Monthly Archives: May 2017

Sift, Sort, Spark, Joy

I am in the process of packing my family’s belongings as we prepare to move.

There is nothing particularly fun about sorting through fifteen years of accumulated objects and deciding what to give away. But according to Japanese cleaning consultant Marie Kondo, what I am doing is more magical than it feels.

Decluttering and organizing my house, she says, will transform my life. I don’t know if I believe her. But I’m intrigued. Kondo recommends a simple test to determine what we keep and what we discard — not just when we are moving, but all the time. Gather all of one kind of thing that you own (example, shirts). Pick each one up and hold it in your hands. Ask the question, does this shirt spark joy? If the answer is no, to the consignment store it goes.

Hers is a useful philosophy for living. Keep what makes you happy. Discard what doesn’t.

Although I don’t think this is easy to do at all, I’ve already begun to annoy my children by repeatedly asking them to consider whether the clutter in their rooms sparks joy in their hearts.

“Does that raggedy notebook with most of the pages scribbled on really spark joy?” (“Mom!” )

Staring down a pile of t-shirts this past weekend, I wondered, what would happen if we applied this same spark joy test to school? 

A trickier business, no doubt. School is stitched from many threads, few of which can be teased out, not to mention thrown out. However, in schools across the country — public, private, charter, parochial, home — questions about what students need and ideas about how to best serve those needs seem to be piling up. It sometimes feels hard to find the simple spark of joy amid the heaps of things to think about, things to try, things to do.

So while I’m not convinced that throwing away old socks will make me happier, I agree with Kondo that thinking about the things we hang on to and why is important in both school and life.

It’s not easy. But it is vital to keep the flame going.

Twice Told Stories

My nine year old daughter came home from school a few days ago and told me that she is writing an adaption. It took me a minute, but based on her description — “a story I already know, but different” — I realized she was talking about an adaptation. I was excited to hear her version of The Three Billy Goats Gruff. One of my favorite things in the world is a well-worn story in new clothes.

The new Beauty and the Beast is a great example of the way a retold story can gain resonance for one who already knows the story well. Whereas the animated film from the 1990’s is fun and heartwarming, the 2017 live-action movie gives viewers more to think about.

In this version, a real man is made into a beast as a result of his cold-heartedness, and a real woman restores his humanity through love. But it is the character of Gaston that really got my attention this go-around. Because he, too, is a real person and not a cartoon, his words and actions take on new dimensions in this latest iteration of the classic fairy tale. Played by the Welsh actor, Luke Evans, Gaston has the kind of eyes that crinkle at the edges in seeming sympathy and understanding. He wants Belle because she’s beautiful and smart. That, he says, “makes her the best.” He pursues her with a doggedness that mostly annoys and doesn’t intimidate, and for the first many minutes of the movie, I found myself rooting for the suitor I knew to be the real villain of the story.

But when Gaston assumes the mantle of Belle’s savior, won’t take no for an answer, and is determined to kill the competitor who won his girl’s heart, it is surprisingly jarring, not comical. At least, it was to me. Watching the movie with my daughters, ages 14 and 8, I couldn’t help wanting to say something about Gaston, about the way he was behaving toward Belle, her father, and the Beast.  I wanted to ask my girls if they thought Gaston was funny or scary. If they noticed that he was “beastly” despite how handsome he was. If they could discern where interest ends and obsession begins.

But I held my tongue. I didn’t want to break the movie’s spell. Instead I thought about the importance of story telling in its many forms and versions, in the experience of stories together, in and out of the classroom, today and every day.