Vegans are people who only eat plant-based food. Unlike vegetarians, vegans do not eat eggs or any kind of dairy products like milk or cheese. Today I went to a movie called Forks Over Knives. Its premise was that eating animal products is the cause of almost all of the heart disease and cancer in the world. They also claimed that switching your diet to a completely vegan one can reverse those diseases, even in people who are deathly ill.
Like most documentaries, this film made a convincing case, but even as I was sitting there, I started to wonder about what a vegan diet would include, but more importantly, what it would exclude, too.
Never mind the obvious loss of chicken, steak, burgers, chops, and seafood-- start with breakfast: besides the usual scrambled or fried eggs, there would be no muffins, pancakes, or waffles, and no milk for your cereal. At lunch, no cheese means no pizza or lasagna, and almost every kind of baked dessert has eggs, too, so no more cookies or cakes, and of course there would be no ice cream, either.
That would be a tough adjustment, even if someone was convinced it was the right thing to do. Most of the people they spoke to in the movie were in a life or death situation, where changing their diet meant a chance at saving their lives, so to them it was worth it. Even so, they all said that they felt much better once they made the change, AND... they were still alive.
As for me? I'm still thinking.
Life Lesson: What's easy is not always what's right, and what's right is not always what's easy.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Saturday, May 14, 2011
U is for Ultraviolet
Ultraviolet lights have many uses. Forensic teams use them to test for blood or other body fluids that may be invisible to the human eye, and there is is also a security strip in US paper money that will glow; the treasury puts it there to prevent counterfeiting. Doctors use them to diagnose certain skin conditions, too. Sometimes they are found at clubs and concerts, and they are also used in some plays and other performances, just because they are cool-looking.
UV lights are better known as "black lights." If you've ever been to the planetarium over by the high school, then you know what I'm talking about. Black lights are those purpley lights they have when you exit that make light colors glow. Personally I love being in ultraviolet light-- it's bright and soothing at the same time, and the way it makes white shine gives you the illusion of seeing in the dark.
Life Lesson: There is more to most things than meets the eye.
UV lights are better known as "black lights." If you've ever been to the planetarium over by the high school, then you know what I'm talking about. Black lights are those purpley lights they have when you exit that make light colors glow. Personally I love being in ultraviolet light-- it's bright and soothing at the same time, and the way it makes white shine gives you the illusion of seeing in the dark.
Life Lesson: There is more to most things than meets the eye.
Friday, May 13, 2011
T is for Trusting Technology
I was a little crabby this morning when I got to school and discovered that our network was experiencing outages because of a website upgrade. My lesson plans relied upon being able to access our web-based course, and that was not happening. Today was also the last day for three-and-a-half weeks that students will be able to use computers in class-- since all of our mandated testing is online, the labs and lap tops are reserved for that use until June 8.
Of course I adjusted (paper and pencil will not become obsolete any time soon in my classroom, despite what all the pencil-less students might believe), but it was a hectic way to start the day and end the week. This inconvenience also came on the heels of Blogger being down indefinitely. I haven't missed a day of posting in just over 800, and I was feeling some anxiety last night as I checked every fifteen minutes or so to see if it was back. In the end, I realized I could just post to our class discussion board, and that is what I did.
Choose your own Life Lesson:
Adapt or perish. ~HG Wells
OR
Reasonable people adapt themselves to the world. Unreasonable people attempt to adapt the world to themselves. All progress, therefore, depends on unreasonable people. ~George Bernard Shaw
Of course I adjusted (paper and pencil will not become obsolete any time soon in my classroom, despite what all the pencil-less students might believe), but it was a hectic way to start the day and end the week. This inconvenience also came on the heels of Blogger being down indefinitely. I haven't missed a day of posting in just over 800, and I was feeling some anxiety last night as I checked every fifteen minutes or so to see if it was back. In the end, I realized I could just post to our class discussion board, and that is what I did.
Choose your own Life Lesson:
Adapt or perish. ~HG Wells
OR
Reasonable people adapt themselves to the world. Unreasonable people attempt to adapt the world to themselves. All progress, therefore, depends on unreasonable people. ~George Bernard Shaw
Thursday, May 12, 2011
E is for Everything I Want to Write About is Taken!
Today is my sister Courtney’s birthday, but I can’t write about that, because the S, the C, and the B are already taken in my alphabiography. Nor can I write about my brother, Bill, or book reviews, or corn on the cob, or SOLs, or Survivor, or scolding students for being sassy when they should be silent. I can’t write about my magnificent mother, either, because the M is gone, or people without pencils, or getting good grades, or zipping zippers, or having headaches, or yackety yacking. I might have been forever fooling with fruitless fantasies, except for the existence of the ever-excellent E!
Life Lesson: A little alliteration is always a last alternative.
Life Lesson: A little alliteration is always a last alternative.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
P is for PostHunt
The fourth annual Washington Post PostHunt commences on Sunday, June 5, at 11:30 AM. What is that? you ask? Well, the PostHunt is kind of a puzzle-solving scavenger hunt that anyone can participate in. If you want to play, you just have to show up at Freedom Plaza on that day.
The premise of the whole crazy thing is to "challenge participants to solve five ridiculously complex puzzles plus a final End Game in less than four hours. Finding the answers to those puzzles requires following a clue, possibly scrambling to another location, pausing to scratch your head and consider what it all means, then repeating."
My nephew, Treat, and I have joined the competition each year since it started back in 2008. We have had varying success, never solving fewer than 4 of the 5 puzzles, but never solving the end game, either. On the Saturday before, we pore over the Washington Post Magazine for the first clues, familiarizing ourselves with the official map, and making note of anything that may play a role in one of the puzzles. Then on Sunday morning, we hop the metro and join the throngs that are gathering for the challenge. The weather does not always cooperate-- we have been drenched, frozen, and fried, but it doesn't really matter, because it's really a lot of fun.
Maybe we'll see you there this year?
Life Lesson: It's the journey, not the destination, that counts.
The premise of the whole crazy thing is to "challenge participants to solve five ridiculously complex puzzles plus a final End Game in less than four hours. Finding the answers to those puzzles requires following a clue, possibly scrambling to another location, pausing to scratch your head and consider what it all means, then repeating."
My nephew, Treat, and I have joined the competition each year since it started back in 2008. We have had varying success, never solving fewer than 4 of the 5 puzzles, but never solving the end game, either. On the Saturday before, we pore over the Washington Post Magazine for the first clues, familiarizing ourselves with the official map, and making note of anything that may play a role in one of the puzzles. Then on Sunday morning, we hop the metro and join the throngs that are gathering for the challenge. The weather does not always cooperate-- we have been drenched, frozen, and fried, but it doesn't really matter, because it's really a lot of fun.
Maybe we'll see you there this year?
Life Lesson: It's the journey, not the destination, that counts.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
G is for A Gift from the Sea
On the first day of our vacation in South Carolina, my mom called us down to the beach to see all the sea stars. There were hundreds, and since this was our first time there, we had no idea if it was a normal thing in those parts. In any case, it was exceptional to us. Over the course of the week, the starfish became much rarer, and we turned our attention to finding sand dollars and shells. I did pull a live whelk from its hiding place in a tidal pool, but as tempting as it was to keep it for its shell, after a few photos I reburied it with a wish and a prayer.
I recognized the whelk from a day trip I took to the Outer Banks one February a long time ago. On that day, it was sunny but freezing, and the beach was deserted. Huge, unbroken whelk shells, the kind and size you never find just lying on the beach, were everywhere-- so many that we couldn't carry them all to the car. I wasn't worried though, because I was coming back in a few weeks, and I planned to fill a bucket with them then. I would have, too, except they were all gone.
Life Lesson: The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea. ~Anne Morrow Lindbergh
I recognized the whelk from a day trip I took to the Outer Banks one February a long time ago. On that day, it was sunny but freezing, and the beach was deserted. Huge, unbroken whelk shells, the kind and size you never find just lying on the beach, were everywhere-- so many that we couldn't carry them all to the car. I wasn't worried though, because I was coming back in a few weeks, and I planned to fill a bucket with them then. I would have, too, except they were all gone.
Life Lesson: The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea. ~Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Monday, May 9, 2011
B is for Bike
My first bike was a purple Huffy with high handle bars, a banana seat, and coaster brakes. It never had any training wheels-- my parents taught me to ride it by running along beside me holding on to the back of the seat and then giving me a push. After that, I got my momentum by starting on the downhill of the driveway, but it wasn't long before I could ride by myself. I loved that bike.
A few years later, my brother and I got bright yellow ten speeds for our birthdays, and they were nice, too, but never as comfy as my Huffy. We raced the ten speeds around the block, but it was always too close to call, so we decided to race in opposite directions. That was an epic crash.
In high school, I didn't own a bike-- it was a boarding school in Switzerland, after all-- but the school did offer bike trips, and two of the best weeks of my life were spent on a bike, first riding through Tuscany in the fall, and the next spring touring the south of France.
After college I lived at the beach for a few years, and I had a sweet beach cruiser in those days. It was black with hot pink detail, padded handle bars, a wide comfortable seat, and again with the coaster brakes. I rode it up and down the boardwalk and all over town, but when I moved up here, it was just no good on the hills and I had to get rid of it.
Now I have a nice little hybrid. It's the prettiest pale shade of robin's egg blue, and with eighteen speeds it can comfortably take me as far as I'm inclined to go. It has a loud bell for passing folks on the trail, a water bottle cage, and a rack on the back. It even has a bracket for my iPhone on the handlebars. I can't say I ride it as much as I'd like, but I enjoy it every time I take it out, and just like all of the others, I LOVE my bike.
Life Lesson: Keep on rolling!
A few years later, my brother and I got bright yellow ten speeds for our birthdays, and they were nice, too, but never as comfy as my Huffy. We raced the ten speeds around the block, but it was always too close to call, so we decided to race in opposite directions. That was an epic crash.
In high school, I didn't own a bike-- it was a boarding school in Switzerland, after all-- but the school did offer bike trips, and two of the best weeks of my life were spent on a bike, first riding through Tuscany in the fall, and the next spring touring the south of France.
After college I lived at the beach for a few years, and I had a sweet beach cruiser in those days. It was black with hot pink detail, padded handle bars, a wide comfortable seat, and again with the coaster brakes. I rode it up and down the boardwalk and all over town, but when I moved up here, it was just no good on the hills and I had to get rid of it.
Now I have a nice little hybrid. It's the prettiest pale shade of robin's egg blue, and with eighteen speeds it can comfortably take me as far as I'm inclined to go. It has a loud bell for passing folks on the trail, a water bottle cage, and a rack on the back. It even has a bracket for my iPhone on the handlebars. I can't say I ride it as much as I'd like, but I enjoy it every time I take it out, and just like all of the others, I LOVE my bike.
Life Lesson: Keep on rolling!
Sunday, May 8, 2011
F is for Finders Keepers
I found a five dollar bill on the ground today; it was just lying there all alone, and there was not another person in sight. Now I consider that pretty lucky, although I do feel a little bad for whoever lost it. When I was little, finding a penny was a pretty big deal, but back then a penny would buy a piece of candy or at least a gumball from the machine at the grocery store. A dime was a small fortune, a quarter untold wealth, and a dollar? Forget about it!
I pocketed the five, but these days when I walk past pennies in the parking lot or on the pavement, they are hardly worth bending over for, and I usually leave them there. I confess that I feel a little guilty every time, though. In the back of my mind I wonder if there will come a day when that one single cent would have made all the difference.
One time when we were kids my sister found two hundred bucks on the tarmac as she was walking out to board a plane. She reported it to the crew, and they said that if no one claimed it during the fourteen hour flight, then it was hers. Guess what? She got to keep the money and spend it with a clear conscience. Now that was a fun vacation for her!
Life Lesson: Whatever is found has also been lost.
I pocketed the five, but these days when I walk past pennies in the parking lot or on the pavement, they are hardly worth bending over for, and I usually leave them there. I confess that I feel a little guilty every time, though. In the back of my mind I wonder if there will come a day when that one single cent would have made all the difference.
One time when we were kids my sister found two hundred bucks on the tarmac as she was walking out to board a plane. She reported it to the crew, and they said that if no one claimed it during the fourteen hour flight, then it was hers. Guess what? She got to keep the money and spend it with a clear conscience. Now that was a fun vacation for her!
Life Lesson: Whatever is found has also been lost.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
C is for Cooking
I don't know why people think cooking is hard. I love to cook--you just get your ingredients and slice, chop, dice, toss, saute, grill, bake, season, marinate, dress, flambe, and/or sauce them, put them on the plate or in the bowl, grab a fork, spoon, knife and then enjoy. What could be hard about that?
Now writing on the other hand... that's hard!
Life lesson: When the going gets tough, the tough sit down and have a nice meal.
Now writing on the other hand... that's hard!
Life lesson: When the going gets tough, the tough sit down and have a nice meal.
Friday, May 6, 2011
M is for Milkweed
When I was a kid we used to call the silky puff balls that would occasionally float by on the wind "wish bugs." We believed that if you caught one, you could make a wish on it and then blow it gently back into the sky. Your wish would come true as long as it didn't land on the ground.
Later I found out that those silky little parachutes are part of the milkweed plant and worked just as the puffs on a dandelion do to carry the seeds. But even now I still feel a strong impulse to chase after any wish bugs I might see, despite the fact that I'm pretty sure most of them end up on the ground, especially since that's what they are meant to do.
There's a poem called The Milkweed by Richard Wilbur that I really like:
Anonymous as cherubs
over the crib of God
white seeds are floating
out of my burst pod.
What power had I
before I learned to yield?
Shatter me, great wind:
I shall possess the field.
I love this poem because of the second stanza. The idea that sometimes you have to yield or bend to be successful is something that I find easy to forget. I also like the image of all the milkweed seeds floating over the field: it makes me think of teaching. The seeds are our students going off into the world in all different directions, and even though we might not know where they land, they "shall possess the field."
Life Lesson: Sometimes you have to yield to be successful.
Later I found out that those silky little parachutes are part of the milkweed plant and worked just as the puffs on a dandelion do to carry the seeds. But even now I still feel a strong impulse to chase after any wish bugs I might see, despite the fact that I'm pretty sure most of them end up on the ground, especially since that's what they are meant to do.
There's a poem called The Milkweed by Richard Wilbur that I really like:
Anonymous as cherubs
over the crib of God
white seeds are floating
out of my burst pod.
What power had I
before I learned to yield?
Shatter me, great wind:
I shall possess the field.
I love this poem because of the second stanza. The idea that sometimes you have to yield or bend to be successful is something that I find easy to forget. I also like the image of all the milkweed seeds floating over the field: it makes me think of teaching. The seeds are our students going off into the world in all different directions, and even though we might not know where they land, they "shall possess the field."
Life Lesson: Sometimes you have to yield to be successful.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Y is for Yeah, I've Got That
"The table is squeaking!" three girls in my first period class complained this morning.
"Keep writing," I told them, "I'll fix it when the timer goes off." To be honest, after seventeen years in my classroom with these ancient tables, I rarely notice the annoying ee-ee ee-ee ee-ee anymore. Soon, the beep beep beep beep of the timer broke the quiet. Everyone shared the title of the Alphabiography chapter they were working on, and then I told them it was time to go back to writing. I brandished the timer. "Ready?"
"Um? The table?" one of the girls reminded me.
See? I don't even hear it, but I opened a metal cabinet and got out my can of WD40 and affixed the red plastic straw. I gave the metal plates where the legs are screwed into the wooden table top a couple of quick squirts, and the irritating squeak was gone. "And now back to your writing!"
The time that I've been in my classroom is longer than I've lived in any house, and to say that I'm settled in would be an understatement. Over the years, I've collected almost anything I might need in most imaginable situations, this in addition to the usual trove of school supplies. The WD40 is a good example, but last year when I had to pack up everything and move out of my room for two months because they were renovating the building, I had the chance to inventory what I have:
spare socks
a screw driver
an electric tea kettle
lotion
hand sanitizer
several rolls of duct tape
static guard
a lint roller
thank you notes
plastic knives, forks, and spoons
band aids
air freshener
a can opener
batteries
nail clippers
a flashlight
antacids
aspirin
a new toothbrush
toothpaste
dental floss
eye glass repair kit
glasses cleaners
latex gloves
needle and thread
saline solution
spare contact case
paper cups
napkins
paper plates
plastic table cloth
cough drops
tic tacs
tissues
pencil lead (three sizes)
a large supply of chocolate
a bag of dum dum pops
pliers
allen wrench set
dream catcher
corn husk doll
gavel
and a magnetic felt figure of myself
This is only a partial list, and my co-workers know it. They all come to me sometime and ask the same question: "Tracey do you have...?"
Life Lesson: There's no such thing as being too prepared.
"Keep writing," I told them, "I'll fix it when the timer goes off." To be honest, after seventeen years in my classroom with these ancient tables, I rarely notice the annoying ee-ee ee-ee ee-ee anymore. Soon, the beep beep beep beep of the timer broke the quiet. Everyone shared the title of the Alphabiography chapter they were working on, and then I told them it was time to go back to writing. I brandished the timer. "Ready?"
"Um? The table?" one of the girls reminded me.
See? I don't even hear it, but I opened a metal cabinet and got out my can of WD40 and affixed the red plastic straw. I gave the metal plates where the legs are screwed into the wooden table top a couple of quick squirts, and the irritating squeak was gone. "And now back to your writing!"
The time that I've been in my classroom is longer than I've lived in any house, and to say that I'm settled in would be an understatement. Over the years, I've collected almost anything I might need in most imaginable situations, this in addition to the usual trove of school supplies. The WD40 is a good example, but last year when I had to pack up everything and move out of my room for two months because they were renovating the building, I had the chance to inventory what I have:
spare socks
a screw driver
an electric tea kettle
lotion
hand sanitizer
several rolls of duct tape
static guard
a lint roller
thank you notes
plastic knives, forks, and spoons
band aids
air freshener
a can opener
batteries
nail clippers
a flashlight
antacids
aspirin
a new toothbrush
toothpaste
dental floss
eye glass repair kit
glasses cleaners
latex gloves
needle and thread
saline solution
spare contact case
paper cups
napkins
paper plates
plastic table cloth
cough drops
tic tacs
tissues
pencil lead (three sizes)
a large supply of chocolate
a bag of dum dum pops
pliers
allen wrench set
dream catcher
corn husk doll
gavel
and a magnetic felt figure of myself
This is only a partial list, and my co-workers know it. They all come to me sometime and ask the same question: "Tracey do you have...?"
Life Lesson: There's no such thing as being too prepared.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Z is for Zoo
On a warm sunny afternoon the laughter of children fills the air as they excitedly run from one exhibit to the next. I want to see the lions! I love the gorillas! Let's go to the elephants next! But there is an unseen cloud overshadowing this seemingly perfect day-- in my opinion, the zoo is nothing more than a prison for animals.
"But I love the zoo!" you might say, and sure, some people also say that zoos conduct valuable research and protect endangered animals, but that doesn't necessarily benefit the animals that are actually stuck in the zoo. How would you like to be the individual forced to suffer for the good of your species?
The gorilla house is a perfect example. Anyone with a shred of empathy can see that those great apes are miserable. And why shouldn't they be? Think of how they live-- trapped in a small, glass-enclosed space where not only is there very little to do, but hundreds of people gawk at them every day.
And what about the elephants? In the wild an adult elephant might walk up to 40 miles a day, but at the zoo they spend their time in a space smaller than a soccer field. This unnatural confinement causes foot problems and arthritis in many older elephants, as well as other health problems that can lead to their early deaths.
While there may be some animals whose needs can be more appropriately met by the zoo, I would still argue that these individuals would be better off if allowed to live their natural lives in their native habitats.
Life Lesson: It's wrong to sacrifice an animal's quality of life for our entertainment.
"But I love the zoo!" you might say, and sure, some people also say that zoos conduct valuable research and protect endangered animals, but that doesn't necessarily benefit the animals that are actually stuck in the zoo. How would you like to be the individual forced to suffer for the good of your species?
The gorilla house is a perfect example. Anyone with a shred of empathy can see that those great apes are miserable. And why shouldn't they be? Think of how they live-- trapped in a small, glass-enclosed space where not only is there very little to do, but hundreds of people gawk at them every day.
And what about the elephants? In the wild an adult elephant might walk up to 40 miles a day, but at the zoo they spend their time in a space smaller than a soccer field. This unnatural confinement causes foot problems and arthritis in many older elephants, as well as other health problems that can lead to their early deaths.
While there may be some animals whose needs can be more appropriately met by the zoo, I would still argue that these individuals would be better off if allowed to live their natural lives in their native habitats.
Life Lesson: It's wrong to sacrifice an animal's quality of life for our entertainment.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
9 is for 9 Lives
One of our cats is almost 18 years old. His name is Bingo, and he has had quite a life. Besides the hundreds of mice and birds he's stalked and killed, he's been hit by a car, overcome diabetes, coughed up a two foot piece of grass, nearly died twice, and caught a bird right through the second story window screen. (Yes, through the screen!)
In his glory days he weighed sixteen pounds, but now, at 17 and 3/4, he's super skinny and feels as hollow as a little bird when you pick him up. His long hair sticks out all crazy, too, like the old dude he is, but he hasn't lost any of his spirit. Long ago, Heidi told him he wasn't allowed to die, and it seems like he took those words verrrrry seriously. Every day, he eats like a horse and he can still jump up on the counter to find more food. His favorites are waffles and green beans. In fact, he was pestering me tonight (actually climbing up my leg in the kitchen!) as I cooked dinner, and why? Because I was fixing beans.
Life Lesson: Go for it every single day!
In his glory days he weighed sixteen pounds, but now, at 17 and 3/4, he's super skinny and feels as hollow as a little bird when you pick him up. His long hair sticks out all crazy, too, like the old dude he is, but he hasn't lost any of his spirit. Long ago, Heidi told him he wasn't allowed to die, and it seems like he took those words verrrrry seriously. Every day, he eats like a horse and he can still jump up on the counter to find more food. His favorites are waffles and green beans. In fact, he was pestering me tonight (actually climbing up my leg in the kitchen!) as I cooked dinner, and why? Because I was fixing beans.
Life Lesson: Go for it every single day!
Monday, May 2, 2011
S is for Substitute
Why is that kids always misbehave for a substitute? I remember when I was in school and our teacher was out-- the kids in my class turned into people I barely knew. The day was always full of chaos and I soon came to dread the sight of some strange adult sitting at our teacher's desk on any given morning.
Once when I was in fourth grade, we had a substitute. As usual, my classmates were like the rabid zombie versions of themselves, but I just kept my head down and tried to get through the day. Right before the bell was going to ring, the sub asked me and the girl who sat next to me to come over to the teacher's desk. She seemed frazzled and annoyed, and I was sympathetic-- the kids had been awful to her. She frowned and held up our spelling tests: both were 100%. "I do not believe that these were written by two people!" she accused us. "Look at that handwriting! It is exactly the same. You obviously both cheated!"
We were stunned. First of all, our penmanship was not that similar. Secondly, we got A's on spelling all the time. We tried to tell her that, but she didn't believe us. She scolded us in front of the class until the bell rang and we could go. I felt humiliated and angry.
When our teacher came back, she knew we hadn't cheated. She recognized our writing and she knew us well enough to know that cheating wasn't our thing. She shrugged it off as no big deal, but that didn't really make it any better.
For a long time, I was mad at the substitute, but now I don't think it was really her fault. She didn't trust us because most of the students she tried to teach did not behave in such a way to earn her respect. If I wanted to hold a grudge, I should have blamed the other kids.
Life Lesson: Hey! Students! Leave that sub alone!
Once when I was in fourth grade, we had a substitute. As usual, my classmates were like the rabid zombie versions of themselves, but I just kept my head down and tried to get through the day. Right before the bell was going to ring, the sub asked me and the girl who sat next to me to come over to the teacher's desk. She seemed frazzled and annoyed, and I was sympathetic-- the kids had been awful to her. She frowned and held up our spelling tests: both were 100%. "I do not believe that these were written by two people!" she accused us. "Look at that handwriting! It is exactly the same. You obviously both cheated!"
We were stunned. First of all, our penmanship was not that similar. Secondly, we got A's on spelling all the time. We tried to tell her that, but she didn't believe us. She scolded us in front of the class until the bell rang and we could go. I felt humiliated and angry.
When our teacher came back, she knew we hadn't cheated. She recognized our writing and she knew us well enough to know that cheating wasn't our thing. She shrugged it off as no big deal, but that didn't really make it any better.
For a long time, I was mad at the substitute, but now I don't think it was really her fault. She didn't trust us because most of the students she tried to teach did not behave in such a way to earn her respect. If I wanted to hold a grudge, I should have blamed the other kids.
Life Lesson: Hey! Students! Leave that sub alone!
Sunday, May 1, 2011
H is for Hoe
After one year, I would not say that I am an experienced gardener, and lately, when I have driven by our community plot and seen how the weeds have done their best to take it back, I almost want to give up. Enter the hoe. A little internet research convinced me that this tool should be my best friend, and today it was. I found the sharpest one in the shed, and just as I had read, I let the hoe do the work, swinging it lightly at the tangle of weeds aiming just a fraction of an inch below the surface. Soon I had piles of weeds strategically located all throughout the garden. We scooped them into those big brown paper gardening bags, taking care not to overfill them. After three and a half hours of chopping weeds, though, my forearms were shot, and carrying the bags to the curbside was out of the question. Enter the wheelbarrow...
Life Lesson: There's a tool for that... use it!
Life Lesson: There's a tool for that... use it!
Saturday, April 30, 2011
A is for Alphabiography
I've issued another writing challenge to my students for the month of May:
An Alphabiography tells stories of your life in short chapters, with each chapter focusing on someone or something important to you.
In response, my students issued a challenge to me-- that I complete the assignment along with them. How could I say no? Watch this space for the results. |
Friday, April 29, 2011
Oh Lord!
Today the Tolerance Club sponsored another movie-- this one called New Muslim Cool. It's about a Puerto Rican-American rapper who has converted to Islam. Given the age and ethnic diversity of our student body, we thought it would be of interest, and we had about 50 kids stay after school to see it.
Later, three of the other sponsors of the group and I were brainstorming appropriate titles for our last film of the year. We have shown five documentaries, and our thought was that a more main stream movie that conveyed a message might be a good way to finish the year. As we talked, three of us were using our smart phones to look up information on the titles we were considering. IMDB turned out to be a handy resource for us, but we had to laugh at how the "Parents Guide" information was presented. For example the section on profanity lists all of the swearing in a movie, out of context, like so:
At least one slang term for breasts (as in "It's as cold as a witch's t*t"), 6 damns, 3 hells, 3 craps, 1 ass (used with "hole"), 1 turd, and 2 uses of "Oh my God" and "Oh Lord" and 1 use each of "Jesus Christ" and "Oh God" as exclamations.
Holy cow! I guess that's good to know, but can you imagine having that job?
Later, three of the other sponsors of the group and I were brainstorming appropriate titles for our last film of the year. We have shown five documentaries, and our thought was that a more main stream movie that conveyed a message might be a good way to finish the year. As we talked, three of us were using our smart phones to look up information on the titles we were considering. IMDB turned out to be a handy resource for us, but we had to laugh at how the "Parents Guide" information was presented. For example the section on profanity lists all of the swearing in a movie, out of context, like so:
At least one slang term for breasts (as in "It's as cold as a witch's t*t"), 6 damns, 3 hells, 3 craps, 1 ass (used with "hole"), 1 turd, and 2 uses of "Oh my God" and "Oh Lord" and 1 use each of "Jesus Christ" and "Oh God" as exclamations.
Holy cow! I guess that's good to know, but can you imagine having that job?
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Crap Shoot
The other day I saw a bumper sticker that resonated with me: More Fun, Less Stuff. Probably one reason I was drawn to it is because I have a lot of stuff, and although I feel like over the last few years I have getting better, in essence that really only means that I am accumulating junk more slowly. I'm not sure how to break the habit, because like many people in affluent countries, I want what I want when I want it. Big ticket items are the easiest to resist; I think carefully before spending over a certain amount. It's the little things that are easy to toss in your shopping basket and that are currently cluttering up my house, my attic, and my classroom, because once they're paid for, it's hard for me to throw them away.
All of this is the prelude to my annual complaint about the PTA fundraiser our school does. We ask homerooms to choose a them for a "basket" and then the kids contribute items. The baskets are raffled off for a dollar a chance at our big international celebration. It's hugely successful, and why? Because people want stuff.
All of this is the prelude to my annual complaint about the PTA fundraiser our school does. We ask homerooms to choose a them for a "basket" and then the kids contribute items. The baskets are raffled off for a dollar a chance at our big international celebration. It's hugely successful, and why? Because people want stuff.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
The Power of the Board
The chalk board is a powerful symbol of a teacher's authority, and as such, I confess that I do not like it when my students write on the board, and I rarely allow it. But kids LOVE a chalk board, perhaps for the same reason.
Today I was doing a lesson on the relationship between words and visual images. The students were supposed to take a passage from their books and parse it over the panels of a cartoon, and then illustrate the words. It can be a powerful activity to discover that rather than the proverbial thousand words per picture, sometimes one single word is worth a picture, and a rather detailed one at that.
In the class before lunch, a second language student asked me what a shingle was. Then she asked about a cape. I deduced that it was a cape-style house, and I drew a picture of one on the board; as a good measure, I added a few cedar shakes to the outside. "Can I finish the shingles?" a student asked, and I nodded, having better things to do than detail a chalk sketch.
My assent opened the floodgates. Along with the exterior of the house, kids wanted to add trees, a garden, tornadoes, earthquakes, and a chimney fire. Not to be outdone, other students started drawing things from their books until soon the board was transformed into a fantastic mural. "Stop!" I protested, but half-heartedly, since they were actually pursuing the objectives of the lesson, if only in a tangential way. "I'm just going to erase it when you leave," I finally threatened.
There arose a collective "Nooooooooo!" and so I told them that the only way they could save their masterpiece was to start their group discussions and do them very, very well. They flew to their seats and did a great job in the minutes that remained. As the bell rang, one of them asked me if I would take a picture of the board, and I promised I would. Off they went, quite proudly, to lunch. A nice story, but it doesn't end there.
During lunch, a few other students entered the room to drop off or pick up their things. They were stunned that any kids had been allowed to write on the board. "You like them better than you like us!" they accused me, and I tried to tell them it wasn't so, but in nothing short of outrage, one picked up an eraser and started to obliterate the chalk art. The others joined in with their bare hands until chalk dust powdered the tables and the board was an empty cloud.
"You didn't really need to do that," I said, a little shocked and perplexed. They wanted to write on the board themselves, but I took all the chalk and put it away. "Go to lunch," I told them.
Of course the first group was mad and disappointed to find their work was gone. "That's what happens when chalk is your medium," I told them lightly, but unconsoled, they had some choice words for their eraser-happy classmates.
Maybe my next lesson should be on symbolism.
Today I was doing a lesson on the relationship between words and visual images. The students were supposed to take a passage from their books and parse it over the panels of a cartoon, and then illustrate the words. It can be a powerful activity to discover that rather than the proverbial thousand words per picture, sometimes one single word is worth a picture, and a rather detailed one at that.
In the class before lunch, a second language student asked me what a shingle was. Then she asked about a cape. I deduced that it was a cape-style house, and I drew a picture of one on the board; as a good measure, I added a few cedar shakes to the outside. "Can I finish the shingles?" a student asked, and I nodded, having better things to do than detail a chalk sketch.
My assent opened the floodgates. Along with the exterior of the house, kids wanted to add trees, a garden, tornadoes, earthquakes, and a chimney fire. Not to be outdone, other students started drawing things from their books until soon the board was transformed into a fantastic mural. "Stop!" I protested, but half-heartedly, since they were actually pursuing the objectives of the lesson, if only in a tangential way. "I'm just going to erase it when you leave," I finally threatened.
There arose a collective "Nooooooooo!" and so I told them that the only way they could save their masterpiece was to start their group discussions and do them very, very well. They flew to their seats and did a great job in the minutes that remained. As the bell rang, one of them asked me if I would take a picture of the board, and I promised I would. Off they went, quite proudly, to lunch. A nice story, but it doesn't end there.
During lunch, a few other students entered the room to drop off or pick up their things. They were stunned that any kids had been allowed to write on the board. "You like them better than you like us!" they accused me, and I tried to tell them it wasn't so, but in nothing short of outrage, one picked up an eraser and started to obliterate the chalk art. The others joined in with their bare hands until chalk dust powdered the tables and the board was an empty cloud.
"You didn't really need to do that," I said, a little shocked and perplexed. They wanted to write on the board themselves, but I took all the chalk and put it away. "Go to lunch," I told them.
Of course the first group was mad and disappointed to find their work was gone. "That's what happens when chalk is your medium," I told them lightly, but unconsoled, they had some choice words for their eraser-happy classmates.
Maybe my next lesson should be on symbolism.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Q-tip?
Our school is organizing an origami crane drive to benefit the survivors of the Japanese Tsunami. In support of the effort, the Tolerance Club learned how to fold them yesterday. The idea was that we would make some ourselves, but we would also teach other people how to make them, too.
First of all, those critters are complicated, but like skinning the proverbial cat, there are many ways to make the necessary folds, and since learning the skill, I have done my part to spread the word of the crane. Yesterday afternoon, two boys came to my room after track practice, one sorry he could not have been to the meeting, and the other just tagging along. "She's going to show us how to make origami cranes!" the first kid told his friend.
"What??!" his friend asked with profound confusion.
"Origami cranes," I repeated, but still he frowned.
I showed him one that was already finished. "Ooooooh," he answered, "origami cranes. I thought you said origami brains."
I laughed and crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at him. "Here! We can make those, too."
First of all, those critters are complicated, but like skinning the proverbial cat, there are many ways to make the necessary folds, and since learning the skill, I have done my part to spread the word of the crane. Yesterday afternoon, two boys came to my room after track practice, one sorry he could not have been to the meeting, and the other just tagging along. "She's going to show us how to make origami cranes!" the first kid told his friend.
"What??!" his friend asked with profound confusion.
"Origami cranes," I repeated, but still he frowned.
I showed him one that was already finished. "Ooooooh," he answered, "origami cranes. I thought you said origami brains."
I laughed and crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it at him. "Here! We can make those, too."
Monday, April 25, 2011
Pep Talk
In the last class of the day today there were a couple of kids absent and several who were pulled for a meeting with the Gifted Coordinator. That left me and seven sixth grade boys. Tomorrow we are administering a reading test, the results of which will help determine whether kids take a foreign language next year, or continue on with reading, and I gave them the same spiel I had delivered to all of my classes. "A standardized test is like a snapshot..." I started.
My point to the kids was that there's no shame in doing their best on the test and finding out that it would help them to postpone taking another language for a year, but it would be a shame for them to blow off the test and miss out on the chance at a high school credit. I also reminded them that if they did take a language, then their grade would be important when they applied to college.
This group was confused. "What do you mean "apply"?" asked one.
"Well," I answered, "colleges don't have to let you go there. They get to choose who they want based on an application that you fill out.They look at a lot of things, but they definitely look at your grades."
"Whaaaaaaat?" said another student. "You can't just go somewhere?"
I shook my head.
"Did you go to college?" somebody asked.
"You can't be a teacher without a college degree," I shrugged.
They were unusually quiet for a moment, but then the silence was broken. "Let's get to work!" one guy suggested, clapping his hands in encouragement, and it was a very good class.
My point to the kids was that there's no shame in doing their best on the test and finding out that it would help them to postpone taking another language for a year, but it would be a shame for them to blow off the test and miss out on the chance at a high school credit. I also reminded them that if they did take a language, then their grade would be important when they applied to college.
This group was confused. "What do you mean "apply"?" asked one.
"Well," I answered, "colleges don't have to let you go there. They get to choose who they want based on an application that you fill out.They look at a lot of things, but they definitely look at your grades."
"Whaaaaaaat?" said another student. "You can't just go somewhere?"
I shook my head.
"Did you go to college?" somebody asked.
"You can't be a teacher without a college degree," I shrugged.
They were unusually quiet for a moment, but then the silence was broken. "Let's get to work!" one guy suggested, clapping his hands in encouragement, and it was a very good class.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
The Easy Part
I just can't shake the sense that as a culture we over-burden ourselves. As an example, what does it say about us and the way our lives are organized that it's quite common to hear folks say that they need a vacation after their vacation? It seems that we put so much time and energy into relaxing, that we miss out on the down time. I know I'm guilty of that; in fact, I'm feeling it right now. Fortunately, as a teacher, I have considerable time off in the summer, and not surprisingly, knowing that I don't have to go right back to work after a trip makes everything much less stressed.
I wish I knew the solution, but for now, I'm going to have to content myself with identifying the problem. I'm too busy to do anything else!
I wish I knew the solution, but for now, I'm going to have to content myself with identifying the problem. I'm too busy to do anything else!
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Resilience
I like to think of myself as a pretty positive person, steady in the face of crisis, even, but time and again, it's the little things that can get me down. Today I stoically bid my family good-bye and drove 9 1/2 hours through terrible traffic, only to arrive home and find my refrigerator not working. Sigh.
Yesterday at the beach I counted six iPhones, three iPods, an iPod touch, and an iPad in our group. Apple must have seen our family coming. Earlier in the week, my sister and I met the next door neighbor and his dog, a cute, nine-year-old, golden retriever-chow mix. Later, while walking with our mom, we saw the dog out in the yard, and my sister and I spoke of her in very familiar terms. "How do you know that?" my mother asked.
"We did genetic testing on her," I joked.
"We scanned her with our iPhones," my sister added.
"Yeah, there's an app for that," we laughed.
Eventually we explained about meeting the owner, but we were off and running on all sorts of app ideas. (Who Shat That? is still my favorite.)
Personally, I believe there is not only an app for most things, but a poem, too. Here's mine for the broken refirgerator:
It's not the lost lover that brings us to ruin, or the barroom brawl,
or the con game gone bad, or the beating
Taken in the alleyway. But the lost car keys,
The broken shoelace,
The overcharge at the gas pump
Which we broach without comment — these are the things that
eat away at life, these constant vibrations
In the web of the unremarkable.
The death of a father — the death of the mother —
The sudden loss shocks the living flesh alive! But the broken
pair of glasses,
The tear in the trousers,
These begin an ache behind the eyes.
And it's this ache to which we will ourselves
Oblivious. We are oblivious. Then, one morning—there's a
crack in the water glass —we wake to find ourselves undone.
Yesterday at the beach I counted six iPhones, three iPods, an iPod touch, and an iPad in our group. Apple must have seen our family coming. Earlier in the week, my sister and I met the next door neighbor and his dog, a cute, nine-year-old, golden retriever-chow mix. Later, while walking with our mom, we saw the dog out in the yard, and my sister and I spoke of her in very familiar terms. "How do you know that?" my mother asked.
"We did genetic testing on her," I joked.
"We scanned her with our iPhones," my sister added.
"Yeah, there's an app for that," we laughed.
Eventually we explained about meeting the owner, but we were off and running on all sorts of app ideas. (Who Shat That? is still my favorite.)
Personally, I believe there is not only an app for most things, but a poem, too. Here's mine for the broken refirgerator:
Meditation on Ruin
or the con game gone bad, or the beating
Taken in the alleyway. But the lost car keys,
The broken shoelace,
The overcharge at the gas pump
Which we broach without comment — these are the things that
eat away at life, these constant vibrations
In the web of the unremarkable.
The death of a father — the death of the mother —
The sudden loss shocks the living flesh alive! But the broken
pair of glasses,
The tear in the trousers,
These begin an ache behind the eyes.
And it's this ache to which we will ourselves
Oblivious. We are oblivious. Then, one morning—there's a
crack in the water glass —we wake to find ourselves undone.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Fair to Middlin'
Tonight was our last dinner at the beach, and as we gathered around the table, someone proposed that each person share the highlight of the week for them. Next it was the low point, which was sort of negative, but still interesting, and then five-year-old Richard suggested that we tell the middle of our vacation.
We asked him what he meant by that, and he explained that it was something kind of good, but kind of bad, too. He went first. "My middle was when a wave hit me in he face," he said.
Fifteen-year-old Treat was skeptical. "That was the mid-point of your week?" he asked. "Half of the week was worse than getting a face full of salt water? You couldn't have had a very good time."
The adults around the table wanted to jump in and defend Richard, but we were silenced by his explanation. "Treat," he said, "that was my middle because I was a big boy when the water hit me."
His answer clarified the task for us, and next Treat told us about the horseshoe crab tail that he carried all the way back from his bike ride only to discard it in disappointment when he found that everyone else had left the beach to go home.
Emily paused a little before she started. "What was my bittersweet moment?" she wondered aloud, and that word, bittersweet, really helped the rest of us get it. As it turned out, there was much more discussion about those in between times that each of us described than of any of the the highs or the lows, and those stories somehow seemed a lot more revealing and true, too.
What a good question, Richard!
We asked him what he meant by that, and he explained that it was something kind of good, but kind of bad, too. He went first. "My middle was when a wave hit me in he face," he said.
Fifteen-year-old Treat was skeptical. "That was the mid-point of your week?" he asked. "Half of the week was worse than getting a face full of salt water? You couldn't have had a very good time."
The adults around the table wanted to jump in and defend Richard, but we were silenced by his explanation. "Treat," he said, "that was my middle because I was a big boy when the water hit me."
His answer clarified the task for us, and next Treat told us about the horseshoe crab tail that he carried all the way back from his bike ride only to discard it in disappointment when he found that everyone else had left the beach to go home.
Emily paused a little before she started. "What was my bittersweet moment?" she wondered aloud, and that word, bittersweet, really helped the rest of us get it. As it turned out, there was much more discussion about those in between times that each of us described than of any of the the highs or the lows, and those stories somehow seemed a lot more revealing and true, too.
What a good question, Richard!
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Southern Fried!
This afternoon we were treated to a good old coastal thunderstorm. With the thermometer pushing the upper 80s earlier in the day, it sure felt like summertime, and even though that's why we chose this place for this vacation, I was reminded of what one of my students posted just a few days ago: Are you ready for summer? I need some spring first. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Anyway, the boomers passed through, and we ran around the house closing all the windows. Unfortunately, one of them was not securely latched at the top, and as I pulled it down, it swung in and smacked me squarely on the bridge of the nose. For a long moment all I could do was loosely cup my palms over my face and hope that nothing was broken. I barely had the ice pack applied before there was a loud crack, and Treat and Richard raced wide-eyed down the stairs to report a bright flash of light and the faint smell of smoke in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Next came Jordan out of the downstairs bedroom with the tale of a laptop power cable that had just popped and flamed. As the smoke alarms screamed, we checked the unfamiliar house for signs of hazard or catastrophe.
As best we could figure, lightning had struck very near. The TV was down for the count, and a few power cables were fried, but it seemed like it was only the things that were drawing power at the time of the surge that were damaged. Even so, I considered how quickly things can go south-- that window, like the lightning, hit hard and without warning, but when it was all over, it could have been so much worse.
Anyway, the boomers passed through, and we ran around the house closing all the windows. Unfortunately, one of them was not securely latched at the top, and as I pulled it down, it swung in and smacked me squarely on the bridge of the nose. For a long moment all I could do was loosely cup my palms over my face and hope that nothing was broken. I barely had the ice pack applied before there was a loud crack, and Treat and Richard raced wide-eyed down the stairs to report a bright flash of light and the faint smell of smoke in one of the upstairs bedrooms. Next came Jordan out of the downstairs bedroom with the tale of a laptop power cable that had just popped and flamed. As the smoke alarms screamed, we checked the unfamiliar house for signs of hazard or catastrophe.
As best we could figure, lightning had struck very near. The TV was down for the count, and a few power cables were fried, but it seemed like it was only the things that were drawing power at the time of the surge that were damaged. Even so, I considered how quickly things can go south-- that window, like the lightning, hit hard and without warning, but when it was all over, it could have been so much worse.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Southern Fried
My grandmother was from Mississippi and her fried chicken was legendary. Whenever we visited her, she would make it for us to have on the three hour car ride back home. Once, she ran out of time and sent my grandfather to KFC to buy the chicken. Family tradition has it that the four-year-old me knew something was amiss from the first bite. "This is not Grandma's chicken!" I reportedly exclaimed.
I don't have any memory of the incident, but I always thought of it as a testimony to remarkable chicken rather than a remarkable palette. My grandmother died 39 years ago, long before I started cooking, and her chicken recipe was lost to me for about twenty years, until I had the occasion to ask her youngest sister about it on one of her rare trips up north. She told me how she made hers, and how their mother made hers, and that she reckoned my grandmother's recipe was somewhere close to in between.
It was almost another 19 years until I put her method to the test. Skillet frying a chicken just always seemed like a lot of trouble. But on this family vacation to South Carolina, we planned to celebrate my brother's birthday, and making fried chicken the way my grandma did seemed like a perfect menu choice.
My original idea was to use a deep fryer, but I left the cord at home, and so I was forced to fry it on the stove, just as she did. Honestly? I'm glad I did, because it turned out really well, and it wasn't the hassle I always thought it would be. In fact, I may not wait another 19 years to try it again.
I don't have any memory of the incident, but I always thought of it as a testimony to remarkable chicken rather than a remarkable palette. My grandmother died 39 years ago, long before I started cooking, and her chicken recipe was lost to me for about twenty years, until I had the occasion to ask her youngest sister about it on one of her rare trips up north. She told me how she made hers, and how their mother made hers, and that she reckoned my grandmother's recipe was somewhere close to in between.
It was almost another 19 years until I put her method to the test. Skillet frying a chicken just always seemed like a lot of trouble. But on this family vacation to South Carolina, we planned to celebrate my brother's birthday, and making fried chicken the way my grandma did seemed like a perfect menu choice.
My original idea was to use a deep fryer, but I left the cord at home, and so I was forced to fry it on the stove, just as she did. Honestly? I'm glad I did, because it turned out really well, and it wasn't the hassle I always thought it would be. In fact, I may not wait another 19 years to try it again.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Believe It or Not
I gave my students the option to keep posting throughout our spring break, and I was curious to see if they would and what they might say. I told them all it might be fun to check in with the group, especially since we wouldn't be seeing each other every day. It has been interesting-- kids have posted from Arizona, Florida, South Carolina, Pennsylvania, and Utah with tales of their journeys. Other kids have written about the adventures they've had at home, but it only took until today, Tuesday, for an underlying emotion to come to the surface. "I miss school," one person wrote, and after that, every kid who went online replied with how much they missed it, too.
And the best part is that I have it writing.
And the best part is that I have it writing.
Monday, April 18, 2011
We Do This Because
Today was the beginning of Passover. My brother-in-law is Jewish, and we have shared a Pesach Seder dinner with my sister's family for the past few years. I like it; the customs, although unfamiliar, are comforting in their ritual, and I appreciate feeling connected to two thousand years of history, even if it isn't my own. Tonight was no exception-- my sister made a wonderful meal; my niece and nephew shone with the excitement of the festivities, and their dad led us through the traditions of the holiday.
We were raised Catholic, and although I have some serious issues with the church and its social policies, I always loved the rituals and traditions of mass and the sacraments. I know that they can be mystifying to the uninitiated, though. Years ago, a friend of mine, who happened to be Jewish, and I were invited to the wedding of another teacher on our team. The ceremony included a Catholic mass, and when the priest asked that the gifts be brought to the altar my friend looked at me in panic. "I left mine in the car!" he whispered.
We were raised Catholic, and although I have some serious issues with the church and its social policies, I always loved the rituals and traditions of mass and the sacraments. I know that they can be mystifying to the uninitiated, though. Years ago, a friend of mine, who happened to be Jewish, and I were invited to the wedding of another teacher on our team. The ceremony included a Catholic mass, and when the priest asked that the gifts be brought to the altar my friend looked at me in panic. "I left mine in the car!" he whispered.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Rubbernecking
Our trip down to South Carolina was about an hour and a half longer than we hoped, mostly because of traffic backups in North Carolina. Oh, we made the best of it: the weather was glorious, cloudless blue skies, warm sun, and cool spring air; the van was comfortable and of course, the company was excellent. Still, we were in a place that many travel, but few actually see, and details that anyone would have been forgiven for missing at 80 mph were unmistakable: the way the pavement gleamed, studded with the broken glass from countless accidents, the dead dog nearly obscured by the tall grass, it's tail fluttering gold in the patch of fluttering green.
The cause of our delay? Violent storms and tornadoes had ripped through the area yesterday, and their devastation was visible from the highway. In one spot, people wandered aimlessly through the shattered remains of a trailer park, presumably trying to help put somebody's life back together, and we on the interstate were a legion of vehicles, passing by in a column ten miles long, slowed to a crawl so that we could see.
The cause of our delay? Violent storms and tornadoes had ripped through the area yesterday, and their devastation was visible from the highway. In one spot, people wandered aimlessly through the shattered remains of a trailer park, presumably trying to help put somebody's life back together, and we on the interstate were a legion of vehicles, passing by in a column ten miles long, slowed to a crawl so that we could see.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
I Love a Minivan
How did the minivan get such a bad rap? Almost all of my friends and family with kids are waaaay too cool for the grand caravan and its ilk; you should see the faces they make when someone suggests that they might like to own one. It's impossible to tell what provincial stereotypes they wrestle with, but as a mature adult without children, I am free from those surly bonds.
I have merrily rented a van or two every summer for the last eight in order to pile all the nephews in and head out for some awesome kids-and-aunties-only vacation. It's hardly surprising then that to me a minivan represents nothing other than enough space for everyone and the dog to hit the road for some F-U-N! What could be the stigma in that?
I have merrily rented a van or two every summer for the last eight in order to pile all the nephews in and head out for some awesome kids-and-aunties-only vacation. It's hardly surprising then that to me a minivan represents nothing other than enough space for everyone and the dog to hit the road for some F-U-N! What could be the stigma in that?
Friday, April 15, 2011
Blood on the Ice
"How many years has this been?" someone asked me today on our annual sixth grade skating trip.
"Let me think about it," I answered. "I remember them by the injuries..." We eventually figured that this was number five, but not before a little girl fell and cut a couple of fingertips open on her skate. Despite the blood, it was no more than a band-aid injury. A friend asked me earlier in the week if we'd have an ambulance standing by, given our track record of stitches and sprains. "Shut up," was my witty rejoinder to her.
Still, there's something strangely satisfying about taking 200 sixth graders ice skating and to the food court, despite the inevitable exhaustion at the end of the day. This trip seems to offer the perfect balance of positive risk-taking and independence for the age group, and the kids love it, almost unanimously, despite the bumps and bruises and the gentle and not-so-gentle reprimands.
And each year as I lace up my skates with a simple prayer, Don't let me fall in front of my students, it gives me an appreciation of how hard it must be to be a kid in school.
"Let me think about it," I answered. "I remember them by the injuries..." We eventually figured that this was number five, but not before a little girl fell and cut a couple of fingertips open on her skate. Despite the blood, it was no more than a band-aid injury. A friend asked me earlier in the week if we'd have an ambulance standing by, given our track record of stitches and sprains. "Shut up," was my witty rejoinder to her.
Still, there's something strangely satisfying about taking 200 sixth graders ice skating and to the food court, despite the inevitable exhaustion at the end of the day. This trip seems to offer the perfect balance of positive risk-taking and independence for the age group, and the kids love it, almost unanimously, despite the bumps and bruises and the gentle and not-so-gentle reprimands.
And each year as I lace up my skates with a simple prayer, Don't let me fall in front of my students, it gives me an appreciation of how hard it must be to be a kid in school.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Foraging
When I was a kid, Euell Gibbons was a household name. Maybe it was the Grapenuts commercial where he looked fondly at that pine tree and drawled,"You know some parts are edible...", but whatever the case, old Euell was the punchline to many jokes. Later in life I was introduced to his book, Stalking the Blue-eyed Scallop, but even then, appreciation was not my primary response.
I'm not sure when I realized what a smart guy he was, but for years, I have been consciously cultivating my knowledge of the plants around me and what we can eat. Just tonight the neighbor kids and I spent a merry half hour trying to reach all the red bud blossoms we could from the tall tall trees in our courtyards, both to nibble on out of hand-- the pink buds are a little sweet-- and also to toss in our salad.
I kind of like the fact that they might look at a tree and think that some parts are edible, without a trace of irony.
I'm not sure when I realized what a smart guy he was, but for years, I have been consciously cultivating my knowledge of the plants around me and what we can eat. Just tonight the neighbor kids and I spent a merry half hour trying to reach all the red bud blossoms we could from the tall tall trees in our courtyards, both to nibble on out of hand-- the pink buds are a little sweet-- and also to toss in our salad.
I kind of like the fact that they might look at a tree and think that some parts are edible, without a trace of irony.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Annual Riddle Poem Edition
Each year my students write riddle poems. Here are a few pretty good ones from this round:
I smell as though a thousand years
I can be sad and bring many fears
Romance, fantasy I'm sometimes called
I'm creative and with me people have bawled
I make new worlds that are real and fake
I am as great as my creator make
Many shapes and sizes, skinny or plump I do come in
But the real great treasure is the one within.
A book
i am clear as a diamond
no color or shape
too much of me is deadly
but if you dont have enough of me you can die
many people try to run away from me
and they just cant because i am too fast.
what am i?
water
Good times never last,
I should never have let you go,
I'll never forget my careless mistake,
All the time I prayed for your reappearance,
But you never floated back home.
A balloon
It is fluffy in the inside,
soft on the out.
In the night it has a head,
But when the morning comes,
then it does not.
What is this?
A pillow
The Real Treasure:
Yes, I'm partially in gold,
and in some part of diamond
Look at what it takes to get victory.
Yes I'm somewhat in money.
Check in these things
and you will see
my true identity.
What Am I?????
Love
(The answers appear in ghost post below each riddle.)
I smell as though a thousand years
I can be sad and bring many fears
Romance, fantasy I'm sometimes called
I'm creative and with me people have bawled
I make new worlds that are real and fake
I am as great as my creator make
Many shapes and sizes, skinny or plump I do come in
But the real great treasure is the one within.
A book
i am clear as a diamond
no color or shape
too much of me is deadly
but if you dont have enough of me you can die
many people try to run away from me
and they just cant because i am too fast.
what am i?
water
Good times never last,
I should never have let you go,
I'll never forget my careless mistake,
All the time I prayed for your reappearance,
But you never floated back home.
A balloon
It is fluffy in the inside,
soft on the out.
In the night it has a head,
But when the morning comes,
then it does not.
What is this?
A pillow
The Real Treasure:
Yes, I'm partially in gold,
and in some part of diamond
Look at what it takes to get victory.
Yes I'm somewhat in money.
Check in these things
and you will see
my true identity.
What Am I?????
Love
(The answers appear in ghost post below each riddle.)
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Buyer's Remorse
The other day in class the attendance secretary came to fetch one of my students. His dad was there to pick him up for a doctor appointment. He gathered his belongings and then hesitated at the door. With a concerned expression he turned around and approached my desk. The other students were working quietly on an assignment, so he whispered his request. "Will you tell (here he named another student) to give me my money?"
It was my turn to be concerned. "Why does he have your money?" I asked.
"Because we traded," he explained.
I was confused. "What did you trade?"
"I gave him my money and he gave me those cards." He pointed to the table where a deck of cards still lay.
"We call that 'buying' when we trade money for something," I told him, and looking sternly at both boys, I continued, "and we don't use class time to conduct that kind of business."
"But I changed my mind," the first kid said with a slight whimper, "and I need my money back. My dad will be mad."
The card seller had the sense to look abashed, but he kept the cash in his pocket. I sighed and canceled the transaction. "Give him his money and get back to work."
It was my turn to be concerned. "Why does he have your money?" I asked.
"Because we traded," he explained.
I was confused. "What did you trade?"
"I gave him my money and he gave me those cards." He pointed to the table where a deck of cards still lay.
"We call that 'buying' when we trade money for something," I told him, and looking sternly at both boys, I continued, "and we don't use class time to conduct that kind of business."
"But I changed my mind," the first kid said with a slight whimper, "and I need my money back. My dad will be mad."
The card seller had the sense to look abashed, but he kept the cash in his pocket. I sighed and canceled the transaction. "Give him his money and get back to work."
Monday, April 11, 2011
Here and Now
We've reached a point in the year where some of the students are in the habit of seeking me out either before homeroom, at lunch, or after school. They just want to talk, or tell me something, or take a shot at the mini-hoop I have hanging by the door. I welcome this attention, both because building relationships is what we do, and I genuinely like all of my students. Also, it's kind of fun to hang out with kids.
Our interactions are interesting, entertaining, and enlightening, and they feel meaningful to me, but it's weird when I think about it, especially if I try to recall my own sixth grade experience. Chances are, these kids won't remember anything of what we say. They are growing and changing so quickly that even in a year or two, when they are in seventh and eighth grades, this time will seem like ancient history to them. Who knows what will stick?
I guess that's all the more reason to be present in the present.
Our interactions are interesting, entertaining, and enlightening, and they feel meaningful to me, but it's weird when I think about it, especially if I try to recall my own sixth grade experience. Chances are, these kids won't remember anything of what we say. They are growing and changing so quickly that even in a year or two, when they are in seventh and eighth grades, this time will seem like ancient history to them. Who knows what will stick?
I guess that's all the more reason to be present in the present.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Survey Says...
What's with all the surveys lately? It seems like everywhere you go to shop, once you've settled up at the register they pause before handing you your receipt and circle a little web address at the bottom. If you take the time to enter the string of characters into your browser and answer a few questions, you will be eligible to win a gift certificate. Some are worth a hundred bucks (not sure it's worth it, Staples), but today Home Depot was dangling five grand, and last week Sears was offering four thousand.
No matter the odds of winning, it becomes tempting to plan how you will spend your reward... new clothes, new carpet, new windows? That is, if you can find the time and patience to actually answer their questions.
No matter the odds of winning, it becomes tempting to plan how you will spend your reward... new clothes, new carpet, new windows? That is, if you can find the time and patience to actually answer their questions.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
M to the O to the Vs
We live in a pretty diverse area and it so happens that one of the movie theaters we most frequent is primarily staffed by young African-American people. The place was hopping this afternoon when I got in the concession line, and I was relieved when the girl at the register to my left waved me over. She efficiently took my order, swiped my new Stubs card (that's a whole 'nother post), delivered my popcorn and Dibs, and sent me on my way with a cheerful, "Enjoy your shi-zow!"
Yes, I laughed.
Yes, I laughed.
Friday, April 8, 2011
ZAP
It happens every year-- the sixth grade gets swept up in a silly social game called ZAP. The rules, as far as I can tell, involve one person writing the name of someone of the opposite sex on another person's palm along with ZAP on the top of the hand. The person who has been zapped has to guess whose name is on their palm within a set time or they will have to ask that named person "out", and the same is true if they look at the name before they guess correctly.
So far at our school we have never banned the game outright. The adults in the building, if they are aware of it at all, look the other way unless it becomes disruptive, and it always fades away after a few weeks, anyway. Besides the distraction that ZAP creates, however, I have a few other objections. First, what does that even mean to ask someone out in sixth grade? Second, everyone knows that the asking isn't sincere, so what's the point? Third, what if the other person says yes? And finally, there have been too many times I've seen somebody show the name on their palm to somebody else only for the response to be, "Ewwwwwww!" and a giggle. That's just mean, and I never hesitate to say so.
The popularity of ZAP is not really so surprising, though. When you think about why the kids would like such a dumb activity, it becomes clear that it allows these young adolescents to experiment with social roles and risks within the structure of a game. It's a safe way for them to practice for the emotionally perilous times ahead.
(Read a student's view on ZAP here.)
So far at our school we have never banned the game outright. The adults in the building, if they are aware of it at all, look the other way unless it becomes disruptive, and it always fades away after a few weeks, anyway. Besides the distraction that ZAP creates, however, I have a few other objections. First, what does that even mean to ask someone out in sixth grade? Second, everyone knows that the asking isn't sincere, so what's the point? Third, what if the other person says yes? And finally, there have been too many times I've seen somebody show the name on their palm to somebody else only for the response to be, "Ewwwwwww!" and a giggle. That's just mean, and I never hesitate to say so.
The popularity of ZAP is not really so surprising, though. When you think about why the kids would like such a dumb activity, it becomes clear that it allows these young adolescents to experiment with social roles and risks within the structure of a game. It's a safe way for them to practice for the emotionally perilous times ahead.
(Read a student's view on ZAP here.)
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Save the Bacon
From bacon-eating vegetarians to bacon of the month clubs to bacon chocolate bars, it seems like bacon is enjoying some extra popularity these days. Half savory addiction and half culinary punchline, bacon is sizzling in the skillet of our national consciousness. So much so that when it came time for my homeroom to pick a theme for the basket we would assemble to be raffled off for a fund raiser later this month, there was a vocal faction in favor of the bacon basket.
I confess that I laughed along with them at the silliness of such a suggestion when we were brainstorming, but when the concept became a serious contender, I spoke against it. Of the twenty-two kids contributing to the basket, three are Muslim, one is Jewish, and one is Hindu, and I could see that the bacon idea was not so amusing to them, much less anything that they wanted to be a part of. Without singling anybody out, I reminded the group that in some cultures and religions bacon is taboo, and it would be exclusionary to adopt it as our theme.
Oh but The bacon lovers were as brash and salty as, well, bacon, and they tried hard to overwhelm the flavor of our discussion."But bacon is sooooo goood!" one insisted. "Shouldn't it be majority rules?" But I told them no, and exercising my role as authority, I flatly took bacon off the table.
Still, even after another theme was chosen, a couple of kids persisted until one of the Muslim students said under his breath, "Why do you have to be so mean?" on his way out the door.
The girl he spoke to came to me later to complain. "Why did he say that?" she wondered, her feelings hurt.
"Because you were expressing blatant disregard for his religion?" I replied.
"What! Omar's Muslim?" she asked incredulously. "Ohhhhhh. Now I get it!"
I confess that I laughed along with them at the silliness of such a suggestion when we were brainstorming, but when the concept became a serious contender, I spoke against it. Of the twenty-two kids contributing to the basket, three are Muslim, one is Jewish, and one is Hindu, and I could see that the bacon idea was not so amusing to them, much less anything that they wanted to be a part of. Without singling anybody out, I reminded the group that in some cultures and religions bacon is taboo, and it would be exclusionary to adopt it as our theme.
Oh but The bacon lovers were as brash and salty as, well, bacon, and they tried hard to overwhelm the flavor of our discussion."But bacon is sooooo goood!" one insisted. "Shouldn't it be majority rules?" But I told them no, and exercising my role as authority, I flatly took bacon off the table.
Still, even after another theme was chosen, a couple of kids persisted until one of the Muslim students said under his breath, "Why do you have to be so mean?" on his way out the door.
The girl he spoke to came to me later to complain. "Why did he say that?" she wondered, her feelings hurt.
"Because you were expressing blatant disregard for his religion?" I replied.
"What! Omar's Muslim?" she asked incredulously. "Ohhhhhh. Now I get it!"
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Keeping It Going
I hadn't realized how spoiled I was last month until I noticed how glum I've been recently since my friends haven't been posting to their blogs as regularly now that the Slice of Life Story Challenge is over. It was a great way to check in and see what was on their minds, plus there was some awesome writing, and now I miss it. So I was really glad when Mary at Scattered Thoughts posted last night, and I'm hoping Leah and Ellen will blog again soon.
My students expressed so much disappointment when the challenge was over that I set up a space for them to continue slicing, and I renewed my commitment to reply to everyone who posts. It's a lot of work, but in the end I asked myself what kind of English teacher I would be if I denied them the chance to write when they wanted to.
You can still read a daily sample of their work here.
My students expressed so much disappointment when the challenge was over that I set up a space for them to continue slicing, and I renewed my commitment to reply to everyone who posts. It's a lot of work, but in the end I asked myself what kind of English teacher I would be if I denied them the chance to write when they wanted to.
You can still read a daily sample of their work here.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
It's Time to Pay Attention
It wasn't too long ago that I couldn't keep the difference between Medicaid and Medicare straight in my head. I knew they were medical care programs provided by the government, but which was for seniors and which was for people who couldn't afford insurance was irrelevant to me. I'd like to think that the debate on health care reform over the last couple of years clued me in a little. Well that, and maybe the fact that my mom qualifies for one of those programs raised my awareness somewhat, but it wasn't until today, when I heard of Representative Paul Ryan's proposed changes to those particular programs (slated to take full effect in 2021), that the difference was crystal clear.
In ten years, I will be nearing the age when I will probably rely on Medicare. All of a sudden, that hypothetical blah blah blah didn't seem quite so unfathomable and irrelevant as it once did... now they are talking about me and my benefits. I can only hope that most other people my age aren't too preoccupied with the busy lives they are leading right now to come to the same awareness.
In ten years, I will be nearing the age when I will probably rely on Medicare. All of a sudden, that hypothetical blah blah blah didn't seem quite so unfathomable and irrelevant as it once did... now they are talking about me and my benefits. I can only hope that most other people my age aren't too preoccupied with the busy lives they are leading right now to come to the same awareness.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Gone to Carolina
Spring break is late this year, as late as it can possibly be since it is based on the Easter holiday. Treat and I looked it up a couple of weeks ago, and it seems that Easter is traditionally scheduled on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox. Okay... Well, that super moon just happened to be the day before the equinox, thus pushing Easter back to late April.
Let's not go into the pros and cons of the current academic calendar except to say that we have gone a long time without a break, and there is some weariness among the school folk, both child and adult alike, with whom I spend my days. It won't be too long now, though...
When April 15 rolls around, we are going to the beach right outside Charleston, South Carolina with my family, and then the lateness of the break will work to our advantage all the way. Average temps in the upper 70's, cool ocean breezes, family fun, and fried shrimp will recharge us for the final push toward June 23.
Let the countdown begin!
Let's not go into the pros and cons of the current academic calendar except to say that we have gone a long time without a break, and there is some weariness among the school folk, both child and adult alike, with whom I spend my days. It won't be too long now, though...
When April 15 rolls around, we are going to the beach right outside Charleston, South Carolina with my family, and then the lateness of the break will work to our advantage all the way. Average temps in the upper 70's, cool ocean breezes, family fun, and fried shrimp will recharge us for the final push toward June 23.
Let the countdown begin!
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Unintended Consequences
So the month of March was an emotional one for a few of my students. I know because they used the discussion board on our online course not just to do their slice-of-life writing, but also to flirt and nearly "go out", whatever that means in sixth grade these days.
A boy and a girl from very different social groups started playfully posting back and forth to each other in several forums on the discussion board, but anyone who bothered (or was professionally obligated) to read their conversations would be clueless not to see what was going on. Oh, I spoke to them, both personally and in writing as they continued their cyber-courtship, but they both assured me that they didn't care if everyone knew what was on their mind.
Like many things in a pre-teen's life, this relationship burned brightly and then flamed out. She wanted him to speak to her in person at school, and he never did. Then she slighted him in science class, and his temper was revealed; there were some angry posts. Even though it turned out to be a misunderstanding, she was clearly miffed at his e-tantrum. And here the plot thickens:
Sensing his chance, another guy started posting friendly and supportive messages to her. The first boy responded immediately, dismissing his rival with playful insults. Eventually, they decided on a duel of wits-- a joke off. Several posts later, she finally intervened. "You're both so stupid-- you wrote all these things and thought you could agree on the winner!"
Smart girl.
A boy and a girl from very different social groups started playfully posting back and forth to each other in several forums on the discussion board, but anyone who bothered (or was professionally obligated) to read their conversations would be clueless not to see what was going on. Oh, I spoke to them, both personally and in writing as they continued their cyber-courtship, but they both assured me that they didn't care if everyone knew what was on their mind.
Like many things in a pre-teen's life, this relationship burned brightly and then flamed out. She wanted him to speak to her in person at school, and he never did. Then she slighted him in science class, and his temper was revealed; there were some angry posts. Even though it turned out to be a misunderstanding, she was clearly miffed at his e-tantrum. And here the plot thickens:
Sensing his chance, another guy started posting friendly and supportive messages to her. The first boy responded immediately, dismissing his rival with playful insults. Eventually, they decided on a duel of wits-- a joke off. Several posts later, she finally intervened. "You're both so stupid-- you wrote all these things and thought you could agree on the winner!"
Smart girl.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Wolf?
"You did the right thing to call us, ma'am," was the last thing the paramedic said as he and two of his colleagues, three firefighters, and a police officer left our house tonight. For the first time in my life, I had actually dialed the digits that summon such help. Heidi was hypoglycemic and alternating between combative and unresponsive. She had fallen twice, and I had already made good on my threat of using "the big shot". There hadn't been any improvement, though, and frankly, I was scared.
A tear slid down my nose as I pressed those three buttons and heard that iconic answer: 911-- what's your emergency?
My voice trembled as I explained the situation, and we were still on the phone when I heard the sirens wailing. With a start, I realized they were on the way to our door.
Fortunately by the time they got here, Heidi was a little better, and within five minutes, I was able to call from the landing outside the bedroom that what they were seeing was just her regular oppositional personality, not necessarily the low blood sugar. They left without treating her, and as the seven of them tromped down the stairs, I'm sure that my cheeks burned with a little embarrassment. It was a struggle not to second-guess my decision to make the call. I thanked them all for their help, and on his way out the door one of the paramedics stopped.
"You did the right thing to call us, ma'am," he said.
A tear slid down my nose as I pressed those three buttons and heard that iconic answer: 911-- what's your emergency?
My voice trembled as I explained the situation, and we were still on the phone when I heard the sirens wailing. With a start, I realized they were on the way to our door.
Fortunately by the time they got here, Heidi was a little better, and within five minutes, I was able to call from the landing outside the bedroom that what they were seeing was just her regular oppositional personality, not necessarily the low blood sugar. They left without treating her, and as the seven of them tromped down the stairs, I'm sure that my cheeks burned with a little embarrassment. It was a struggle not to second-guess my decision to make the call. I thanked them all for their help, and on his way out the door one of the paramedics stopped.
"You did the right thing to call us, ma'am," he said.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Mixed Message
Last weekend we went to see the documentary I Am, made by Tom Shadyac, the director of such silly movies as Ace Ventura, The Nutty Professor, and Bruce Almighty. After a life-changing injury, he decided to interview an array of spiritual and intellectual leaders and pose the question of what is wrong with our world today.
I knew from the trailer that the movie had an uplifting message about the fundamental interdependence of us all, and I was looking forward to seeing it. Arriving at the theater a little early, because we had been lucky to find on-street parking downtown, we had our choice of seats, so we picked a couple in the center. I relaxed and waited for the film to start, and over the next few minutes several more people came, but the place was by no means full when the lights went down. Just at that moment, a really big guy entered the theater and, despite all the other open seats, came and sat right next to me.
All of a sudden, my whole experience was a lot less comfortable; I was physically crowded and kind of irritated. There was another seat on the other side of Heidi, and she suggested I just scoot over. I squirmed as I considered the idea, wondering what the guy would think if I moved-- it would obviously be because he sat there. I thought, too, about the premise of the movie we were about to see-- that we were all connected on some level, and I tried to reconcile my strong desire for personal space with that idea.
In the end? I moved. The movie was good: thought-provoking and uplifting, but I left the theater a little bummed, weighed down by my inability to overcome my discomfort at sitting a bit too close to another human being.
I knew from the trailer that the movie had an uplifting message about the fundamental interdependence of us all, and I was looking forward to seeing it. Arriving at the theater a little early, because we had been lucky to find on-street parking downtown, we had our choice of seats, so we picked a couple in the center. I relaxed and waited for the film to start, and over the next few minutes several more people came, but the place was by no means full when the lights went down. Just at that moment, a really big guy entered the theater and, despite all the other open seats, came and sat right next to me.
All of a sudden, my whole experience was a lot less comfortable; I was physically crowded and kind of irritated. There was another seat on the other side of Heidi, and she suggested I just scoot over. I squirmed as I considered the idea, wondering what the guy would think if I moved-- it would obviously be because he sat there. I thought, too, about the premise of the movie we were about to see-- that we were all connected on some level, and I tried to reconcile my strong desire for personal space with that idea.
In the end? I moved. The movie was good: thought-provoking and uplifting, but I left the theater a little bummed, weighed down by my inability to overcome my discomfort at sitting a bit too close to another human being.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Borrowed Words
As the 2011 SOLSC draws to an end, I'm going to share what one of my students wrote today:
Well it's March 31 which means this is the last Slice of Life Post. This was a really fun thing to do. I wish we could do this again. I really enjoyed it and I am going to miss it because now I won't know how [much] fun everybody had during their day. I always loved coming on here and telling everyone about my day, it can get all the problems I am having now and make them go away. This was the only place where I could let all my problems GO! I hope everyone also liked this activity. This is one thing I will never forget about my 6th grade year.
Thanks to Two Writing Teachers for sponsoring such an inspiring activity.
Well it's March 31 which means this is the last Slice of Life Post. This was a really fun thing to do. I wish we could do this again. I really enjoyed it and I am going to miss it because now I won't know how [much] fun everybody had during their day. I always loved coming on here and telling everyone about my day, it can get all the problems I am having now and make them go away. This was the only place where I could let all my problems GO! I hope everyone also liked this activity. This is one thing I will never forget about my 6th grade year.
Thanks to Two Writing Teachers for sponsoring such an inspiring activity.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Spoiler Alert
The other day my students were talking about their independent reading books in small groups. It's a weekly assignment, but right now, it seems like there are a lot of kids reading The Hunger Games and its sequels, and all of them are in different places, which makes it a little challenging for them to have these discussions without spoiling the plot for someone else. In one of my classes I looked up to find a student pacing back and forth next to his table with his fingers in his ears. At first, I was alarmed, but when I went over there, the group explained that he just didn't want to hear anything about what was coming next in the book.
Later in the day, someone asked me about the narrative voice of the series. "It's written in first person," I said. "The main character, Katniss Everdeen, is telling the story in all three books."
"Thanks a lot!" a little girl snapped, "Now I know she doesn't die!"
I laughed and to throw her off I said, "Oh no-- she tells the third one from beyond the grave." And then I made spooky ghost noises.
"Thanks a lot," she said again. "Now you've really ruined it!"
Since it was clear I couldn't win, and I kind of wanted to mess with her and keep her guessing, too, I continued. "But that's not all! She's a zombie in the second one!"
"Oh she is not!" the student insisted. "I saw the last line of the book. She takes Peeta's hand."
"Yeah, his cold, dead, severed hand!" I said triumphantly.
"Oh, now I don't even know what to think! I'm just going to finish the book," she scoffed.
"You do that," I told her. "You do that."
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the SOLSC challenge.)
Later in the day, someone asked me about the narrative voice of the series. "It's written in first person," I said. "The main character, Katniss Everdeen, is telling the story in all three books."
"Thanks a lot!" a little girl snapped, "Now I know she doesn't die!"
I laughed and to throw her off I said, "Oh no-- she tells the third one from beyond the grave." And then I made spooky ghost noises.
"Thanks a lot," she said again. "Now you've really ruined it!"
Since it was clear I couldn't win, and I kind of wanted to mess with her and keep her guessing, too, I continued. "But that's not all! She's a zombie in the second one!"
"Oh she is not!" the student insisted. "I saw the last line of the book. She takes Peeta's hand."
"Yeah, his cold, dead, severed hand!" I said triumphantly.
"Oh, now I don't even know what to think! I'm just going to finish the book," she scoffed.
"You do that," I told her. "You do that."
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the SOLSC challenge.)
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Program Evaluation
My teaching was observed for the second time in as many weeks today. Our district is conducting a program evaluation and the results are submitted and compiled without identifying the teacher, so I will never receive any formal feedback on my lesson, my instruction, or my interaction with my students today.
The observations are carried out by independent contractors who are trained to use a rubric, and when they are through, consultants will use their data to construct a report on the overall quality of teaching in our school system. As it happens, many of the assessors are retired teachers and administrators, and I know the person who observed me today rather well. She used to be a language arts specialist at one of the other middle schools in the county.
My philosophy on any kind of evaluation is to do what I would do otherwise, thus giving an accurate picture of my practice and then to accept any feedback as constructive, and that is what I did today, even though there would be no feedback. My students continued working on final drafts of their fiction as well as composing and commenting on slice of life stories. I edited, conferred, and advised as they worked.
As she was leaving the room my observer paused. "It's great to see the students writing," she told me. "I can't say I've seen too much of that lately."
I was shocked. "Really?"
"Well," she shrugged, "I'm only there for one class, but..." she trailed off. "Thanks for doing what you're doing," she finished.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the SOLSC challenge.)
The observations are carried out by independent contractors who are trained to use a rubric, and when they are through, consultants will use their data to construct a report on the overall quality of teaching in our school system. As it happens, many of the assessors are retired teachers and administrators, and I know the person who observed me today rather well. She used to be a language arts specialist at one of the other middle schools in the county.
My philosophy on any kind of evaluation is to do what I would do otherwise, thus giving an accurate picture of my practice and then to accept any feedback as constructive, and that is what I did today, even though there would be no feedback. My students continued working on final drafts of their fiction as well as composing and commenting on slice of life stories. I edited, conferred, and advised as they worked.
As she was leaving the room my observer paused. "It's great to see the students writing," she told me. "I can't say I've seen too much of that lately."
I was shocked. "Really?"
"Well," she shrugged, "I'm only there for one class, but..." she trailed off. "Thanks for doing what you're doing," she finished.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the SOLSC challenge.)
Monday, March 28, 2011
New Toy
I'm composing this on my brand new iPad. The other day I mentioned to my students that I had this gadget on order, and I was surprised by their enthusiasm. "Will you bring it to school?" somebody wondered.
"Can I touch it?" another girl asked.
My answers were yes and yes. The oldest of three, I'm a really good sharer; plus, what fun is a new toy if you keep it all to yourself? The students seemed beside themselves in delight, and one even posted about our conversation on her slice that evening--
Just in case we really needed reminding that technology is supremely engaging to kids.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the SOLSC challenge.)
"Can I touch it?" another girl asked.
My answers were yes and yes. The oldest of three, I'm a really good sharer; plus, what fun is a new toy if you keep it all to yourself? The students seemed beside themselves in delight, and one even posted about our conversation on her slice that evening--
Just in case we really needed reminding that technology is supremely engaging to kids.
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the SOLSC challenge.)
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Preparing for the Future
Today, I finally found the time to deal with all the greens from my vegetable share. The CSA farmer who provides our locally grown produce plants a wide variety of greens every winter. Just this week alone we had English cress, new star mustard, tender leaf mustard, and Chinese thick-stemmed mustard. Left from last week, I had napini, two kinds of kale, and a bunch of spicy arugula.
Sometimes, I cook to showcase the individuality of a particular green, but today I did what I always do when I'm inundated: I got out the ten quart stock pot, boiled some lightly-salted water, and dumped them all in. Four minutes later the leaves floated to the top like tiny emerald dishrags. The window by the sink clouded with steam as I drained them and then shocked them in ice water. Once they were cool, I lifted them from their icy bath and back into the colander, leaving behind the last of the gritty sand that had given them life.
The most labor intensive step came next. Working in batches small enough to fit my hands, I squeezed the water from them and tossed around 10 compact green balls to my cutting board. After that it was a rough chop chop with the chef's knife and into a zipper bag-- one pound and fifteen ounces of green goodness bound for the freezer and some future meal.
As I worked, I was reminded of a wonderful poem by Todd Boss: (Be sure to check out his very cool project, Motion Poems.)
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the SOLSC challenge.)
Sometimes, I cook to showcase the individuality of a particular green, but today I did what I always do when I'm inundated: I got out the ten quart stock pot, boiled some lightly-salted water, and dumped them all in. Four minutes later the leaves floated to the top like tiny emerald dishrags. The window by the sink clouded with steam as I drained them and then shocked them in ice water. Once they were cool, I lifted them from their icy bath and back into the colander, leaving behind the last of the gritty sand that had given them life.
The most labor intensive step came next. Working in batches small enough to fit my hands, I squeezed the water from them and tossed around 10 compact green balls to my cutting board. After that it was a rough chop chop with the chef's knife and into a zipper bag-- one pound and fifteen ounces of green goodness bound for the freezer and some future meal.
As I worked, I was reminded of a wonderful poem by Todd Boss: (Be sure to check out his very cool project, Motion Poems.)
Were I to Wring a Rag
--no matter how much
muscle I might have
muscle I might have
mustered—my mother
was like to come along
behind, reach around
me to take it up again
from where I’d left it,
lift it back into my line
of vision and in one
practiced motion from
that strangle in her bare
hands and thin air work
a second miraculous
stream of silver dishwash
into the day’s last gleam . . .
~Todd Boss
~Todd Boss
(Click here for today's sample of my 6th grade students' response to the SOLSC challenge.)
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