A Twitter

I had myself all in a state today returning to work after spring break. The students had the day off; it was a teacher work day to allow us to finish our third quarter grading and then turn our attention to the fourth. For me, though, it was grumpy day. All the rest and relaxation of the prior week did not leave me recharged.

In an attempt at distraction, I took a look at my Twitter feed. Oh the news was terrible about education reform, testing, teacher morale, etc. In addition? I realized I probably missed my shot at trying a couple of food trucks I was interested in, at least until summer vacation. I held my head in minor despair for a moment, until I looked at the next tweet. It was from His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

Later when I was telling my friend, Mary, about it, she said, "Did he tell you to calm the hell down?"

"Kind of," I answered.

As you develop a more compassionate attitude, you feel less anxiety, while your determination and self-confidence increase.

Namaste.

Run Joey Run

We always try to see all the movies nominated for the best picture Oscar, but this past year was an exception. Heidi refused to see War Horse, no matter how much I cajoled.

"It's by Steven Spielberg..." I started.

"So is Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom," she countered, and she had me there. I hate that movie.

"I'm sure the horse doesn't die," I told her. "That would never happen."

"I'm sure some horses do die," she answered, and I knew she was right. There was no way a movie with the word "war" in its title would let the other word in its title off the hook. Plus, I had seen Saving Private Ryan, and I knew no one was safe.

So we didn't go, and in the end, as far as awards and such, it wasn't that big a deal, but for a couple of reasons, I still wanted to see it. Number one was that it's based on a book meant for children the age of my students, and a colleague had recommended it to me.

This week we're on spring break, and of the pair of us, I am the earlier riser. In fact, I usually get up a couple of hours before Heidi. Around midweek, I decided to use some of my morning time to download and watch War Horse. Why not? I thought.

Why not, indeed! Just as Heidi predicted, the movie depicts the horrors of poverty and war and the powerlessness of women, children, animals, and of course men, in the face of such brutality. To me it was a picture of great loss with little redemption, and even a full-on Gone with the Wind style sunset ending could not rescue it. There was survival, yes, but I can't imagine how anyone marketed it as a family film.

In some ways? I'd rather see a mad Indian witch doctor pull a beating heart from some poor slave.

On Birdneck Road

Years ago my sister and I went out for dinner at a Mexican restaurant where we ate frequently. It was midweek, and the place was not very busy, but every time someone opened the door to enter or exit an orange flash went by our table followed by the black pants and white shirt of an employee chasing after it. A moment later, a waiter would march back the other way with a young orange cat clinging to his neck. The intruder was tossed outside, only to have the whole scene played over the very next time someone opened the door.

We laughed every time it happened and speculated about the cat's owners. Were they relaxing in their easy chairs unaware of the social life their pet was having? It was closing time when we left, and the persistent orange cat was still making his dash for the kitchen as we were on our way out. I can't remember which of us picked him up first, but he was a heck of a hugger. He sat up straight in your arms, put his paws on either side of your neck, no claws, and gave a little squeeze. When the restaurant employees said that he had been there for a few nights, it was impossible not to take him home.

Oh, we put signs up the next day, but no one ever claimed the adventurous orange kitten, and although we tried finding another home for him, eventually he became our pet, Noah. We wanted to keep him safe and inside, but he would have none of it; that guy was in and out the door the second it was open, and eventually we gave up.

Some might say that we should have known better, especially given the way we found him. It wasn't too long before we discovered that Noah did indeed have an active social life. I'm not sure if we were in our easy chairs or not, but he was going in and out of all sorts of people's houses and even hotel rooms, with mixed results: some called us, some called animal control, and some brought him Christmas presents and other treats.

He sure was a heck of a hugger.

Namesake

I saw a neighbor yesterday when we were both out with our dogs. I had some news about a mutual friend who was expecting; I knew that Laura was at the hospital and the baby would probably be born within the next few hours.

"Do they know what they're having?" my neighbor asked.

"I'm pretty sure they don't," I answered. "It will be a surprise for all of us."

Our dogs played in the bright spring sunshine as we chatted about this and that. She mentioned that her brother and his family were picking up their new puppy that afternoon. "He was born on February 12," she told me, "so I thought they should name him Lincoln."

"That would be a cool name," I nodded.

"Yeah, well my niece didn't like it, so they're naming him Rex," she continued.

"Well, that is a classic," I noted.

"Yep, right up there with Spot," she agreed.

We kept on talking about dog names until it got a little silly (think "missing Link", cleaning up "Lincoln logs" and even Spoticus), and when it was time for me to go I said, "Listen, don't give up on Lincoln-- it's a great name, maybe Laura will pick it for her baby," and we parted ways giggling a little.

Well, I'll be darned. Welcome to the world, Lincoln!

Documentation

Discipline in middle school can be tricky. By age 11, many kids are good at identifying "the line," and they have also mastered tip-toeing up to it without crossing over. Still, there are those incidents that, as minor as they seem on the surface, feel as if they should be referred to an administrator, for documentation if for nothing else. And then, there you are, sitting at your desk, staring at the form, and wondering how best to phrase your report of "the infraction." After all, you don't want anyone to misunderstand the incident, but you do want both the student and staff to be aware of what transpired, so that hopefully it won't happen again.

The fact is though, that kids do silly things, and sometimes it sounds silly when you write them down. As it happens, The Huffington Post has a collection of 27 examples of just why it is important to take care in this area.

Hmmm... Maybe computer-delivered education is the way to go.

Young and Strong

We saw a young dad out bike riding with his two little girls on our walk around Burke Lake today. The first time we passed them, they were taking a little break. Oldest daughter rested her five-year-old self on a convenient bench, unicorn bike helmet just slightly askew. The little one happily waited in the seat on the back of her dad's bike.

We were giving the dogs some water and checking the identity of a bird when they passed us a little while later. The oldest daughter literally fell off her bike when she saw us, but only because she was going so.very.slow.ly. "C'mon," her dad encouraged her, and although she was clearly flagging, they pushed on.

It wasn't too long after we got back on the trail that we passed them again, and this time something big was happening. The unicorn helmet was off and dad was tying the little bike to the back of his own. As usual, the toddler sat placidly while her older sister talked herself through this unfortunate turn of events. "How can this be a loop?" she wondered. "It's too far!" She sat down and held her head as her father worked on.

"I am looking forward to seeing you guys ride past us!" I exclaimed as we walked by. "That is going to be good!"

The young father nodded confidently. "See you then!" he said cheerfully.

It was a good while later as we strode across the dam that had been built to create this man-made lake, swallows swooping all around us in the fresh breeze that seemed to blow just outside the wooded path, that I worried out loud. "I wonder what happened to those guys?"

"Maybe they went the other way?" Heidi suggested, and for a few minutes, I guessed she must have been right until we turned at a sound behind us. It was an amazing site to behold. The little bike was tied to the seat; the unicorn helmet was lashed securely to it; the littlest girl was in that seat, and her sister was perched on the handle bars with the wind in her hair and a huge smile on her face.

"Yay!" I cheered. "I was just worrying about you guys!"

"Thanks!" said Dad. "She is loving this ride!" He shrugged as he pedaled by. "Her mother is not going to be too happy though." And then they were gone.

Please Sign In

Can anyone out there guess who our mystery guest blogger is? (no blindfolds necessary)

There's nothing like a great walk with two dogs happily trotting along with you. Especially when everyone comments about how cute they are and how well they heel and ignore other dogs and squirrels. Me and my favorite dogs are having a super spring break so far. Lots of 4 mile hikes, a few runs and walks in between, maybe even some swimming tomorrow.

The best is when I wake up in the morning and two dogs are staring at me, just waiting for me to tell them what is in store for them today. They have already had their breakfast and are ready for some morning cuddling as we discuss what to do. There's a lot of groaning, yawning and sleepy Snuffleupagus noises as we get ourselves ramped up for the day. What could be better than that?!?

Tonight we're going to play "spa time" and everyone will get their ears cleaned, their coats and tails  brushed out, and something really good smelling sprayed on. To be followed with many treats and tricks of course. We might even play "dress up" and put different hats and scarves on. I can't wait!!!

Daughter of Adam

Today as we walked along the trail running the ridge of some unnamed stream that flows to the Occoquan, my eye was drawn to each small island of green poking up through the brown leaf-litter. Holly, wild ginger, rattle snake plantain, bluet, those I recognized. I listened for the birds calling in the trees, too: robin, pileated woodpecker, common flicker, chickadee, cardinal, tufted titmouse; I heard them.

There's something about being outside that makes me want to name what I see, but that has not always been the case. It wasn't until I was 18 or so and spending time with my aunt, who in her kitchen had a picture window and a bird feeder outside it, that I even thought about all the different birds there were. On the table by that window, my aunt kept an Audubon guide and a pair of binoculars, and by the end of the week, I was kind of hooked.

I still had no interest in plants, though. When naturalist friends would point them out to me, I usually dismissed the identification with a joke. Interrupted fern? They should have called it, "fernus interruptus." Bwa ha ha, right?

I'm not sure when that changed. Maybe when I started hiking with people who knew less than I had learned by poking fun at my botanist friends. All of a sudden? I was the expert, and I realized that I liked knowing what was what, even if I had to find out for myself.

Spring Ephemeral

"Why do we go to a nature center to learn about energy?" the ranger asked the congregation of sixth grade students. And the answer was that energy is everywhere, and nature both uses it and conserves it well. Case in point? Our guide showed us an example of the Virginia Bluebell. This plant is visible for no more than 4-6 weeks in the early spring. It grows and blooms in the sunshine that is only available because the trees have not yet leafed out, then dies back to its roots to wait for the earth to complete another trip around the sun. It is a spring ephemeral.

Years ago I drove from Houston to Austin at this time of year. Courtesy of the Texas Highway Department and Lady Bird Johnson, the hills were literally covered in Blue Bonnets, the showy lupine native to that part of the country. Fiery orange blooms of Indian Paintbrush were scattered across the blanket of blue blossoms, and it was hard to breathe, much less drive, in the presence of such an exhibition. I have never forgotten it.

Today I witnessed the local equivalent of that grand display. As we walked the trail along Bull Run,Virginia Bluebells carpeted the forest floor, rolling blue and spring green as far as I could see, their dainty lavender bells bowed away from the very sun they sought.  I have to admit that I appreciated the beauty of their presence much more knowing as I did that theirs was a limited engagement.

But then, whose isn't?

Two-fer

We like to hike and we like to eat. So naturally, over the years, we have visited many of the parks with nature trails in our area, as we have likewise visited most of the specialty food shops and grocery chains. Of the parks, we have a few favorites, but our choice often depends on the day of the week and the time of day (traffic), plus the season of the year and the weather (bugs).

When it comes to groceries, however, our favorite is always Wegmans. Unfortunately for us, the closest location is over 15 miles away, and with the traffic in this area consistently rated in the worst 5 in the country, we don't get there as often as we'd like, maybe every couple of months.

Today, with spring break spread out against the sky like a patient etherized upon a table, I did a bit of research to find some new trails, perhaps even a little farther from home than usual. Luck was on my side, and I found a nice regional park that combined nature, recreation, and history, but that's not all. The place was five minutes from a Wegmans!

Nice.

The Breaks

Today, the last day before spring break, we walked the entire sixth grade a mile up the road for a morning of ice skating and then lunch at the food court of our local mall. This annual trip is always a big crowd pleaser: it has just the right mix of independence and containment to work for adults and tweens alike. However, the skating is also somewhat perilous-- every year for the last six, there has been at least one significant injury, and today was no exception; unfortunately, a student fractured her ankle.

I believe that sleeping during the day is a waste of good sunlight and will only interfere with sleeping at night, and so for as long as I can remember, I have had a strict no napping policy for myself. I can count the times I've broken my rule on one hand, and usually there was a high fever involved. Today when I got home, though, I kicked off my own spring break with an hour snoozing on the couch.

I may just have to revise that old rule.

Efficiency

People frequently ask me if I get bored teaching the same lesson five times each day. My stock answer is that I try to make it student-centered enough so that even though we do basically the same activities to achieve the same objectives, the difference in individual students makes it different enough to be interesting.

On days when we have field trips, or other activities which I have not planned, and where my role is chaperone instead of instructor, I'm afraid the same can not be said. This week, I heard the same lecture on energy three times, and I confess that by the final rendition my interest was flagging and my patience was thin.

That was until we entered the raptor house. The students were all very engaged by the three birds they had there, and I knew why. They were fascinating to watch, and I could almost tune out the repetitious drone of the very knowledgeable docent as he explained (for me for the third time) how energy efficient they were. Almost... until I had to ask a student to come stand by me rather than pestering the kids around him. "I know why bird poop is white," he told me when he reached my side.

I nodded and tried to model what I wanted him to do by turning my attention toward the ranger.

"It's because..." the student began, but just then the park guy added something new to his presentation.

"Did you know that..."

"...birds pee and poop at the same time!" they finished together.

"My! That is efficient!" I admitted, but quite honestly, the birds were unimpressed.

Parents Say the Darnedest Things

At the beginning of the year we had one parent who swore to us that her daughter was a "pathological liar." Oh, it seemed like she was speaking at least half in jest, and so we teachers laughed it off as yet another early adolescent giving her folks a run for their money.

Even so, as the year has gone on, this particular mom has been very vigilant on checking behind her daughter and following through on missing assignments and even the slightest report of misbehavior. Some might be tempted to dismiss her efforts as over-involved, but I have found her to be a very supportive partner to work with in terms of meeting her daughter's educational needs. And sure, I've seen the kid stretch the truth a bit and try to shirk responsibility for her mistakes, but nothing outside typical sixth grade behavior.

Today, I saw the mom as I was leaving for the day. "Have a great spring break," she called to me from across the parking lot.

"You, too!" I replied with extra cheer, for vacation is only two short days away. "I hear you're going to Hawaii!" I added. "Have a great trip!"

"She is such a liar!" she said with exasperation. "We're going to South Carolina."

I laughed out loud. "Awww! She totally got me!" I told her mom, who nodded sympathetically. "But don't worry," I added, "it won't happen again. I think I finally get it."

Outside Job

"I'd bump that guy off if I thought I could get his job."

So said I on a field trip to our local nature center, as the students dined on the flagstone patio of the main building in the warm sunshine of this cloudless day, spotting deer and all sorts of other wild life, after our tour of the park where the director not only gets to live on the property with access to all the historical nature trails, but his house, which is right next door to a huge vegetable garden and the resident falcon and owl enclosure, is also outfitted with a solar water heater and attic fan.

To her credit, my colleague looked shocked, but I knew she was wondering if there was any way...

Weird Weather

"Ooooh! It looks like snow!" So exclaimed our 10-year-old neighbor today as she spun around, arms out, surrounded by cherry petals swirling in the wind.

Besides the unusual Halloween dusting we got, that is pretty much all the snow we'll see this season, although there is a hard frost predicted for tonight.

Watch This!

We have been watching the new-ish TV show Awake lately. Starring Jason Isaacs (most famous to us as Lucius Malfoy, but very debonair despite that villainous past), the premise is that he is a man caught between two realities. After being involved in a tragic car accident, each time Michael Britten awakes he is in one life where his son survived or another where his wife did. In both lives he is dealing with tremendous loss, as is the other surviving member of his family. Some details cross over; some do not. He is also in therapy in each reality, and the two counselors offer very different insights on how he should cope with his dilemma.

The show is thought-provoking, and so far the writing and plotting have been more than enough to capture both our curiosity and our imaginations. Isaacs does a good job portraying not only the intense emotions of such an impossible situation, but also the logistics of a man juggling two lives.

Seriously? If you've ever looked at one of your Words With Friends game boards and letters and wondered where the heck they came from, then this might be the show for you.

Target Audience

It often happens that I hear a movie or other such media project dismissed as being aimed a little too directly at adolescents. It seems that if something is too accessible to kids, then it must be flawed in some way.

Hm. Maybe the amount of time I spend with people under the age of 13 has distorted my perspective. Or, maybe? Those critics need a little more tween time.

Either way, I thought The Hunger Games movie was super!

The View From Twelve

Here in my corner of the world, it's been a week dominated by ZAP (read my post from last year for a primer on that particular topic), mice in our team area, and The Hunger Games movie. Having my sixth grade students participate in their own Slice of Life Story Challenge adds perspective to it all. Here are a few excerpts of their thoughts:

ZAP

I had no idea what that stupid game Zap was, until today. Basically its purpose is too humiliate boys like me.

OK so yesterday the counselor came in and talked about zapping. And personally, I don't see the problem. It's just a game, and they take it so seriously. I mean everyone says no anyway. They just had to overreact for everything!

It's just a joke, and nobody forced you to do it, so I kind of just ignored the counselor. But then, at lunch, my friends and I were discussing it, and I learned that one of them was told by the person that she asked out that she was ugly and he'd never date her, and that really hurt her. So, I erased everything off my hands.

Our Little "Problem"

Today in homeroom we found out that there were mice in the room!!!!!!!! We all had are feet up and we always were scared. We scared K. like 4 times and she was screaming! It was soooo funny. We couldn't stop laughing! 

THG

I love the Hunger Games, I love it so much that I can't even describe my love in words. For people who haven't read this book or don't read very often this book has more adrenaline then hang-gliding.  Trust me, I know.

HAPPY HUNGER GAMES! AND MAY THE ODDS BE EVER IN YOUR FAVOR!  LOL HUNGER GAMES JOKE! I'M SUCH A GEEK!

I'm hungry for the Hunger Games. :)

I'm pretty excited about the movie, except for the obvious concerns. I mean, what if they butcher up the movie so bad, that it doesn't resemble anything close to the original story? I mean Hunger Games is so good, that I kind of doubt Hollywood can produce any thing that is as good as the book.

Friends AND Family

My sister-in-law teaches art at the same school where I work. We have the same last name, so there is inevitably some confusion from time to time. Aside from getting the wrong mail in our boxes, and the odd phone call mis-transferred from time to time, the students are always curious about our relationship, and they don't hesitate to ask questions.

Today was a typical example.

Kid: Is she your sister?
Me: No, she's my sister-in-law.
Kid: What does that even mean?
Me: She's married to my brother.
Kid: So she's in your family?
Me: Yes.
Kid: Are you friends?
Me: We sure are.

We sure are.

Deal Breakers

I know people who refuse to eat tomatoes out of season. When it comes to the hard, greenish-orange variety that used to be a staple of the winter produce department, I'm totally with them, but these days you can get decent tomatoes all year long. One of my favorite things to do in the winter is to roast grape tomatoes to intensify their flavor and then toss them in salad or sauce. Of course, vine-ripened is the gold standard, but I don't see any reason for deprivation the nine months those aren't available.

In general, I try to have a pragmatic attitude toward food and cooking. Despite considering myself kind of a foodie, I try not to be unreasonable when it comes to what I will or won't eat, mostly because like most people, I am constrained by time and money.

I tell you all this to shed a little perspective on my latest culinary line in the sand. Ever since I made my own tortillas a couple of months ago, I have rejected the store-bought variety. Yes. The difference in quality is THAT enormous. Tender, flavorful, flaky, they put the ones that come in a plastic bag to shame.

So take this as a cautionary tale, friends. DO NOT spend the extra time on mixing and rolling your own flour tortillas (even though it really doesn't take that long), because if you do, you may never turn back, either.

Recipe:

12 oz bread flour (or 9 oz bread flour and 3 oz whole wheat or spelt flour)
1/2 tsp salt
3 oz shortening
3/4 c warm water

Mix flour and salt together. Cut in shortening. Add water and stir until a soft dough forms. Divide into 8 equal balls, flatten, and let rest for 30 minutes. Heat a cast iron skillet on the stove, or a pizza stone in a 500 degree oven. Roll each disc as flat as possible (about 8 inches) and cook for 1 minute on each side.

Throwback

I had after-school study hall in my room today. The hour after school is definitely the most convenient time to offer this support to our students, but it is not necessarily the best time. After a full day of learning, one more hour of quiet can be challenging for some. In an effort to make it as productive as possible, we give everyone a snack, offer a frequent attendance bonus program, and allow as much movement and collaboration as possible without letting such activity to become a distraction.

Because we teachers take turns supervising "Homework Club" for all the kids on the team, there are always some kids I don't teach in the group. That is not usually a problem-- I like to say I've been in sixth grade long enough to be able to help almost anyone with any assignment. Even so, today I ran into something I wasn't prepared for.

One of the kids asked me for a couple of sheets of loose leaf paper. I handed it over without questioning him, but he was eager to tell me why he needed it. "I have to write I will not chew gum in class 200 times!" he reported.

I'm sure my surprise registered on my face, because even though I've been around for a while,  I thought using writing as punishment went out way before I came in.

Portmanteau

Over my years of teaching sixth grade English I've read and heard many a malapropism. Some can be blamed on the spellchecker-- once when I asked kids to write about whether it is our conscience which sets humans apart from the other animals on the planet, I got an essay that began with the memorable line, Continence, oh continence, where would we be without continence? Hmmm... Where indeed? I'm sure the makers of Depends would love to find out.

Many such mistakes are funny, but some are downright inspired. Take for example this recent bit of writing: Bees, the most horocious insect in the world!

Now, "horocious" should totally be a word. Not only does it combine horrible and ferocious, but it also  sounds a little like Hiroshima.

The sheer calamity of the term is positively palpable! Who's with me?

Guarding the Crosswalk

Seven or eight years ago we got a crossing guard at the intersection closest to our middle school. It happened after one of our students ran into a moving car while crossing the street. The accident occurred hours after school was out and nearly a block down the road, but the traumatic brain injury the student sustained made everyone want to do something to make things safer for kids.

From time to time I hear adults complaining about the guard on duty. They don't like it that not only does he stop traffic for kids who are ready to cross, but then he goes on to direct traffic, too. It's a 2 stop-sign intersection, and the line of cars can get pretty long at the stop signs in the middle of the morning rush. Personally, I don't mind, although if I'm running late, it's me he stops from taking the quick right while he waves the other cars on. I always like it when someone imposes order on potential chaos.

My sister aspired to the job of crossing guard. When she was 5 or 6, she told us how much she liked the uniform, especially the white cap and gloves, and we knew she could imagine herself and her cat, Dusty, in matching outfits, standing on that bold yellow circle in the middle of the road, whistles at the ready, hand and paw held straight out in the universal gesture for Halt.

When I was in sixth grade there was a crossing guard at the intersection near my bus stop. It was his job to cross the elementary kids safely across busy Cooper Street. His name was Ernie, and even though we middle school kids didn't need him to help us get to our bus stop, we all knew him because he had been there for years. That didn't stop a bunch of the older kids from verbally abusing him every day. He was short, older, and definitely not the smartest guy around, and these kids took delight in shouting insults across the street until our bus picked us up.

Of course Ernie blustered and threatened, but he really had no recourse, and more often than not his responses just made the kids worse. Their cruelty and disrespect really upset me, but I didn't know how to stand up to the prevailing culture. There was one thing I thought of to do, though. I wrote a letter to the editor of our local newspaper in defense of crossing guards.

That was my first publication. It made me very proud to see my name and words in print, but nothing at the bus stop changed. Even so, I had an inkling that writing, too, could help bring order to chaos.

Diction

I was reading an article today where the documentary film maker Errol Morris describes a private eye trick he learned along the way.

“It went like this,” Morris explained. “He’d knock on a door, sometimes of someone not even connected to the case they were investigating. He’d flip open his wallet, show his badge and say, ‘I guess we don’t have to tell you why we’re here.’
 
“And more often than not the guy starts bawling like an infant, ‘How did you find out?’” And then disgorges some shameful criminal secret no one would ever have known about otherwise.

I laughed a little and wondered if we are all really so wracked with guilt. Then my thoughts turned to my sixth grade students. On the occasions that I must ask them to step away from the class to discuss their inappropriate behavior I typically begin the conversation with "Why did I ask you to come talk to me?"

And the usual parry is, "I don't know."

To which I reply, "That's too bad. Why don't you stay here and give it some thought. I'll be back when I can."

Oh we get there, we do, but sometimes it takes a while, so as I read today, I found myself speculating about ways to improve my approach. Was it the element of surprise that got those guys to confess so quickly? Was it the burden of carrying such a guilty secret for so long? If so, I was out of luck.

Still, as an English teacher, I have faith in the power of sentence structure, word choice, and phrasing, and that is why I intend to begin my next conversation with an errant student like so:

I guess I don't have to tell you why I asked to speak with you...

I'll let you know how it goes.

Roots

As St. Patrick's Day, the day when everyone is Irish, approaches, my thoughts turn to my own ethnicity. My last name is English, and there are documented reports that the first immigrant to this continent with our surname came in the mid 1600's. That was my great-who-knows-how-many-other-greats grandfather, Daniel. Several generations later, the branch of the family from which I am descended went through an interesting trend. All of the men married women of full Irish descent, so that eventually our last name was the most English thing about us.

That's not an uncommon American story, is it though? We watch Who Do You Think You Are? every Friday night, and one of the draws of the program is seeing people find a connection to some other amazing person or culture, separated from us by time and space. As proud as most of us are to be American, everyone gets choked up on that show.

Once I told a friend that on my mother's mother's side, I'm 1/16 American Indian. Rather than be impressed, she laughed dismissively and noted that many poor white trash families use the same story to elevate their heritage.

I can't say that I'd ever thought of those ancestors as white trash before, although they did work hard at farming for a living. I was silent, but my expression must have conveyed my dismay. "Think about," she said, "how did that white guy get hooked up with an Indian in Mississippi? Much less marry her?" I stayed quiet, and I confess that I wondered if my story seemed so foolish to everyone who heard it.

Recently, a friend at work mentioned that she had gotten her husband Ancestry DNA testing for his birthday. For a hundred bucks and a couple of cheek swabs you can discover your genetic heritage.

Hmmm. That just might be worth it.

Gardener's Dilemma

It is time to move some of the seedlings from under the grow light to bigger pots for some outside time to harden them off before planting them in the garden. Even though they are getting too big for their little starting cells, they are still very fragile, and some of them won't make the transition.

As a relatively new gardener, I don't take this loss very well; I feel as if I've done something wrong and let my little sprouts down. (Which may be true.) Even worse though is when you have to thin the seedlings. Ordinarily, you plant two or three seeds per cell, and then once they've had a chance to establish themselves, you're supposed to cut the weaker plants so that the strongest can grow unhindered.

Although intellectually I understand the procedure, such culling goes against my nature. I want to nurture them all, regardless of size and space and resources, so that every one of them grows to be productive.

The Fine Points

I was out of school for some appointments yesterday and so I left a rather concrete assignment, because that just makes it easier on the sub and the kids. On Monday, we were analyzing the grammatical patterns (courtesy of Image Grammar by Harry R. Noden) of their independent reading book titles, so that the students could come up with some "tantalizing titles" of their own. As we worked, it became clear to me that a little parts of speech review might be in order, and so I left a noun packet with the substitute.

Today we went over the answers and after giving everyone an opportunity to ask questions, there was a little quiz to see how they could apply the information they had just reviewed. Such a concrete, right-or-wrong, lesson is quite rare in my class where we mostly focus on the admittedly hard work of writing real pieces, so I was curious to see how they did on the assessment.

The first thing I noted was that with 2 1/2 weeks to go in the quarter, this grade had no impact on their overall grades. A couple of kids moved up or down a point, but nobody moved a letter grade. The next thing I noticed was that some kids who usually struggle when it comes to sustained effort were happy to fill in some blanks, and they enjoyed a much higher level of success than usual.

 This is the difference between grading and assessment. What you do with that information is teaching.

Yeah, There's an App for That

My brother in law was in town this weekend and we enjoyed some rare alone time with him. Usually when we're all together there are plenty of distractions-- the kids, the cats, the family, the yard, the beach, the dinner, etc. and so it was nice to have a couple of hours of adult conversation with the guy.

Even so, the most memorable part of his visit might just turn out to be the iPad app he recommended. It's a game for your cats... yes, really. And not only do our cats like it, but so does the dog. It's super entertaining just watching them swat at the screen. Thank goodness for that super strong glass-- but we may have to start limiting their screen time.

Making Peace

It's no secret to those who know me how much I despise Daylight Savings Time, but this year I've accepted that it is just one more item on a very long (and unfortunately growing) list of things I don't like but can do nothing about. With apologies to Dylan Thomas, I'm through raging against the postponement of the light. Oh, DST and I will never be friends, but I've got to let my resentment go.

Generation Gap

One of my students addressed me directly in her SOL post today. I <3 young, wild & free! You should listen to it sometime Ms. S.

The problem is that I'm familiar with the song, and although I like its catchy anthemy-ness, I can't get on board with some of the lyrics. Call me old-fashioned, but So what we get drunk? So what we smoke weed? just doesn't seem appropriate for sixth graders.

As a result, I was at a loss for how to reply to my student. I wanted to be positive, but I didn't want to imply that I approve of the song. I decided to save her post for a little later and went on to read and reply to other students' writing.

As I worked, I had my own music on. Coincidentally, I was listening to a playlist of all the songs I own from the 1970s, which was when I was in sixth grade. What did I hear you ask? Oh just a few classics like, Tequila Sunrise, Elderberry Wine, and Cocaine, not to mention Let's Get it On, Baba O'Riley (Teenage Wasteland), and The Wall.

Point taken.

(Check out some of our students' SOLSC posts here)

On the Loose

I went shopping with a friend from work yesterday. We needed to pick up some snacks for a few upcoming club meetings and other school activities so we headed to the big warehouse store not far from our school. At 1:30 on a Friday afternoon, the place was packed. "Who are all these people?" I wondered aloud as we entered the parking lot.

"It's lunch time," my friend reminded me.

Such a detail is easy to overlook when you have eaten lunch at 10:35 for the last 20 years. My job usually keeps me in my classroom or at my desk, and so it can be disorienting when I leave our massive bunker-like building in the middle of the day, much like being in a different setting with someone you have known primarily at work.

I was trolling the parking lot for a space, any space, when to our right we saw someone leaning over to load his car. As I slowed to see how much more stuff he had and whether it was worth waiting for his spot, my friend shouted out, "Hey! I can see your back AND your crack!" and although her remark was accurate, I was appalled. She laughed uproariously as I zoomed away.

"Hmmm. Maybe not such a good idea." I said.

"I know, right? He totally shouldn't have worn that!" she laughed.

"Oh no," I told her, "I meant you and me shopping together!"

At Least She Asked

I've been teaching sixth grade a long time, and every year the kids really enjoy writing fictional short stories. We use the writing process: they plan, compose, confer, and revise until their pieces are as polished as possible. Today I had the following conversation with a student as she worked on her first draft:

Student: Will you read this part of my story and tell me if it's okay?

Me (regarding the look on her face with a bit of concern): Sure.

We hold hands as we get to his house.  He tells me to come to his house, and I follow him to his room.  We have a lot of fun and then we fall asleep in his bed.

Me (with eyebrows raised quite high): If you're asking me if it's appropriate for the characters in your story to have sex, I'm going to have to say no.

Another student (overhearing our conversation): Ewwww! Who wants to read that?

First student: Fine! I'll change it.

In the interest of engaging them in writing they really care about, I give my students a lot of freedom, choice, and leeway when it comes to topic and content, and to be honest, there have certainly been times when I have had to address inappropriate themes and action, but that was definitely a first.

Raising Awareness

Five kids came up to me today to ask if I had ever heard of Joseph Kony. When the first student asked, the name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it.

"Is he on the other sixth grade team?" I frowned.

"No!" my student answered with barely veiled frustration. "He's this really bad guy in Africa."

My confusion must have been obvious. This was not a student I would ordinarily expect to show an interest in international issues. "Just YouTube it," he told me, "and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Variations of this scene played out over the course of the day ending with a couple of former students stopping by after the bell. "I know, I know," I said. I promise I'll watch it tonight."

"Good!" one girl told me, "because we want to do something! I'll come talk to you in the morning."

Perhaps many of my readers are already aware of what these kids were talking about. There is a 29 minute video that has gone viral on all the social networks about Ugandan rebel Joseph Kony whose group, the LRS (Lord's Resistance Army) has been kidnapping children for the last 25 years to fight the government. Once I looked it up, I realized that I had indeed heard of him and his atrocities many times over the years.

As I told my students I would, I watched the film tonight, and I too was moved by its message-- I highly recommend it to all-- but more than that, I was impressed by the kids who really got it, enough so that they wanted to do something, and honored that they came to me for help.

Take a look for yourself if you haven't already: Kony 2012. You won't be sorry.

I Asked For It

My students are writing fiction and over the last couple of days they have been experimenting with techniques to develop their characters. As a starting point, we use a list of strategies from Nancie Atwell's Lessons That Change Writers. She suggests Reflection, Dialog, Letters and Journal Entries, Action, Reaction, Other Characters, Quirks, Setting, and Beloved Object as ways to reveal important details about the character to your reader.

As a mini-lesson, I gave the students three short paragraphs from a fiction piece that I am working on and asked them to identify the strategies I had used to help develop the two characters.

Here's the passage:

It was his grandfather who had taught Ned to ride a bike. One evening after dinner when the sky was that watery blue-before-pink, and Ned could tell that his grandfather was tired— he had been working at the waterfront all day— they went out to the quiet side street and up the gentle hill a little ways from his grandparents’ house.

He loved his grandfather and trusted, him, too, but Ned was scared and put his feet down every time. It was so hard to believe that he and his new blue bike could defy gravity and avoid the hard, cold pavement. “Have faith in yourself, Neddy!” his grandfather told him. “Falling and flying are shipmates. Embrace the sweet fall forward.”

When the fireflies came out, there was only time for one more run. The armpits of his grandfather’s shirt were wet, and the old man was breathing hard, and Ned felt that huge, steady hand on his back pulling away like the gangway from a clipper, and this time he wobbled but stayed upright, finally underway, with a fresh breeze at his back. That night, as he rode away from his grandfather who had eased to a stop and was clapping and laughing in his wake, Ned caught a balance he felt that he would never lose.

The number one comment? The grandfather should use more deodorant.

Totally Worth It

Maybe it's a little sentimental, but since I have spent the last six days replying my proverbial butt off to all my students who are participating in the SOLSC challenge, you'll forgive me if I paused a bit longer at this particular post today:

A Big Slice of Me

Ms.S- your reply to my post from yesterday got me thinking about what is important to me and I see that you're right. My family is very important to me and I don't often think of it like that. I mean, how many people in the world think that I am super special? Almost all of them are my family so they are really important. Lots of people say stuff about how evil someone in their family is, or how they hate a sibling. I may be angry at them sometimes, expecially my little sister, but I could never hate her or anyone else in my family. They make me who I am and I need them.

Yes, family is very imporant to me and they are so special that I have decided to spend a whole slice tellling you about how much I love them- too much to fit in this little tiny post. <3 -abby=")</i">

Love it!

So They Do Listen

As I mentioned, my students are doing their own SOLSC this month. I introduced it last week and they started it on Thursday, but Friday was conference day and so today was my first chance to touch base with them about the first few days. I had some technical notes about the logistics of the challenge and posting to our class website, and I had a few suggestions about the content of their posts as well.

My commitment to them this month is that I will read and reply to every post, every day. It can become consuming to be sure, but to be able to talk to them knowledgeably about the topics they've chosen to write on is invaluable both in terms of writing instruction and relationship building.

Today my advice was mostly to avoid the bed-to-bed narrative that can be so tempting when no idea immediately presents itself. "Pick something and focus on it!" I encouraged them, and over the course of the day, I tried to point out possibilities when I heard them.

In education, immediate gratification is rare. So often we teach our hearts out knowing that our advice and guidance might not kick in for weeks, months, or even years. Still, we understand and hold on to the frequently immeasurable value of our effort.

You can imagine how I laughed tonight when I was reading through today's posts and found the following two:

The Skate Disastor
By Rania

"Does anybody have any comments or questions about The slice of life challenge?" 
I raised my hand up high. "Yes,Rania?" 
"Well can you right about anything that hapenned before?" 
"Yes you can. Do you mean skate night?" 
"Oh yeah."I said outloud. 
Ms. S. gave me a puzzled look. Then began to tell her my story. "So I was at skate night and i was having the time of my life there and the next thing you know I was on the ground because I bumped into this little girl and once I said sorry, she got up and looked at me like I was crazy. My friend Annabella was their to witness what happened and of course she started laughing!" 
"Ok then Rania you could write about what you were saying," Said Ms.S. 
After that I was so excited to write about my skate night discussion with Ms. S.

 My Reading Log
By Adrita

"Okay everybody get your reading logs out, get your English binder out, write down the homework and put your big binder on the floor!" Ms. S. said in one big breath. I grabbed the home made log from my binder, skipped writing down the homework as always. Wait I wasn't supposed to say that, oh well! Ms.S. stared at my reading log.

 "What!" I said breaking out the silence

 "Your reading log, it's so unusual!" She said Then I gave her this whole story on how i lost my reading log.

  "Well I went with Camilla to the um... movies and the log was in my north face pocket all folded up. So when I went to grab popcorn the log had dropped but I never noticed." In all of my explanation she had just said...

 "Well you should write about this for the slice of life challenge!" And here I am writing about it!

THIS STORY MAY BE SLIGHTLY EXAGGERATED!

The Obvious, Child

I woke up in the middle of the night last night and found it nearly impossible to go back to sleep. At my age, like Paul Simon said, I don't expect to sleep through the night, but I don't expect to lay awake for hours, either. For me, there's always a tipping point when I can tell that I might be up a while. It usually happens when specific things I mean to do both at home and at work start seeping into my consciousness. After that, all the meditation and relaxation breathing in the world won't let me drift off.

In our recent economic downtrend, I've often heard it said that one of the bright spots is an increase in worker productivity; companies are able to do much more with fewer employees. While that looks great on the balance book and sounds even better on the stump in this election year, I can't help wonder about the toll it's taking on the human beings involved in all that production. What is the objective?

This year, for the second in a row, my sixth grade students are participating in our own Slice of Life Challenge, and over the last four days, I've noticed a couple of bothersome trends in their posts. The first is boredom. So many of them write about being chronically bored. Ironically, the second is stress. They feel anxious and over-extended.

I don't think the two are unrelated. It's hard to feel engaged in anything with so much hanging over your head.

At least they're sleeping, though.

Pack Animals

Back when our dog was just a puppy, we took her to the dog park almost every single day because we wanted to make sure she was getting enough exercise, especially considering the fact that she stayed home alone most days in our modestly-sized condo. At any rate, the dog park had a social structure of its own. Not only were the dogs trying to decide who was alpha, some of the people seemed engaged in the same kind of contest. After a while though, we were accepted as regular members of the pack. It was rare that we went and didn't know several people, and in a true sign of belonging, almost everyone called our dog by name.

As she grew older, we opted for different forms of exercise, mostly walking, running, or hiking, as well as swimming in the summer, and visiting the dog park became a rare occasion. A few years later, we happened to stop in one evening, maybe because we were in the area, maybe for old time's sake. I guess the relatively short lifespan of dogs accelerates social turnover, because although the place and the culture had not changed, the pack members were all different.

How odd it was to be in such a familiar location and yet treated as a total newcomer. The clear feeling that we would have to find our place in the community all over again was irritating. Frankly, we had other butts to sniff, and as we pushed our way out into the real world, the double gate clanged with finality behind us.

Wrestling

Today was student-led conference day for us. We have a student on the team who has stopped doing most of his work. He seems apathetic, and his effort has declined to nearly nothing. In the conference, the father explained that it was because his son is convinced that the world will end on December 21 of this year. This boy has seen several television documentaries about the Mayan calendar and he is convinced that there is no point in doing anything.

I was not in that particular conference, but I laughed when my colleague shared the story: it seemed so absurd and so easy to dismiss as a rational adult. It wasn't too long though before I remembered how crushing it can be to carry such a burden of fear and hopelessness.

One night, when I was 9 or 10 years old, I overheard the adults talking. Our neighbor, Vlad, was telling a story about a time he wrestled the devil in his motel room.

A man in a business suit knocked on the door and asked to come in. Vlad gestured to the two chairs by the window and offered the man a drink. Over the course of the conversation, it became clear to Vlad who he was speaking to."Go away," he told the man. "I'm stronger than you." That's when the devil laughed and challenged him to a wrestling match. They struggled there in the middle of the room, arms locked, each one's fingers digging into the other's shoulders. It was a draw until the devil pushed him away and disappeared.

The next thing Vlad remembered was waking up in the morning."But I knew it wasn't a dream," he said, "because there were two vodka glasses on the nightstand."

"Time for bed," my mother declared when she saw my wide-eyed stare. She hadn't known I was listening, but who could have failed to be riveted by the image of our burly neighbor physically grappling with the prince of darkness?

That night, I couldn't sleep. I was sure that the devil was going to come visit me, too. The next day, my mother did all she could to reassure me that no matter what he said, Vlad had been dreaming, and I was safe. I tried to believe her, but I felt that fear wrapped around me for weeks, and it seemed like a long time before the persistent love and happiness of my family and friends helped me get out of its hold.

As for our student, we referred him to the counselor, and now that we know what's bothering him, we'll do our best to convince him to at least have a contingency plan, just in case 12/22/12 dawns with all the promise it should for a twelve-year-old boy.

We all wrestle, but fortunately wrestling is a team sport.

Psst... Hey Coach

This morning I heard a piece on the radio about how Virgin Atlantic has hired a "whispering coach" to teach their staff in the "Upper Class" how to speak at between 20 and 30 decibels, a level chosen for both its calming effect and its unlikeliness to disturb other passengers.

I think there might be a place in middle school for such a professional.

Milestones

This blog came about in response to a writing challenge I accepted on a whim. It was March 1, 2009, and The Two Writing Teachers website was hosting their second annual Slice-of-Life Story Challenge. The idea was essentially to write  "a small sliver of your ordinary life. It’s not the whole, but a slice. The only point to it is sharing a piece of your writing every day." That seemed do-able to me, and here's what I wrote:

We're preparing for a big snow storm here. The timing and conditions seem perfect for a day or two off from school-- the snow is supposed to start this afternoon and accumulate 4-8 inches (or more!) throughout the night, the temperature is predicted to stay below freezing all day tomorrow-- not all that common in Virginia. The other teachers I've talked to today are making a point of not getting their hopes up, for fear of not only having to rise before dawn tomorrow, but of doing so with the extra burden of disappointment.

I won't mind going to school tomorrow, but I wouldn't mind an extra day off, either. When I was a little girl, my mother made sally lunn and spiced tea for us when it snowed. Sally lunn is a yeast bread, enriched with eggs and butter, and the tea was mixed with orange juice, sugar, and cinnamon. I have my sally lunn rising in the kitchen right now.

A few things have changed over the last three years. Heidi's vegan, so sally lunn is rarely on the menu. That's kind of a non-issue though, because the forecast for tomorrow is a sunny 70 degrees.

Today I introduced my students to our own second annual Slice-of-Life Story Challenge. Last year I adapted the premise from TWT, and it turned out to be a hit with the kids. My fingers are crossed for another successful season of slicing.

Headin' South

What a day, what a day! Taking a day off is always a treat, but a teacher pays for it on both ends, first by investing the time to make explicit sub plans so that someone else can guide your charges through their educational day, and then by picking up the pieces when you get back: someone's always in trouble; someone's always mad; someone didn't "get" the assignment (be it literally or figuratively), and no one understands why anyone's upset.

As if that wasn't enough, beyond the door of my classroom there are big changes afoot: a new principal for our school, a very large increase in enrollment for the sixth grade, and a new state-mandated teacher evaluation system. To be honest, my school year began with an earthquake, and it's like the ground is still moving.

Still, you have to find fun where you can. An hour after the last bell had rung, a couple of colleagues and I were griping and grappling with the future. We bantered about what opportunity might be found in all of this upheaval, and the best we could come up with was a change in name for the sixth grade teams. "Bluebirds and Canaries?" I suggested. "It would be cool to have one team for each of the school colors."

And then the conversation quickly flew south (as such conversations held at the end of a long day in the middle of a long year have the tendency to do) to that tropical place where sixth grade teams bask in the glory of their mascots the Blue Peeps and the Twinkie d'Oros.

Winter Break

A happy confluence of events today: our annual post-Oscar night holiday and 66 degrees in February made the beach an irresistible destination. Sometimes it's easy to forget how close we live to the Chesapeake Bay and its fascinating, fossil-filled western shore, but at 10:30 on a regular Monday morning, believe me, you can get there in waaaay under an hour.

We started our day at Brownie's Beach, a little public park that at this time of the year has free parking. We had the place all to ourselves as we beachcombed and boardwalked our way up and back to the town of Chesapeake Beach, with a wet and happy dog and a couple of pieces of sea glass to show for it. Next it was on to North Beach, a classic shore town that, although most places were shuttered for the season, had quite a few happy people playing by the water and strolling on the boardwalk.

It was one of those days I know I'll look back on for the rest of my life and remember the literally golden glow of the winter sun as it warmed the sand and the water.

Integrity

Here it is, our annual Oscar bash and time to make my picks for the pool. Along with the fun comes a yearly dilemma-- do you choose the ones you like or choose the ones you think will win?

Drive

I remember once when I was 11 or 12, my cousins had a minibike. They lived on a pretty big piece of land, and so they rode it all over their yard. The first time I was on it, I panicked and rode straight into a lilac bush, and that was actually the last time I ever piloted any kind of motorcycle.

Driving a car was a whole different thing, though. Living on a college campus in the middle of nowhere, I couldn't wait to learn, and once I did? I always felt confident at the wheel. Even today, I love me a road trip, and on any such outing I will always volunteer to drive.

Over the years I've noticed, with surprise, that not everyone shares my enthusiasm. First of all, there are the people I know who do not drive at all. Next, there are those who avoid it whenever they can. But then, there are also plenty of folks like me and Cindy Lauper who will drive all night.

I get that driving can be scary at first, and is always dangerous. Experience helps (in fact, now that I've been driving for 30 years or so, I'm ready to revisit that minibike thing: sometimes I think a Vespa or some other scooter or moped might be a good way for me to get to work. I do, after all, have a very short commute.), but that information is not comforting to a new driver.

I have three teen-aged nephews who did not embrace driving, but to be honest, they didn't have to. They live within easy distance of subway and other public transportation, and they have friends who are usually willing to drive them where they want to go. They also had a grandmother who lived her entire 72 years without driving.

I also have a godson around the same age as those other guys, and he can't wait to get his license and buy a car. Of course, he lives in a place where that is really the only way around, and his dad is definitely a king of the road-- that guy will drive anywhere, anytime.

Nature, nurture? Who can say?

 A few months ago, I heard a piece on the radio about how driverless cars might just be a reality in the not so distant future. In such a scenario, nobody would own their own vehicle, rather we would reserve or order one to take us where ever we needed to be. These cars would be guided by a central computer, and so not only would they eliminate traffic fatalities, but they would also be able to route all vehicles efficiently, thus avoiding congestion. Presumably, we would receive accurate travel time information as well, which would make planning trips much easier.

I want to go on record right now: It sounds very reasonable. Yes, it does, but...

 I don't like it.

Border Patrol

So my students are writing fiction, and one of the unintended consequences of the activity is that this year, like every year, I have to police that fine line between creative license and what's appropriate for school. It's no secret that freedom and choice are key components in engaging students, but what about those kids who want to write about pregnant teens, drug abuse, incest, and cannibalism? For some reason, the topics that this group has chosen feel more challenging than those of the recent past.

Why does this not surprise me?

Fall Guy

We suffered an annoying snafu at school today when as the result of poor planning we were directed to have all of our homeroom students phone home to schedule their parent-teacher-student conference for next Friday. Unaware that anything was out of the ordinary with this plan, my sixth graders were game to call their folks, but a little confused as to what to say. "Just say that we got the materials this morning and we want to let people know as soon as possible," I suggested somewhat disingenuously.

The first guy picked up the receiver and dialed confidently, probably because I often ask him to call home and ask his parents to remind him to bring in all manner of signed things from report cards to field trip slips. His mother answered, and although I could not understand the conversation word for word (it was in Tigre), I did understand that it wasn't going as planned. "What time does she want?" I asked after he hung up with a sigh.

"She didn't say a time," he answered. "She was mad."

"Why?" I asked.

"She told me I should have asked her about this yesterday, and we'll talk about it tonight," he said.

I nodded sympathetically. Right sentiment, wrong target.

On Walden Pond

Year by year the number of field trips and special activities we plan for our students is eroded by the time teachers feel they need to prepare kids for the tests they must take. It's hard to convince colleagues that this or that activity is worth the loss of instructional time in their classes, especially when they are being held accountable for their students performance on all manner of standard assessments.

As much as I sympathize, I just can't get on board with that kind of thinking. Maybe it's because as a writing teacher, I am reminded of Thoreau's observation: How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.

Isn't it our job to show the kids how to stand up to live, too?

Teacher's Dilemma Number 221

There was word today that a very challenging student is moving. Do we feel relieved? If so, do we feel guilty?

Words for Snow

We put the dog in the station wagon and headed over the bridge for a walk around the Tidal Basin on this sunny President's Day. It was busy but not crowded as we circled by the new MLK memorial, through the FDR, and past the Jefferson on the newly re-opened promenade. As warm as it has been, the cherry trees showed no sign of abnormally early blossoming, and for that I was glad. I don't know exactly what mankind is doing to the climate, but I worry.

Of the four short documentaries we saw yesterday the one that stayed with me most was called The Tsunami and the Cherry Blossoms. The film opened with horrific footage of a black wave relentlessly pushing inland, scouring away every car, every building, and every person in its way and tumbling them along as it moved toward the camera. The movie continued as a story about the unimaginable loss incurred by the survivors of the March 2011 tsunami until it took a rather skillful turn to the tradition and symbolism surrounding the cherry blossoms.

Who knew that the Japanese have identified ten separate phases of bloom and have a word for each? That the annual return of the blossoms is a treasured symbol of both renewal and endurance? That the countless petals that combine to create such a wondrous spectacle are considered representative of the innumerable and anonymous citizens whose efforts make Japan the nation it is?

In light of such awareness, it can't be a surprise that there are thousands of haikus written about sakura, or the cherry blossom season. Here is one by Issa:

Live in simple faith...
just as this simple cherry
flowers, fades, and falls.