Consider this powerful three line poem by Wisconsin poet, Bruce Taylor:

Pay attention.
This is everything.
Pay attention.

Years ago, when my amazing friend and storyteller, Judy, told me her theory on how the Muppets ruined children’s education, I was initially aghast. I loved Jim Hensen and every one of those witty, grouchy and loudmouthed Muppets and still do.

Upon reflection, I sadly must agree that much truth lies in my friend’s opinion. Sesame Street turned learning into sound bites and constant entertainment. No need to “pay attention” or sustain interest in anything. Factoids are hammered in at breakneck speed, and the onus is on the entertainer, not the student.

But true learning still requires time and hard work.  Making meaningful connections is the goal, not spewing back noise.

When I go back to school this fall, I don’t plan on being a Muppet. I do plan on saying in my best teacher voice, “Look hard at that word; you can’t learn to read if you are looking at the ceiling”. Or, “Look hard at the globe and you will see that the continent of Africa is shaped like an African elephant’s ear.” Or, “Who can tell us one thing they notice, like or dislike about this famous painting?”

What do good artists, writers and scientists all have in common? They observe the world around them.

Sorry, students, I’m not a faux Muppet. And if you tell me you are bored, I’ll fire right back that only boring people are bored.

Pay attention!

Neko (neck oh) is the Japanese word for cat. Maneki Neko means “beckoning cat” and refers to the beloved good luck cat statues that are displayed in stores and businesses all over Japan and wherever Japanese people migrate. The rotund, ceramic cats always have one paw raised to beckon in the good fortune.

Several differing stories explain the origin of the lucky cats. The following is the version given at Gotokuji Temple in Tokyo:

At the beginning of the 17th century, there was a rundown temple in Setagaya, the western part of Tokyo. The priest of the temple was very poor, but he always fed his pet cat, Tama, first. One day a wealthy samurai lord was passing near the temple when a rainstorm began. He took refuge under a large tree and noticed a cat beckoning him into the temple gate. As he entered the gate, the tree was struck by lightning. Tama had saved his life. To show his gratitude, the lord saved the temple from poverty. Tama was buried in Gotokuji’s cat cemetery, and Maneki Neko was invented to honor Tama.

Not wanting to stand in the way of good luck, we’ve always had several small versions of these charming cats around the house. But on a trip to Los Angeles, we came across a shop stocked with shelves and shelves of Nekos from thimble size to large wastebasket size. The huge ones were an incredible bargain, and, despite the fact that carrying home a giant, fragile cat in a carry on bag was ludicrous, we bought the jumbo sized model.

Miraculously, the cat arrived home in one piece and was enshrined in our entrance hall in front of a window. His steadfast raised paw waved in good fortune for about six months.

Then, one day, a fly was buzzing high up on the window above our cat statue. Our real cat, Pi, made a splendid leap for the fly, fell on Manieki Neko’s head and caused the cat to crash forward on its nose and shatter. My husband spent an entire afternoon meticulously gluing all the pieces back together.

Unfortunately, the reconstituted Neko only had two months remaining. This time it was a moth at the window that triggered Pi’s leap. Manieki Neko’s luck had finally run out.

We recently did have the good fortune to visit an art exhibit at The Mingei Musuem in San Diego where a collection of 155 Maneki Nekos were on display. Highlights follow.

I have never understood Jello. How can anything made out of water, sugar, food coloring and boiled bones, skin and cartilage be called salad? Isn’t salad leafy greens, veggies or fruit?

Jello doesn’t make it as dessert, either. If given the choice of pecan pie, ice cream, cake or Jello, only a masochist would pick Jello. The above list is like the intelligence test that asks “Which item doesn’t belong in this group?”

I do however, have a fondness for Jello: I just don’t like it as food.Because of its beauty, Jello has enormous potential as an art media. Can’t you picture an art gallery full of molded, towering, brilliantly colored Jello assemblages? That would be the ultimate pop art: it could be enjoyed and then eaten by those who own the cookbook,”The Joys of Jello”.

Jello is also handy in science classes. I explain paleontology to elementary school students by having them imagine a Jello and fruit cocktail mold. I simply say, “Digging up dinosaur bones is like trying to get the fruit out of the Jello.”

My final use for Jello is crowd control. When working with rambunctious young children, try the following command: “Everybody freeze! Now, pretend you’re a giant Jello in a windstorm.” That gets those wiggles out every time.

I waited a long time to see my first rainbow. When it appeared, it did not disappoint, even though I had imagined that the colors would be as bright as my Crayolas.

Who does not take delight in a rainbow? A humongous arc of ROYGBIV in the sky compels attention and admiration. Ancient peoples created countless rainbow mythologies.

I once taught a delightful little three year old named Iris. “I’m a rainbow,” she told me one day as she sat painting. Indeed she was, named after the Greek goddess of the rainbow who dressed in rainbow colors and had golden wings.

In Norse mythology, Bifrost is the rainbow bridge that connected the earth with Asgard, home of the Norse gods. Only the gods and warriors killed in battle could use the bridge. The Navajo have a male deity named the Rainbow God. He is instantly recognized as his body is curved in the shape of the rainbow’s arc. The Australian aboriginals believe that the Rainbow Serpent is the creator of the world and all its creatures, while the Estonian myths feature a rainbow snake who sucks up water and spits rain.

In more modern times, rainbows were the symbol of the Age of Aquarius. The iconic rainbow was everywhere, on hippie vans, billboards, posters, clothes and even dishes.

Two artists of that era were prolific rainbow painters. Peter Max not only used a brilliant rainbow palette when creating his cosmic art, he also often sprinkled rainbows both large and tiny throughout his paintings.

Thom Klicka took rainbows a step farther. Known as “The Rainbow Man”, he painted only rainbows. His most famous work was a large poster which consisted of hundreds of tiny and unique one inch square rainbow paintings. The purchaser was to cut up the poster and give away the tiny pocket rainbows. I gave away my entire poster; however, I still have a cherished copy of Rainbows by Thom Klicka, The Rainbow Man. (If you feel a need to go back to a gentler era, the book is still available on Amazon.)

Poets and writers make liberal use of rainbow imagery as well. I’ll let this quote from The Tao of Pooh by Benjamin Hoff be the final words.

“Those who think the rewarding things in life are somewhere beyond the rainbow burn their toast a lot.”

• It’s an architectural icon.
• It’s been painted and photographed thousands of times by artists including Georgia O’Keeffe, Ansel Adams, Paul Strand and John Marin.
• It’s the back of this building, the apse and the buttresses, that gets all the attention.

If you guessed the Ranchos de Taos Church in New Mexico, you’re right. Officially known as San Francisco de Asis Mission Church, this adobe structure was built between 1772 and 1816 on the plaza of Rancho de Taos, and it’s a magnet for creative spirits.

The solid, curved adobe masses and four foot thick walls are visual proof that “less is more”. In addition, New Mexico’s thin air and brilliant sun conspire to create dramatic light and shadow play on the surfaces.

This iconic church is found on the Low Road to Taos. Don’t be mislead by the word “low”. The road is low only in comparison to the other route to Taos which is appropriately called the High Road.

Adobe may be the earth’s most perfect building material. It is the earth. Mix dirt with straw and water, form bricks, let them dry in the desert sun and stack. When the bricks are all in place, cover the walls with “rainbows” of adobe to make smooth surfaces.

An abandoned adobe structure naturally biodegrades back into the earth, the ultimate in recycling. The Rancho de Taos Church is, hopefully, hundreds of years from recycling. With luck, its pristinely maintained walls will provide inspiration for many more generations of artists.