15. ❝ A New Dance

15. ❝ A New Dance

A New Dance A tarnished brass cup cowers behind other / forgotten relics in the dark cupboard. The faded plaque whispers, “American Legion Essay / contest—first place 1960—“Americanism today.” The girl who won is gone. She doesn’t remember / what convinced the judges. What were we then? She does remember the writing instructions. / How odd. Form, not substance. “Breathe. Feet flat. Relax. Keep tools close. Vary Hand pressure. Find a rhythm. Glide. Twirl. Spin. Move. Chin up. Dance.” That was it! Form is part of meaning. How we do / what we do matters. It is part of us—but not all. We were free. Independent. The woman wonders. / Is it still true? The screen hums. Seductive. Insistent. The sound repeats. / Repeats. Repeats. Repeats. Like a moth to light, she turns to answer. Her hand / clutches the mouse. Holds tight. Someone else is / leading this dance. Are we still free? Maybe. Not. ### Written by Anne Ayers Koch. Find more of Anne's writing on Substack [https://anneayerskoch.substack.com/]. Edited and produced by Geoff Koch and Amanda Barranco Get full access to River Journeys at anneayerskoch.substack.com/subscribe [https://anneayerskoch.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4]

14. ❝ Crossing the Border

For 20 years, I have lived in a house with a laundry room—a big laundry room. Floor-to-ceiling cupboards wrap around three sides. A deep sink interrupts the tile counters that end where they meet the washer and dryer. Nevertheless, doing laundry there is a challenge. Stacks of greeting card supplies are everywhere—rubber stamps, ribbons, buttons, pressed flowers, cutters, reams of paper, strange devices for crimping, coloring pads, embossing guns, packing tags, cancelled postage stamps. The middle of the room is filled with a table loaded with artist palettes, an Ott-Light for seeing close detail work, back issues of porcelain painting magazines, white china, and mismatched bottles— mineral oil, turpentine, alcohol. A trash can filled with old wrapping paper and discarded road maps tilts against the wall. A matted wool dog bed takes up the rest of the floor. The appliance surfaces are covered with cards in various stages of assembly. The washer lid is invisible. How did this happen? One conversation. Written by Anne Ayers Koch. Find more of Anne's writing on Substack [https://anneayerskoch.substack.com/]. Edited and produced by Geoff Koch and Amanda Barranco MORE In math, a non-linear system is one where output is not directly proportional to input. Most physical systems are inherently non-linear in nature. Weather is one example. Simple changes in one part of a pattern produce complex effects over thousands of miles. The same holds true for human interactions. It’s how my card-making interest began in earnest. Get full access to River Journeys at anneayerskoch.substack.com/subscribe [https://anneayerskoch.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4]

13. ❝ Rediscovery

At age 93, Pablo Casals wrote: "For the past eighty years I have started each day in the same manner. I go to the piano, and I play two preludes and fugues of Bach. It is sort of a benediction on the house, but that’s not its only meaning. It is a rediscovery of the world in which I have the joy of being a part." Morning routines. We all have them though parts change with age. Life with very small children creates one rhythm, teenagers another. Even with no one else to manage, launching the day requires a certain presence of mind. Jim begins each morning as he has for many years—breakfast followed by a spiritual reading and meditation. Written by Anne Ayers Koch. Find more of Anne's writing on Substack [https://anneayerskoch.substack.com/]. Edited and produced by Geoff Koch and Amanda Barranco MORE I begin by writing one letter… sometimes more. It is a habit I began as a young teacher. Hundreds of students passed through my classroom each year. Part of the fun was connecting with them, not just as students, but as people with lives filled with the joy and heartbreak that follow youth like twin shadows. Get full access to River Journeys at anneayerskoch.substack.com/subscribe [https://anneayerskoch.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4]

12. ❝ The World Comes Home

1971 arrived. I was an expectant mother in a small second-floor apartment behind a gas station in Eugene, Oregon. Our first purchase was a huge desk with a laminated wood top and chrome legs. In front of it, we squeezed a secondhand blond crib, adorned with the teeth marks of its four previous occupants. We figured we didn’t need much else. After all, I first slept in a dresser drawer, so this was an upgrade. On July 20, 1971, I wrote in my journal: Summer is upon us… interminable. The world reflects my own restlessness — what will become of me now that I have set aside one career, well defined, for another, not defined at all? Am I strong enough to be curious, eager for each day — without a pre-designated series of challenges? I dream of writing, but wonder how much I have to say. I dream of art projects — warm, friendly things, and wonder if my imagination can take me there. The change from daughter to mother — what a giant step! Is my stride long enough? Written by Anne Ayers Koch. Find more of Anne's writing on Substack [https://anneayerskoch.substack.com/]. Edited and produced by Geoff Koch and Amanda Barranco MORE Unpacking, I discovered my old stamp-filled shoebox. Sifting through the tiny reminders of time gone by, an idea dawned on me. I might be lost, but the mail would find me. I began to collect postage stamps in earnest. They are beautiful. They tell stories. Former Postmaster General Arthur Summerfield said of them, “The postage stamps of a nation are a picture gallery of its glories. They depict in miniature its famous men and women, the great events of its history, its organizations, its industries, its natural wonders.” I joined the Postal Commemorative Society, which delivered first-day-issue stamps from their point of origin to me for 25 years. No matter where we lived, they found their way… home. Get full access to River Journeys at anneayerskoch.substack.com/subscribe [https://anneayerskoch.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4]

11. ❝ Moving On

Something was wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it. What could it be?  Most of my graduate students were Generation Ys (aka Millennials)… born after 1982, raised in a digital world. Slogging through various credentials and degree programs at the end of their long workdays made it difficult for them to focus. The cares and worries of their days came with them every week. Their commutes, their own course preparations and classroom management challenges, and their responsibilities at home hung around them like Marley’s chains in Dickens’ Christmas Carol. For any teacher, it’s a problem. All students are difficult to focus, no matter what their age. I had decades of experience, but it wasn’t helping. Things weren’t going well. Written by Anne Ayers Koch. Find more of Anne's writing on Substack [https://anneayerskoch.substack.com/]. Edited and produced by Geoff Koch and Amanda Barranco MORE To counter the distracted hum and glazed looks, I filled a large easel at the front of the room with “presenting questions” to jumpstart the evening. Written in careful cursive, I reasoned the sheets would become part of the class record and help them remember what we were doing. As weeks passed, the room walls filled with topics from earlier sessions. It was like living inside a house with walls of grace, looping Palmer writing. It seemed like a good idea—sort of like “dinner special” easels in restaurant waiting areas. It wasn’t working. Students rummaged in their backpacks, pulled out papers, laptops, books, talked to each other, or gazed at the clock, willing it to advance. The same few people opened every discussion.  Midway through the term, a 30-something middle school history teacher approached me as I was putting the finishing touches on my easel questions. Twisting his hands, he lowered his eyes. Gesturing at the sheet behind me, I beamed, “Hi Mark. Would you like to add something?” Shoulders hunched, he sighed. “Some of us can’t read your handwriting.” He rushed on, “We only print or keyboard. We didn’t learn cursive.”  I’m not sure which of us was more embarrassed. Get full access to River Journeys at anneayerskoch.substack.com/subscribe [https://anneayerskoch.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4]