Size 12 Foot, Size 7 Shoe

So I am preparing my students to take the SAGE test which is a standardized test that all high school kids take. It will determine my salary at some point - though I don't know which point but I will proceed I guess. What choice do I have? Scary to entrust a high school teacher's salary on a student's knowledge bank over 10 - 12 years. I had a tenth grader ask me last week what a semicolon looked like. Has he never used a winky face emoticon?

;-)

Utah's education needs are a like a size 12 foot crammed into a size 7 shoe. It is during this time every year that I say a special prayer for the legislators that will be buying this year's shoes for education. Can we at least buy a size 8...wide width? Year after year we have been asked, as teachers, to do what we can with what we have. "Keep cramming your foot into that shoe!" For many years it has felt as if the shoe gets smaller and smaller because the foot is getting bigger; this I know for sure. Yet, rather than decrease the size of Utah's classes or build more schools or give us more technology in the classroom, they keep changing the testing requirements; I was just getting used to the CRT's and now we're doing the SAGE. What happened to the UBSCT? They keep asking me to write to my legislators and I DO - every single year - and I'm now on so many mailing lists for politicians I'm looking for some size 12 shoes to throw at politicians.

I wish they would just spend a week in my classroom. In fact, I wish they would just spend the 7-minute passing time in my classroom between classes. "Jan, I need...Jan, you marked me absent...Jan, why do I have an F...Jan, are you going to be here after school...Jan, I wasn't here for the semicolon quiz...Jan...jan...jan..jaaa...a...n

And that's just the easy stuff.

According to the most recent educational census, Utah ranks third in highest student to teacher ratio. 48th Place.

Thanks California and Oregon.

The good news is the average teacher salary is no longer on the bottom! Based on the cost of living, we have elevated our teachers salaries up from last place to fourth from the bottom in the last ten years. 47th Place!

Woot.

The U.S. average per student expenditures for public elementary and secondary schools in 2013 was $10,938. Vermont is highest and spends almost twice that - $19, 752! Their teacher to student ratio is also 9:1. New York is close behind, spending $19, 523 per student. Utah? $7, 223. Only one state spends less than we do...

...Thanks Arizona.

49th place.

Update - 2014-2015 - Utah is now in last place.

It's embarrassing. Who wants to take 49th out of 50? I guess it doesn't bother anyone holding the purse strings. I wonder what would happen if there was a trophy involved? Maybe we should take the example of the high school debaters, basketball players and wrestlers that clearly understand the concept of competition. You work hard, you get creative, you learn the moves of the opposing player, you fix your weaknesses and you get a trophy. There is personal pride involved.  We have been educating kids for eons and I feel like we don't learn very quickly from our mistakes. Or we keep changing our minds about what is good for kids. Somebody comes along with the snake oil of the day and and we pledge our allegiance to it faster than you can say "standardized testing." We seem to constantly try a new data gathering system without landing on it for a while in order to develop enough data to disaggregate it over time. I'm in favor of trophies. It works for me.

We are constantly saying that we need to study the data and plan curriculum around the data. They give us a CORE set of standards and objectives from which we are supposed to teach the masses and the masses are human beings. Not machines. Case in point: Today during the state standardized SAGE test I had two kids slide into whopping panic attacks right in front of me. I felt so bad. They didn't type a single word and will probably FAIL miserably. Where is the disclaimer where I get to write "don't dock my pay for that score - the kid had a panic attack and had to be taken out." There were two sluffers that got put in detention and will have to take the test later (which will take them out of class again). Then there were three kids that finished in about 20 minutes...the entire test. They were no Doogy Housers. They just "didn't understand the question."

There was only one question.

They just didn't want to write the essay. I can't fight that. I gave it a go and I don't like to fail anything - but I did... miserably. You can lead a horse to water....

I believe we Utah teachers have endured our 49th Place trophies (for decades) because we are a conscientious culture in general. We are hard workers. The symbols of the state is, after all, the worker bee. We are, naturally, a people that rolls our sleeves up and perseveres. Most of us come from a line of people that walked across the United States to get here. We have a reputation to uphold. Why then, I wonder, in a state where the majority of its people believe that education is the only thing you will take with you in the next life, don't they roll up their sleeves and figure out how to get more money to its teachers and their classrooms?

I also think it comes from that old "teaching is a calling" cliche and how dare we say no to a calling, right? I knew I was going to be a teacher when I was old enough to set up "school" in my mom's basement. I think I was about 7. I have always been addicted to "turning the light on" in a kid. So, as any self-respecting addict does, they find any way they can to feed their addiction, even if the shoe is only a size 7...you just keep cramming your foot into it again, and again, and again...until your toes bleed. But you don't care because this is your "calling."

One more excuse: I complained about a job once to a charter board of directors. I was told to shut up and "be grateful you have a job. You chose this profession, so shut up and live with it." First of all, I work in Utah. There will always be children in Utah. I'm a certified teacher with 24 years of experience building schools. I will always be willing to work for the kids because I like kids and truly its the only thing I know how to do well. Secondly - I chose to teach, but I can also choose to fight for change when I think things are unfair. I am an American and we are allowed to fight for equity in these United States.

My first year teaching in Utah, my take home pay was just over $900 a month. My sister and I shared a tiny apartment in North Salt Lake next to an oil refinery. It was the high life, let me tell you. I taught debate at Davis High for two years and spent nearly every weekend of the year schlepping angry cats to debate tournaments and then crying every night when I had to make 6 different lesson plans before I could sleep. O! (Ecphonesis) Those were such bad years but I didn't quit; I took up the Spring play, the student council and everything else I could get my hands on to be able to support myself.

Its been 23 years since those lean, back-breaking days in North Salt Lake. I've gone from school to school looking for a bigger shoe. Since then, the State of Utah has allowed groups of disgruntled people to try building shoes on their own. Millions of dollars each year is given out to parent groups, like Salt Lake School for the Performing Arts and business groups like Tuacahn, to think outside of the box and educate kids outside the traditional paradigms of the district schools. The problem is, when you give millions of tax-payer dollars to a group of non-educators, it works only part of the time. We drive by an abandoned charter school each morning on our way to school and I am reminded of how hard it is to attract (and keep) students to a "school of choice."

I've now done 14 years in the traditional districts and 10 years in charter schools and you know what? It's all the same gig. Especially in the arts. The kids that want to take your classes, will, and you can create a little family of artists no matter where you go. That's been an eye-opener for Andy, who is spending his first year at a traditional school and loving it. He thought the fantastic kids would go away and guess what? There are fantastic kids everywhere!

We used to tout at our charters that the classes were small, but that went away. We have smaller classes here. We used to say that all the teachers had masters degrees and were "professionals in their field," but that was a stretch. We all did community gigs and taught classes outside of our charter school jobs, because we had to. Contrary to popular belief, charter school teachers and administrators are the lowest paid in the state. Granted, many of them teach at much smaller schools, but they still lack the support of the "people at the district." They have no district. They ARE their district, which makes the charter school business back-breaking as well. Most people in traditional schools these days carry Masters Degrees because that is an excellent way to earn more money. Most charter schools do not have a career ladder pay schedule and you aren't rewarded with a yearly pay raise if you stay at that school longer. This is definitely a bonus in the traditional districts. So when asked what the difference is between charter and traditional, I always say: Not much. We are all doing everything we can with what we've got. Charter schools have to spend a great deal of money on marketing and traditional school don't. That's really about it.

It isn't all bad news though.

Having spent the last ten years in charter schools, I have now gone back to teach at an amazing traditional district school that is constantly thinking "outside the shoe."  We have a "5 X 5" schedule, which means that the kids go to five classes on "A" day and 5 different classes on "B" day. The classes are about an hour and 15 minutes long. This allows the kids to take more electives which I think is great because they find out what they love to do and most often that turns into career choices and a college path. It also allows general education classes to be smaller. My classes average about 20 kids. And this is NOT a charter school, folks. The attendance policy is unique and makes kids come to school. The technology is VAST and accessible. I would say this is a big difference between charters and traditional. I've never seen so many resources for students and teachers alike. Andy has a giant 1100-seat theatre at his disposal, a black box, a classroom complete with an I-pad for each student, real dressing rooms, storage rooms and a huge costume shop (well that's for me actually.) I feel like Andy and I are reaping all the benefits of a big traditional district with charter school-sized classes.

A.T. L.A.S.T. Somebody thought outside the shoe.

My kids are finishing up their test. They were asked to read a long passage of information, annotate it, then write a three to five paragraph essay about what they read. Times have changed since the bubble sheets and #2 pencils were sharpened 30 years ago...but worry not! The multiple choice part of the test in coming up in April. They will just take it on an I-pad and it will float away to some cloud to be corrected, and then I will study the results and see where I failed. We have to prove that we're worth getting some bigger shoes I guess.

My All the World!

I was asked by our beloved BFF Joshua Stavros, to write this blog for the Utah Shakespeare Festival (USF). I've had a blast doing it - thanks for asking Josh, it was a privilege!

I was born and raised as an actor/teacher/director at SUU/USF and this is the least I could do. I'm indebted to the careful training that I received at Southern Utah University under the tutelage of Doug Baker, Scott Phillips, Gary MacIntyre and Fred Adams. It was Gary Mac that actually said the words "you are a gifted director," to my face and I never turned back. (The power of a teacher!!!! I'll never forget it. )Those were the Golden Years for sure! SUU is still blessed with an amazing theatre department. I love that place so much. 

There was another student there with me at the time and he continues to create and produce the largest high school Shakespeare competition in the nation. 

Michael Bahr doing what he does best - giving
away scholarships!

This is for you Michael Bahr. 


***

I am following a bus to Cedar City today. I’m riding behind in my car because the bus is full. Full of “classically trained actors” they will tell you, though more than half of them have only been speaking Shakespeare for about a month. But if you looked at the rehearsal calendar you might bestow that title on them…they have worked as hard on these competition pieces as they have on a full-length musical.

Because there is a casket, two columns, 8 acting blocks and 45 pieces of luggage under the bus, my car is full of costumes. 45 Greek himations, 80 fibulae, 40 tunics and dresses. When we are fully dressed we look like were about to go to a toga party but really we’re about to go to a funeral for Julius Caesar. We didn’t get permission from the district to put weapons on the bus. So I have one broadsword, one rapier, two daggers, a quart of fake blood and a glue gun (just in case someone ask) in a box behind me somewhere. I’m totally prepared in case I get car-jacked along the way. Not only could I defend myself in a Medieval kind of way, I could really make it look good post fight. The police would be so confused.

I am recording this blog into the memo app on my phone as I drive. There are R.V.’s passing us. A billboard announcing the fall season at Tuacahn. Las Vegas shows we could go and see. Instead, what are we doing? We are chaperoning 55 kids at a Shakespeare competition. Who does that? I mean, who gives up a prime fall weekend to go watch teenagers do some 500 year-old Shakespeare and why is it my favorite weekend of the year? I need to get out more.

How did this madness begin?

Back in 2001, I had the rare opportunity to take a group of Lehi High School students to Edinburgh, Scotland to perform a play. We chose to do Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors set in our home town circa 1840: the Wild West. The American High School Theatre Festival (the company that had given us the honor of performing at the Fringe Festival) wasn’t quite sure a bunch of American high school kids should be bringing Shakespeare “back to the motherland.”

“The American kids usually do musicals,” they told me, “or devised pieces. We’ve seen some brilliant original pieces.” But didn’t we have to bring in an audience, I asked? I was pretty sure, that a Shakespearean Shootout on the Royal Mile would be more diverse than the overload of mimes and more entertaining than the musical version of The Crucible I had seen the summer before.

We carried on with our plan: A Wild west Comedy of Errors – every word of it beautifully delivered Shakespeare (without mics), complete with non-sensical saloon girls, 100+ Hanna- Barberra cartoon sound effects, and a hang man’s platform and noose that one of our dad’s concocted to fit in a piece of luggage made of a 4 X 4 and hinges. That was a heavy piece of luggage. We paid extra for that.

It cost us $4000 per kid/adult to go on this trip and raising that money was tough. But putting the show together might have been tougher. We rehearsed at six o’clock every morning in the summer so that the kids could go to work after rehearsal to earn money. Once the show was ready we toured it to earn more money. The highlight of the entire trip for me came on the very first day. We were on a river cruise down the Thames in London. We had each been given a set of headphones and a box lunch. I could not keep my eyes open. I had not slept in months. As we cruised down the Thames the voice in the headphones was enlightening us about the magnificent city of London, which to me, looked a lot like New York, a giant canyon of concrete with its financial fury and business hubbub. Our heads would turn simultaneously left, then right, wherever the voice directed our attention. We had been traveling for about 16 hours and we were facing a soggy, gray cruise ride with an egg salad sandwich when what we really needed was a bed.

Then, the voice said “To your right you will see the famed Shakespearean Globe Theatre…” and I don’t know what else it said after that. We all turned our heads to the right and nobody turned left after that until it was out of sight. Nearly all of us started crying “straightaway” as the Brits would say. I sobbed long and hard. It was the first time in months that I felt fully awake. 

The Globe Theatre from the Thames, 2001

Because the tour company was afraid that a little high school from the American West had stubbornly brought Shakespeare back to his people, we had been “given the opportunity” to perform a few pieces of our show for some of the actors from the Royal Shakespeare Company the next day at the Globe itself. (I think it was a last ditch effort to save us in case we were horrible. I cried when we walked into the building. Then shaking their hands…then watching my kids perform, I was still crying.) These RSC actors were astonished at the talent. They couldn’t believe it. They sent us off with a laugh. “You sound like seasoned professionals,” they said. “How is it done at such an early age, and with Americans?” they asked me.

“Well,” I said confidently, “there’s this annual competition...”

Each October, more than a 100 keen drama teachers from several states make a pilgrimage to Cedar City, Utah to participate in The Utah Shakespeare Festival / Southern Utah University Shakespeare Competition. It has been happening since 1977, just 15 years into the Festival itself, when Provo High School’s drama teacher at the time, Ray Jones, convinced USF founder Fred Adams to hold a Shakespeare competition. At least that’s how I remember the story as it was told to me.

I am writing this blog as a tribute to the Festival for what it has done for me and my student these past 30 (ah, hem!) plus years that I have participated in this unique experience first as a high school student myself, then helping to run it as a college student and finally 23 times as a coach.

For the past 30 years I have watched the last of the vacationing R.V.’s race past us toward the majestic canyons of Southern Utah as our team wobbles South down Interstate 15 in an old familiar “yellow dog” full of 12 to 18 year-olds repeating pieces of Shakespeare in preparation for this, their “favorite weekend of the year.” My husband and I are not spending the last warm weekend in Utah vacationing! Bah! We can vacation anytime. This weekend we have the honor of watching thousands of kids grab hold of Shakespeare to spend the rest of their lives seeking him out. We get the privilege of witnessing the finale of the grand transformation – from Shakespearean scaredy cats to Kings and Queens of the Canon. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Hey, is that Lewis from King John drinking a
Coke in the Sharwan Smith Center?
Nope...just Matt Nott between rounds.

It’s an expensive, time intensive and all-consuming event. But I would not be anywhere else. In fact, in 2011, I had emergency retina surgery the day before we performed on the Adams stage and was under strict doctor’s orders not to lift my head for more than 15 minutes a day. The next day, I bribed my in-laws to drive me to Cedar City and I used my fifteen minutes to watch our scene compete. If you have been involved in this competition for any number of years you know why I did it. I’ve gone from bringing 20 students a year to well over 100. For actors, technicians, dancers and musicians, it’s a magical weekend (and somehow they don’t even know how much they are learning.)

Richard III, the living and the dead, Salt Lake School for the Performing Arts, 2013

Mistress Quickly with a mouth full of braces!
Turned out to be a very successful coach of her own
teams years later.

Some of my dearest friends are tournament officials that I have loved 30 years since I was a student there myself. I get the opportunity to throw my arms around Fred Adams and Scott Phillips who brought me up in the theatre and are still there and are now throwing their arms around my students. I’m like a homing pigeon to this place. They will be too someday.

I get to see my theatre teacher colleagues. They are some of my closest friends. I understand exactly what they are going through. We chose this profession but we still do it! Some of the people I respect most in the world are teachers and artists from other schools who also follow

Mindy Young and I (2005?)

their kids around with a bag of safety pins in their pocket (pretty sure it's required.) I know their spouses; I've been to their children's weddings. We've commiserated and communed as coaches behind the Adams Shakespearean Theatre now for more than 20 years. This weekend in October is all hallowed and marks the beginning of the theatre school year for us. We wouldn’t think of doing anything else. I love these people so much. I feel somehow that Shakespeare himself wanders around back here and knows us and is proud of us for teaching. (“Wish he was teaching a master class…” I often say to myself.)
For me the love of all things Shakespeare started when I was a Senior in high school in 1982 when I first attended the competition as Lady Macbeth. My mom made me and my scene partner long matching green capes. I still have them (of course I do.) They had arm holes so I could thrust my arms out and call upon the dark and scream “Come thick night! And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell…” Words I hardly understood then. Words I have coached a dozen times since. 

Jan as Lady M and
Gary Wilson as Macbeth, 1983!!!
I love that we had our name tags on
in this picture.

I instantly fell in love with SUU that year though I had been on its campus many times for debate competitions, it was the “magic” of the Shakespeare Competition that brought me to my knees pleading to God to help me find scholarship money at “SUSC” (and not have to debate at BYU!)

What is the magic, exactly? I mean it isn’t Disneyland but there’s something about this experience that has 3000 students and teachers cracking open a 500 year-old collection of plays and traveling to remote Cedar City, eating fast food for three days and getting boys to wear tights year after year. I believe we keep doing it for several reasons.

The works of Wm. Shakespeare have become so important to the
teachers of Utah, that the year USF didn't hold the competition
the teachers pooled their free time to organize it
and Tuacahn graciously hosted. The boy on the far right is
Joshua Long, who has since coached many
award-winning teams of his own. The girl with the gold
vest has a Shakespeare degree and lives in London!

First and foremost, it happens at the top of the year and an overnight trip binds the kids together in a team. And this is not a team for sissies. NO! There is no Neil Simon spoken here. “You must learn to elongate your vowels, throw your voice to the balcony, develop your belly muscles for breathing, remember your word endings, open your throat, your eyes, your brain and your body all at the same time while understanding ancient vocabulary and in a completely new order. Sometimes. But it means the same thing so just talk to us.” Yeah, right.

So I changed my mind. First and foremost, great Shakespeare training changes our kids into conquerors of the English language and authorities over the text, masters over their body and disciples of the stage. And they do it ON A TEAM. All for one. After the Shakespeare experience, they are mine, and he is theirs. The rest of the year is easy.

So apart from teaching a kid how to conquer and analyze the Shakespearean text…the next thing I love is that it teaches a kid how to work hard at the beginning of the year. It sets a standard early on. That means so much to me as a teacher!!! They go to greater lengths to choose a piece with a greater level of difficulty, read the entire play and dig for character and motivations, they project the levels and layers of the character very carefully, all of those things paint a picture of a student that goes above and beyond what they would do in class work. Let’s be real! I don’t get that kind of work on a monologue in class…ever! I never get that pay off in class, not even for region or state competitions! BUT, I do for the Shakespeare competition and then I have a reference point by which they can judge their work ethic for the rest of the year.

Robert Axson as Gobbo - 9th grade!
He took First Place. Now he works for
Senator Mike Lee.

I also love this competition because it’s the best judging the kids will hear all year. I still remember the words of actress Liisa Ivary who was my judge in the Thorley Recital Hall all those years ago. She said “When you have two identical words back to back, you have to make each of them sound differently.” Those two words were “Hold, hold!” I can’t remember what I ate yesterday, but I can remember what the brilliant Liisa Ivary said to me in 1982. I’ve used that piece of advice on my own students ever since.

Hold, HOLD! I firmly believe it was because of that Shakespeare competition in 1982 that I returned to campus and got my degree in theatre there. I believe that’s why the trophies have so much value…AND YET…we haven’t always won…still I feel every year we return victorious. It’s the magic! Does that mean we return with the plastic trophies on our bus? NO. No, no, nhho. noooo..nope….no! (I’m trying to vary them, as I type.)

No.

But would they if the competition didn’t exist?

NO.

Every year my kids have conquered a thing otherwise unconquerable without the platform of the competition to push and challenge them. They return with an admiration of the Bard I cannot explain. They come home wearing his face on their 

There's even a contest for the techies! (2002)

clothing, his words in their heart. They have somehow given him a “high five” across the perpetuities. They are no longer afraid of his words, they are peer and patrician. They have participated in the time honored ritual that brings them into the brotherhood of the highest of all Shakespeare fraternities. Whether or not they have a trophy in hand, there are never tears, and this the strangest thing of all…because there are never losers at this competition (I’m not sure how they do it but I think it has to do with the fact that it so darn difficult!) but every kid leaves having had the time of their life and trying to figure out what monologue they are going to do for auditions next year so they can come back. 

Cole Adams...now a lighting professor and professional designer

Next year!!! Ah! I must remember to reserve my hotel rooms for next year!

I digress…
I guess I can say that the last things I love about the competition is that they offer a great number of scholarships to actors and technicians. I have personally witnessed my students shaking their way back up the stairs, grinning from ear to ear as their dream of going to SUU has become a reality.

I love that the Shakespeare Festival honors one of their former actors, Larry Lott, by giving a scholarship to an exceptional high school student actor. My favorite memory of all Shakespeare Competitions happened in 1996 and again in 1999. My own brother, Brad, won the Larry Lott award first as a 9th Grader when we were at Mt. Ridge Jr. High together and then as Henry V at Lehi High School after I was transferred there. It was hard to cast Brad politically, but he was a very capable and gifted classical actor; he just got it (and he could grow a full beard in about three minutes.)

This is my ALL TIME favorite picture, even though it is blurry and pixilated. THIS IS THE MOMENT! Gloucester (Brad) getting stabbed by Clifford (Davy)! These boys became best of friends through this process. Between them they have at least 8 children - I'm not sure who is standing behind Davy, was it Patrick?

When they called his name for the award I almost passed out. Both times. When he came back up to the crowd he came straight to me and hugged me and thanked me for making him work so hard. He treated me like his respected teacher and not his sister. Brad didn’t end up studying classical acting, but Brad will tell you that the first weekend of October is STILL his favorite weekend of the year and he wishes with all his heart that he could still compete even though, Brad actually works at Disneyland! They can’t even compete with the magic of Cedar City.

1999.  Waiting for the awards ceremony to begin.
Brad Shelton, (left) builds Disneyland at Disneyland,
Beth Sharon (center) now a full-time mom
Dr. Nathan Miller (right) a medical doctor in the U.S. Navy

When recently polled, my former students agreed without 

hesitation, that “Shakepeare Weekend” changed their lives. No matter what they ended up doing with their lives, they have an unfailing love for Shakespeare to this day because of their connection to this event.

When trying to bring Shakespeare to the masses, change
it upa bit, I always say! You knew there were three diner
waitresses in Coriolanus, didn't you?
(Wendy is center)

Another significant human contribution that came to the competition through one of my teams was Wendy Milam Penrod. Wendy now runs one of the largest Improvisation Festivals during the Shakespeare weekend in the nation for high school kids. Wendy was “one of mine.” Uh huh. Really though, she is one of Shakespeare’s. I take no credit, it’s the magic.

Andy Hunsaker now hosts our annual
department fundraiser "Feaste!" to showcase
the Shakespeare pieces, songs and dances
that will travel to compete. 

I should also mention my husband, Andy Hunsaker, who competed at the Shakespeare Festival when he was a Senior at American Fork High School and immediately fell in love with SUU. He performed a monologue from Merchant of Venice: “…Hath not a Jew eyes, hands…?” Andy went on to go to school at SUU, he spent six summers as an actor with the Shakespeare Festival and they eventually grandfathered him into the Actors Equity Association. He now teaches high school where he coaches award-winning Shakespeare teams and sends his best students back to SUU by the DOZEN. It’s only right. 

Fortune telling at a party hosted by Steve Wynn in Vegas.
The creator was Doug Baker (standing next to me, second from
left. I had forgotten that the Queen was there too. ;-)

I stole the Feaste idea from Doug Baker who is a beloved friend and was my acting professor at SUU. He used to create these huge Feastes for Las Vegas casino high rollers parties. The money was used for scholarships. I wish they still did this! (They need to give out more scholarships!) Andy also played Henry VIII at USF and between the two of us, we combined our past knowledge of the two and created something that can easily be done with a high school Shakespeare company. I'm writing the script and instructions for my TeachersPayTeachers website right now at Jan's Store - Get Your Shakespeare Cuttings Here . Should be up and running shortly.

So, I’ve just about said it all. Except that one last thing; that ONE all-encompassing thing that I will never be able to repay the Utah Shakespeare Festival for all it has done for my students. I want them to know this one simple story before I close. This is the reason I will never be able to stop bringing kids to the USF/SUU Shakespeare Competition and this is why they can never stop holding it. (I’ve had to change the names for privacy purposes.)

Matthew was a student of ours (Andy and I) that had pretty severe autism. His mom warned us when he came in as a Ninth grader that he wanted to be in drama so badly but his contribution would be small. “Not to worry,” she said, “you are making a difference, but you might never know it. It will be hard. Please persevere.” Of course we did.

Well, we always cast a kid if he has the grades to compete. So Matthew always got cast. Besides that, he was a boy. A TALL boy. His mom said he would never be able to memorize anything and his Freshman audition was the definition of tragedy. He read every word off the paper. Still, we didn’t understand a word of it. He cried when it was over and we hugged him until he stopped. Drama One. Two. Passed every class with flying colors. Because he was a tall boy, he got some kind of role in every play and he started memorizing out of necessity, after all he was at a school where the boy to girl ratio was 5:1. Late in Matthew’s junior year we needed him to take a big role. He wanted it so badly. When he wasn’t working on stage with Andy he would be sent backstage to me. His mother and sister worked with him day and night. He paced backstage with his sister and his script every performance and one day it just…clicked. She walked away and said “he doesn’t need me back there anymore.” Over the summer between his junior and senior year, he worked to prepare his Shakespeare audition. On the third day of school he walked into that audition and took the stage but there was no paper in his hands, no shaking, no apologies. It was breath-taking.

          “I have almost forgot the taste of fears;
          The time has been, my senses would have cool’d
          To hear a night-shriek…
          …out, out, brief candle!
          Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
          That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
          And then is heard no more; it is a tale
          Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
          Signifying nothing.

I burst into tears. I was instantly swept back into the memory of Matthew’s journey. I cried all night. Matt now studies acting at SUU and will one day teach drama to individuals with learning challenges. Preparing kids to do well at the annual Shakespeare Competition is a joy and they will all tell you that it changed their lives. It brought bonded them together and set the tone for their high school experience.

Coaching is my only real skill. It’s the only thing I have 100% confidence in, passion for. I give that to my kids I think. They in turn use that their whole lives and pass it on in turn. The time I spend working out the vowels, consonants and motivations, the meaning of the text, breaking vocal habits, breaking down walls...I would not have discovered this if it wasn’t for the Shakespeare Competition every October. That time I spend with kids is my joy, my work, "my all the world."

It's purely selfish...I really just do it for the hugs!

Well, I’m about to pull into Cedar City. I just passed a billboard that said the casinos in Mesquite are open for business and that I can still get tickets for the musicals at Tuacahn where it is still 90 degrees and wouldn’t that be fun? Not as fun as watching my kids kill a Shakespeare scene. Not as fun as that!

***************

A FEW MORE PICS DOWN MEMORY LANE!

My first team as a coach. The girl holding the placard is Christie Gardner who played Charity Barnum for me last summer! Every face has a thousand memories connected to it!! I LOVED this team. I love them all! I dream of going back to a junior high program. After 24 years I can truly say, "that was my bliss."

This is my brother Brad as Henry or
Gloucester - I forget - but we always
costume the kids full out because I
believe the costume really pushes them
to know who the characters are. Kids need the
costume. And I want to thank MAMA KAY
(to the right of this pic) for the YEARS of
sewing she has done to put the kids in top
form!

My mom (MAMA KAY!) sitting (and freezing in the
Adams Theatre) next to Stewart Shelley before he became an
award-winning coach himself and was just chaperoning for me.
I have asked my parents to chaperone more times that they
actually wanted to.

PAPA JOE! (My dad) I think he may have loved the trophy more than
I did. Because he chaperoned so much, he knows how much
work it is.

Becky! Bless her heart she was the only one
that volunteered to learn how to tie knots
for tech Olympics. This girl saved my
life for four years. Now she's a famous
stage manager in NYC!

Lacy and Ben - two of the best high school actors that I have
ever known. Literally. This is the Merry Wives scene we
did one month after we got home from Scotland! (First Place!)
We were very tired of Shakespeare needless to say. 

Winters Tale! Lehi High, HyeSoo and Caleb. I will never be able to repeat that combination. It was perfect!

Ammon and Emilie from Othello. Scarrrrrrry and perfect.
Look at the intensity on those two faces! First Place!
THANKS KYLE COOK for the throne in the background!
Emilie is now a coach herself!

One look at Crystal's face (chaperone front right corner) and I can tell this is the bus ride HOME.
Is that 14 year-old Josh Long on that bus?

WAY TO GO - SHAKES TEAMS 1992 - 2014!

2015 HERE WE COME!

IF YOU HAVE ANY PICTURES YOU THINK I MIGHT LIKE,  I WOULD BE INDEBTED FOR A COPY! JANHUNSAKER23@GMAIL.COM

GIRLPOWER: Part 1

On the eve of my...cough...wheeeeeze...49th birthday, I really should be packing boxes (we're moving up the street next week) but here I sit compelled to write a blog, which I haven't done in so long I'm not sure I can do it at all. But I must. It helps me sort things out. There are things to be sorted.

This week I had to be the Principal for two days while the real principal was flat on his back with the flu. E.V.E.R.Y. single time he is out of the office for the entire day something happens that reassures me of how much I DON'T want to be a principal and how much I truly despise the school administration position. Of which I am a part. Right now.

How did this happen again?

Monday morning at 5:30 AM I got the text saying that I was going to be in charge for the day. I moved a little faster since that meant that I was going to have to open the building, deactivate the alarm, etc... I dressed a little better in case...in case I needed to "deal with something." I put earrings on. So yeah, I basically invited the universe to throw something at me. Something big. With prickles.

I teach one class this year, Humanities, which I really like but haven't taught for a long time so I am doing a lot of prep for it. I needed to give a long awaited test that day, so I write the test, no biggie. Wrote the exercise for after the test and tried to preview a video clip. It was about ten minutes into the video that my studentbody president and one of her council members ran into my office breathless.

"Jan, Jan..." (I've always been called Jan my whole career, I don't know why or how it came to be, it just did) Jan...there are four Freshman girls in the back bathroom smoking an E-cigarette! We were just in there and they were refilling it, passing it around and....smoking it!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! We took, like, forever to wash our hands so that we could get a good look at who they were so we could identify them for you later. We know what they are wearing and the color of their hair...everything."

I was impressed with their CSISaltLake skills.

"Do you think they're still there? I'll need you to come with me so I gather the right ones."

"Awesome! We know exactly who it was! We washed our hands a long time."

"And they just smoked while you were in there?"

"Yeah! They didn't even care! And they are Freshmen!" (says the Senior girls that run the school...literally.)

So we ran down to the bathroom (I walked very quickly - I mean I'm nearly 50) and they held the door open for my grand entrance. As I walked in it occurred to me that I didn't even know what to say. I was...

...speechless.

And I have been speechless a lot lately which is why I haven't written my blog this year. I get dumbfounded that I'll screw it up or offend someone. I'm worried that I've lost my funny. I'm worried that what I say doesn't matter anymore. Then my sister told me about her secretary at school that saw her at a book fair and said she missed my blog and then I remembered that there were people reading my blog. And all the moments that the Spirit has thunked me on the head to write all came rushing back to me like a giant warm blanket saying "you have a responsibility to yourself and others to write. I need you to write." So I'm writing. And I actually KNOW that this is what He wants me to say. Because the best blogs are the ones that God himself puts in my head and I just jam them out. That's happening right now. It's pretty awesome.

I digress.

The second the girls see me in the vintage tile doorway of the bathroom they shout out "teacher! teacher! teacher!" and doors on the stalls shut and lock very quicly and very haphazardly. I notice five girls there and since the Senior girls told me there were only four I can't just use my good rope and haul them all into the corral, I have to PICK and CHOOSE based on the descriptions that they gave me as we were walking, running, down the hall.

I am trying to remember....blue hair...you, come with me....blue and pink hair, you come with me too...black pants (oh no! there's two of them! What to do?) So I just take all five of them into the office and try to sort it out there. As we leave the bathroom one girl vanishes into a nearby piano classroom. That's fishy, I think. But she looks "normal" so I let her go. Probably a mistake.

I am speechless and I say a little prayer "help me....I'm speechless...tell me what to say."

And He does.

So I tell them to get all of their stuff and follow me to the office. At this point, I can't get behind them because the bell has rung and the halls start to fill with students of every type and size. I am swimming upstream and trying to herd mad cats at the same time. REALLY MAD CATS.

I finally get them into the Principal's office (because mine only holds two people at a time) and it sounds like this:

A: I don't know why I'm here. I was just changing my clothes for dance.
B: This is stupid.
C: This is super stupid. Somebody needs to go get [smoker #5] she went back to class!
D: What? We weren't doing anything. (reeks of cigarette smell)
E: What if I wasn't doing anything, but I just had to pee real bad?

And other inane things like that that minors say when they have been caught with a controlled and illegal substance on school property.

We are blessed at this school with a Registrar/Front Secretary that is a ROCKSTAR. I'm not kidding. And she doesn't even read this blog. ;-) She used to be a security officer at a nearby school and we are so very lucky to have her here. She knew immediately what to do. Which is good because...it was time for Humanities to start and I needed to give a test.

*#!;*!

I give my class time to study for the test and The Rockstar and I search backpacks. We find nothing. We learn that the girl who escaped into piano class needs the "electric chair" apparently (according to the others - remember this is a school full of dramatic types) and we send for her. They say she has the E-cigarette we are looking for. She comes in, plaid wool skirt, white blouse with Peter Pan collar, leather backpack. Her nose is already in the air, the air around her is so thick with self-righteousness that I can barely breathe - she has already convinced herself that she is miles above the other girls in this nicotine-reeking office and "there has been some mistake."

One thing about girls that I have learned since I became an administrator: Girlfriends that share sin are not sacred secret keepers. Just the opposite.

It's too easy.

But they are careful not to speak at once. They are looking around at each other. They don't want to be the one that tells the truth, or speaks first. They are all in the same room and a thought comes to my head "move them to different rooms." "Thank you," I say back to the voice in my head. I begin to separate them. Then one by one, The Rockstar and I get them to fill out "Incident Reports" and they write out their versions of the story on paper, all pointing fingers at two kids basically. It becomes very clear what happened. The story from those that were not involved is exactly as it was told to me from the two Senior girls. The story from the one girl that was actually smoking is a pile of warm, smoking poop. Laughable actually. I'd like to frame the account that Miss Peter Pan Collar gave me and hang it on my wall for a good laugh every once in a while. At least the others were smart enough to sense their doom and owned up to the fact that there were witnesses, Everyone except Peter Pan. She will never grow up. She was beyond adamant about her non-involvement despite the fact that both Seniors identified her involvement to her face.

This is the conversation the two girls had when I brought them together:

Rockstar: Where is the E-cig?
PP: I didn't smoke it. I don't know where it is.
Owner of the E-Cig: Liar! You had it in the bathroom! I gave it to you. You were in the stall smoking it. Those girls saw you. You had it last!
PP: I never touched it.
Rockstar: Impossible. You were identified as one of the girls who was smoking it.
PP: I never did.
Jan: But that's not what any of them said in their report. FIVE girls witnessed you smoking.
PP: I don't know how because it wasn't me.
Jan: FIVE girls SAW you smoking.
PP: I never smoked. I may have touched it, looked at it, but I never smoked it.
Owner: Then where is the E-Cig now?
PP: I don't know.
Owner: You were the last one to "touch" it.
PP: I have no idea where it is.
Owner (to Jan) She's a LIAR!

Like I didn't already know.

So Rockstar and I spent the remainder of the day suspending four fifteen-year old girls for the day and telling eight parents to come and get their kids. This task in itself is unbearably difficult because people work, and people are no longer married so you might end up with way more than 8 guardians or way less. So...you never know who is going to show up or how long its going to take. This is the world today.

It took allllllll day.

But in that day, I got to have four awesome conversations with four very amazing girls.

And that's really what I want to tell you about.

Bloom Where You're Planted

I don't have any garden space but I've tried planter boxes and pots of every size. I just don't know how to get stuff to grow in this climate, in a pot. My mom and dad have a yard that resembles the Garden of Eden (like I was there) but I can not grow a tomato that you could cut through. Governor Leavitt visited my dad's house one year and he looked out back and said "you don't have a yard, you have a farm." So you'd think after years of mandatory weeding and watering, I would be a genius with some dirt and a pot. Ha!

This year I decided just not to waste money on anything green. I'm so bitter. I want a real garden space. Andy and I have started driving around looking at single family houses...again. And it all started because of our pilgrimage to the St. George Parade of Homes.

We have gotten tickets to attend the "home show" every year. For those of you that are reading this outside of the United States, a "Parade" of homes is not like the kind of parade where you walk down the street or play in a marching band. This is put together by a group of home construction companies that build a house, have it furnished and decorated to the nines, and then open them up for people to come and tour them, like a museum. A museum where people live. Fancy, faaaancy people. This year there are 28 homes on the tour. We visited 19 of the 28.

"To dream! Perchance to wake..."

This year, after miscarriage #8, I should NOT have gone.

But did I listen to my good sense? No. Since we had a blessed Saturday off, we put on some good shoes, filled up the gas tank (choke....) and set off on our little mini-daycation. We ate lunch out with our "Dixie Direct" card - never leave home without a coupon card - and set off to see how the real people live in St. George. Why do I torture myself so?

One home on the parade had a 1950's diner inside of it. Another had a tub that received its water from a hole in the ceiling. There was a bedroom that had a glass-encased office on one end and on the other end was a wall that could be opened completely to the pool and yard. Almost like camping... at the Marriott.

My favorite thing was the shower that was like a car wash. There were about eight shower heads coming out of various places 360 degrees in the room. I imagined standing there, turning on all eight faucets and waiting for the St. George water pressure to build up enough to reach me in the center of the room. It lacked an automated chamois rub. Disappointing.

Along the bathroom wall of one house were three or four tiled insets like permanent shadow boxes. There were about 8 inches square. One of the little holes contained a tiny little cactus, growing in a teeny, tiny fishbowl laid on its side in a bed of tiny purple pebbles. I did write "J + A" in the perfect pebble bed. It was just calling out to me like when I lived in Japan and people would rake their pebble yards...the temptation was too much. I left secret messages all over Japan. Maybe I should plant cactus....?

One house had a big television in the kitchen that rose up from under the counter top...in case you want to keep up with Rachel Ray as you make your dinner. The first thing I thought when I looked at the cut edge in the granite counter was "if that was at my house, in two weeks it would be stuck shut. There would be so much food in that ditch you'd have to sit on the floor and open up the bottom cupboards to watch T.V."

There was the house with the glass stairs. G.L.A.S.S. stairs. I really thought twice about going down them but sucked my stomach in (like that would make me weigh less) and gingerly descended into a theatre room that sat about 24 people on leather Lazyboys all around. A.H.mazing. Andy stayed at the top. He said he'd take my word for it.

There was a secret pantry in one home that could double as a fallout shelter. If there was a nuclear war, I'd want to be in that room for sure. It was huge and shelved from top to bottom. You had to know that it was there, otherwise, you would think the door was just a couple of kitchen cabinets. I loved that they had a circular dining room, practically made of glass that overlooked the backyard. All it needed was a T.V. that could raise up out of the counter...wait...

There were smaller homes. One of them had about four bedrooms in the basement and a small kitchen there as well. Perfect for eight to sixteen Tuacahn students. We could only afford the mortgage if we stuffed that many kids in there. Just call me Miss Hannigan. Could I shut the door at the top and pretend they weren't there?

There was also an entire house that made Andy claustrophobic. His shoulders just skimmed the Newport Beach artwork on either side of the hallways as we went through it. It was beautifully decorated, like Martha Stewart herself had flown in (and maybe she did). Did they forget that they live in a desert? Or were they just pining for a coastline? Whoever they were...they were very tall and thin people. They probably got that way from wallpapering the 12-foot ceilings in that house. Good luck scraping that off in 2017. Do NOT call me.

I forget which house it was that I tripped and nearly killed myself on the stack of rugs in the living room. I guess it's like double or triple-matting a picture in a frame. These people could not choose which rug to use so they used two or three and stacked them up creating that matting effect. That was popular this year as was the wall-paper (here it comes again, our moms will be so happy).

My question is...is there an economic crisis in our country, and if so...where is that happening?

Because it isn't happening in St. George, Utah. Or maybe all the people that kept their cash in their mattresses are finally dipping into it to build homes here.  We could see that the home sizes decreased from years past, but when you are a school teacher, and you see the prices are down from 3 million to 2 million... it still cuts you through to the core. Really? It makes you want to shout "someone taught you! And they are living across the railroad tracks in West Side Story! er...on the west side!"

I don't deny them their American Dream. I'm all about the free enterprise system. I just want to know why I was so attracted to teaching? I knew better! Having grown up with a dad that taught...did I think the paycheck would be different for me? He worked three jobs for decades to keep us alive. I went into this teaching thing with FULL knowledge. D.U.H.

Truthfully I never thought I would teach, or would teach for very long. I thought I would get married and all my troubles would be over. In New Rochelle... or Levittown or some (where that's green) musical theatre place like that. But not only did I become a teacher, I married one! Looks like I might end up running a boarding house full of little girls.

We have our Hunsaker Hotel (see blog #?). It's a townhouse, which I guess is the politically correct word for CONDO...eeeeeeeek. It's an "end-unit" so...we live on the end. Bonus: we only share a wall with neighbors on one side. It has a vaulted ceiling in the living room with three huge windows. I used to love those windows because the light would stream in and the dogs would stretch out in the sun on "Sun"day mornings. But, that was before they built the unit next door. Now we get about 11 minutes of light at 10:30 in the morning which is of no use to anyone because we're never in our home at that time of day. Except on Saturdays and if we're out of bed by 10:30 on a Saturday morning it's because we have already been at rehearsal since 8. Who scheduled that? ;-)
Our home is warm and comfortable. It holds a collection of furniture from that past 20 years of producing plays. But somehow it works -  it's sort of Broadway Bohemian, if you will. For example, there are three lamps in the living room, one we bought for Black Comedy, one for You Can't Take it With You and the last has a shade from Stage Door and a stem from The Miracle Worker. You get the idea. I'm always fine with it, until I go through the Parade of Homes and we come home "Bitter At the World. Party of Two."

My bitterness today also stems from a pot full of purple snapdragons that I planted in front of our house to celebrate our decision to go on birth control. It was a really traumatic decision for me...admitting that we needed to move on... that kind of thing. I just wanted something to LIVE. So I broke down and bought some gorgeous, half grown, snapdragons. I love them. They were growing like gangbusters in just a couple of days. Until yesterday. When we drove in after work I noticed that someone had "picked" them all. I hope they took them home and gave them to their mom. I just came inside and had a little pity party. Dang.

I sat right down and fumed. I was mad. Then I looked at the one thing in my house that I bought at the trendy store, just for me. It is a wooden cutout that stands on a shelf, you know the kind. They usually say "Families are Forever" or "Return With Honor." Mine is just as cheesy now and it says "Bloom Where You're Planted." Deep breath.

At first, I rebelled against that trite cliche, thinking "I might as well have a house covered in mauve wallpaper." But I kept seeing it in craft stores when I was shopping for shows or in the JoAnn's ad. As if to say "THIS MESSAGE IS FOR YOU JAN!" So when I saw that it was just $2.94 at Tai Pan, I bought it.

So after the Parade of Homes this year, I walked into my little space again, limped around and lamented my lot as usual. Old furniture, small townhome. No yard, fridge door is tied shut. If I'd only gone to law school we might have nice things. Then I dragged my eyes to the little wooden sign..."Bloom Where You're Planted."  Get yourself together I thought. That dang fridge makes a mighty cold Diet Coke I thought. And that yard is mowed by someone else. I can put my feet up on the furniture and not even think about it twice. The best thing is, if there are guests staying at the Hunsaker Hotel, just give me one trash bag and the Swiffer and I'm feeling ready in minutes. Just don't look in the garage. (Two-car garage BTW - Woot!)

I am blessed. What more could I need? We feel safe here. We have incredible neighbors. I don't want to clean a bigger house. I don't want to owe money to a pool boy, or have tiny cactuses growing in pebble beds in my bathroom. Cactuses hate bathrooms! And I don't have time to plant a garden.

Our life is a Garden of Eden. It is a virtual FARM full of blooming... kids. And we... are going to be fine because we are great kid farmers.

I think the world is glorious and lovely as can be
The birds and bees and blossoms bring sweet messages to me
I sing and sing and sing and sing a song of joy and love
I sing and sing and sing and sing my thanks to God above.