there was Yazan, a student who had often said he feared being in my class because he didn’t know if he wanted to work hard. Well, he did elect to take the class, and on his first quiz he discussed where these votive figures from ancient Iraq were found. He said they were in “a cella, like a waiting room, where they stood there beseeching the gods.” He is correct, but I did not use the vocabulary word ‘cella,’ in class, and Yazan correctly used this word that means a sacred inner chamber, and he also revealed that he read the textbook. No way!

As I wrap myself in these wonderful little moments, many familiar moments of discovery and re-discovery, I look forward to one of my ultimate familiar and comforting events. In about 18 hours, as Ramadan comes to a close and Muslims celebrate their Eid holiday, I will be jumping on a plane bound for North Carolina in the US of A, for a weekend Denison Singers’ Reunion. I have gone to, I think it is 7, of these over the last 20-some years, and these reunions are magical and familiar and rejuvenating. Several dozen members of this singing group from college will be convening in Winston-Salem, practicing music for three days, putting on a concert, and reconnecting with dear friends all in the name of music and fellowship.

Like a wonderful, treasured autumnal sweater one discovers after the hot summer months have past, I will be wrapping my heart and soul around these people both here in Jordan and the United States, relishing the beauty, and certainly not a contempt, for the familiar.