...in the scruff of my dog's neck, right between her ears and her shoulder blades
...in the way the charcoal burns red hot in the chimney before I dump out the coals
...on the cool side of my pillow at 3 am
...in my mother's handwriting
...in the window of my classroom when I drive by in the summer
...in Halloween
...in the stack of waxed cardboard cartons of vegetables at my CSA pick up
...in the chain-link pattern of sunlight on the pool bottom
...in my fireplace
...in potatoes
...in my sister-in-law's eyes-- what color are they anyway?
...in playdoh
...in getting up early on Sunday morning and cooking
...on my bike
...in reading the newspaper
...in Adirondack chairs
...in my grandmother's diamond ring
...in cold tap water
...in Russian tea cakes (or are they Mexican wedding cakes?)
...in Scooby Doo: this time the monsters are real
....in La la
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Confession
We've been in school two weeks tomorrow, and my students haven't had a chance to write anything "good"... yet. My friend who was in the Writing Project Summer Institute posted on her fb status that she has written with her students every day! Ya. And then a bunch of her SI friends commented back that they had, too. ARGHHH. This year has been super-frustrating in that, for numerous reasons, I have spent the last couple of weeks on procedure instead of substance. Oh, I know the argument: my students and I will be grateful later when we are totally immersed in a fully-functional, well-organized and totally authentic writing workshop. Mm hmm. As I looked around the room today, I could sense a definite, is-this-all-there-is? vibe, even though they were very busy with their second Writers Read assignment.
Bottom line? These kids need to get to writing, and so do I.
Bottom line? These kids need to get to writing, and so do I.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Allow Me to Introduce Myself
On Friday, my students had an assignment where they were asked to introduce themselves in writing to a couple of hundred other sixth graders.
Our school system subscribes to Blackboard, a web-based instructional platform, and every teacher has access to an internet course that we can adapt for our students. For the last four school years, my teacher friend and I have used Blackboard to create an online community of sixth grade readers and writers called Write Here, Write Now. Even though we work in different schools, every couple of weeks, our students communicate and collaborate on common assignments, posting their work on WHWN. In between times, they have access to an unstructured (but not unsupervised) discussion board where they use writing to connect with the other kids about common interests.
I'm always amazed at the insight that reading what students write to an audience of their peers can provide. We always start with the "Introduce Yourself" assignment, and I spent some time this weekend looking over what my students posted. I was pleased that many kids wrote how much they enjoyed middle school so far, liked our English class, and loved reading and writing. Then there were the funny, surprising, and moving things that some kids felt compelled to share:
My favorite subject is science because you can make things blow up.
I laugh really easily.
I moved to [another school] because a bad principal moved in.
We had our fights but I still like my sister.
English is my favorite class. I'm a bad liar.
I used to write a few books, I was never very good.
New York is an amazing city. It is filled with music and life.
My dream is to start a sporting goods company. I will only sell quality goods to my customers.
Hey Weirdical,
I am also in love with my boyfriend, except he doesn't know we're dating. His name is Ron Weasley.
The front of my house has an American flag out front with white steps and a concrete porch and a see-through door.
I'm an only child and it's SO boring.
My favourite Earthling foods are a brown substance known as "chocolate", sugary objects known as "cinnamon buns", white objects referred to as "marshmallows", primitively cooked over a fire, and a liquid known as "cocoa"
...in the words of my mom "ABSOLUTEY NOT ALLOWED TO GET A PUPPY"
In school I am as focused as a painting.
I collect snow globes
Ello, I'm Lauren.
I like to dance when the teachers aren't looking.
Oh, yeah... it's going to be an awesome year.
Our school system subscribes to Blackboard, a web-based instructional platform, and every teacher has access to an internet course that we can adapt for our students. For the last four school years, my teacher friend and I have used Blackboard to create an online community of sixth grade readers and writers called Write Here, Write Now. Even though we work in different schools, every couple of weeks, our students communicate and collaborate on common assignments, posting their work on WHWN. In between times, they have access to an unstructured (but not unsupervised) discussion board where they use writing to connect with the other kids about common interests.
I'm always amazed at the insight that reading what students write to an audience of their peers can provide. We always start with the "Introduce Yourself" assignment, and I spent some time this weekend looking over what my students posted. I was pleased that many kids wrote how much they enjoyed middle school so far, liked our English class, and loved reading and writing. Then there were the funny, surprising, and moving things that some kids felt compelled to share:
My favorite subject is science because you can make things blow up.
I laugh really easily.
I moved to [another school]
We had our fights but I still like my sister.
English is my favorite class. I'm a bad liar.
I used to write a few books, I was never very good.
New York is an amazing city. It is filled with music and life.
My dream is to start a sporting goods company. I will only sell quality goods to my customers.
Hey Weirdical,
I am also in love with my boyfriend, except he doesn't know we're dating. His name is Ron Weasley.
The front of my house has an American flag out front with white steps and a concrete porch and a see-through door.
I'm an only child and it's SO boring.
My favourite Earthling foods are a brown substance known as "chocolate", sugary objects known as "cinnamon buns", white objects referred to as "marshmallows", primitively cooked over a fire, and a liquid known as "cocoa"
...in the words of my mom "ABSOLUTEY NOT ALLOWED TO GET A PUPPY"
In school I am as focused as a painting.
I collect snow globes
Ello, I'm Lauren.
I like to dance when the teachers aren't looking.
Oh, yeah... it's going to be an awesome year.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
X Marks the Spot
I've never been a big fan of The Family Circus comic; I guess I just don't get it. In fact, a friend and I have a running joke: whenever we are in the same place in the morning, whoever gets the paper first (it's usually him) will report to the other, and so far the details have never varied. "Guess what?" we say. "The Family Circus was not funny today."
As a child, though, I was sort of intrigued by those Sunday strips that showed one of the children (or perhaps their dog, Barfy) starting and ending in one place. These were drawn almost as treasure maps, with the character's paces marked as dashes, meandering and looping back around, only to end up on a big 'X', where the punchline was delivered.
Tonight, when I reflected on my day, that's how I imagined it. This morning, a friend called to suggest that we all go hiking with the dogs; she had an errand to run first, but it was on the way. Fine, I told her, but since we were driving out to Shenandoah National Park, could we stop at the big grocery store in Gainesville on the way back? That was okay with her, but what about lunch? I packed some snacks and water, and there was a really great sandwich place right by the cable office where she needed to go. We phoned in a takeout order, and planned to run by on the way out of town. But wait, Heidi needed to pick up a prescription-- maybe we could swing by the pharmacy at her HMO on our way home?
And so, stopping here and driving there, we did it all, and at the center there was a most amazing hike up the Devil's Staircase to an elevation where the climate was so different that the leaves were already changing. The trail ran along a mountain stream, criss-crossing it several times over slippery rocks and past lots of little waterfalls, pools, and rapids. It was challenging and even treacherous at times, but our little dash marks made it back to the parking lot and eventually to the big X, home.
As a child, though, I was sort of intrigued by those Sunday strips that showed one of the children (or perhaps their dog, Barfy) starting and ending in one place. These were drawn almost as treasure maps, with the character's paces marked as dashes, meandering and looping back around, only to end up on a big 'X', where the punchline was delivered.
Tonight, when I reflected on my day, that's how I imagined it. This morning, a friend called to suggest that we all go hiking with the dogs; she had an errand to run first, but it was on the way. Fine, I told her, but since we were driving out to Shenandoah National Park, could we stop at the big grocery store in Gainesville on the way back? That was okay with her, but what about lunch? I packed some snacks and water, and there was a really great sandwich place right by the cable office where she needed to go. We phoned in a takeout order, and planned to run by on the way out of town. But wait, Heidi needed to pick up a prescription-- maybe we could swing by the pharmacy at her HMO on our way home?
And so, stopping here and driving there, we did it all, and at the center there was a most amazing hike up the Devil's Staircase to an elevation where the climate was so different that the leaves were already changing. The trail ran along a mountain stream, criss-crossing it several times over slippery rocks and past lots of little waterfalls, pools, and rapids. It was challenging and even treacherous at times, but our little dash marks made it back to the parking lot and eventually to the big X, home.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Reinvention
poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,
they are sleeping. They are the shadows
drifting across our ceilings the moment
before we wake up. What we have to do
is live in a way that lets us find them.
~from Valentine for Ernest Mann by Naomi Shihab Nye
Pretty much the only time I write poetry is when the lessons in my sixth grade writing workshop are focused on it; then I work on composing poems alongside my students. My sensibility changes during those poetry writing times. On my morning dog walks, I pick up sensory details like pennies in a parking lot; another time they wouldn't be worth reaching for. I like how it feels to think this way, to sense a potential poem in a twisted locust pod, or the five fingers of a sweet gum leaf, or that solitary hook-armed monkey somehow separated from its barrel mates, but I can't sustain it. When we turn our attention to another genre in class, my poetry sense gradually stops tingling, and the pennies stay on the pavement.
I want to change that.
they are sleeping. They are the shadows
drifting across our ceilings the moment
before we wake up. What we have to do
is live in a way that lets us find them.
~from Valentine for Ernest Mann by Naomi Shihab Nye
Pretty much the only time I write poetry is when the lessons in my sixth grade writing workshop are focused on it; then I work on composing poems alongside my students. My sensibility changes during those poetry writing times. On my morning dog walks, I pick up sensory details like pennies in a parking lot; another time they wouldn't be worth reaching for. I like how it feels to think this way, to sense a potential poem in a twisted locust pod, or the five fingers of a sweet gum leaf, or that solitary hook-armed monkey somehow separated from its barrel mates, but I can't sustain it. When we turn our attention to another genre in class, my poetry sense gradually stops tingling, and the pennies stay on the pavement.
I want to change that.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Back in the Day
On my way home from work today, I heard someone on the radio refer to something "that we witnessed during the early part of the century." She meant this century. Doesn't that sound weird?
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
10,000 Hours
What English teacher has not received a link to Nancie Atwell's video-recorded response to the NY Times article of August 30 about reading workshop? Either forwarded directly by a colleague, mentioned in a professional e-newsletter, or referenced in an edu-blog, the video has gone what passes for viral in our little online community.
I confess that I have watched it twice already. I'm all about Atwell-- plus, I've been to her school, and I've actually seen those bookcases behind her. (An aside... take a look at the cover of the second edition of In the Middle. Mm hmm... same white book shelves, just filled with quality literature.) Nancie makes a great argument on the video; her reasoning is clear and reassuring, and it will resonate with anyone who's struggled to create an effective language arts program lately. We're lucky to have her as such a rational voice for our profession.
Beyond her defense of "the audacity of kids choosing their own reading," it's her Malcolm Gladwell reference that I've been pondering today. In Outliers, he posits that to really achieve mastery of something, it takes 10,000 hours of practice. Atwell, of course, mentioned it in terms of reading fluency, but I got to thinking about teaching. The basic calculation for teaching time is 7.5 hours a day at 180 days per year. At that rate, with no absences, you can put in your 10,000 hours in about seven and a half years.
Teaching is a complex task, though, and so, with that in mind, I tried to break my time down into student contact hours, meeting hours, and planning and professional development hours. When I look at the numbers that way, I figure I probably hit 10,000 instructional hours sometime at the end of last year, my sixteenth. Mastery? Expertise? Maybe a little.
I have a feeling that Gladwell was referring to more than simply logging your hours at a given task. Diligence alone is not enough; passion and engagement are reliable indicators of the quality of one's practice. As teachers we know this to be true of our students and ourselves; after all, there's more to Nancie Atwell than just 10,000 hours.
I confess that I have watched it twice already. I'm all about Atwell-- plus, I've been to her school, and I've actually seen those bookcases behind her. (An aside... take a look at the cover of the second edition of In the Middle. Mm hmm... same white book shelves, just filled with quality literature.) Nancie makes a great argument on the video; her reasoning is clear and reassuring, and it will resonate with anyone who's struggled to create an effective language arts program lately. We're lucky to have her as such a rational voice for our profession.
Beyond her defense of "the audacity of kids choosing their own reading," it's her Malcolm Gladwell reference that I've been pondering today. In Outliers, he posits that to really achieve mastery of something, it takes 10,000 hours of practice. Atwell, of course, mentioned it in terms of reading fluency, but I got to thinking about teaching. The basic calculation for teaching time is 7.5 hours a day at 180 days per year. At that rate, with no absences, you can put in your 10,000 hours in about seven and a half years.
Teaching is a complex task, though, and so, with that in mind, I tried to break my time down into student contact hours, meeting hours, and planning and professional development hours. When I look at the numbers that way, I figure I probably hit 10,000 instructional hours sometime at the end of last year, my sixteenth. Mastery? Expertise? Maybe a little.
I have a feeling that Gladwell was referring to more than simply logging your hours at a given task. Diligence alone is not enough; passion and engagement are reliable indicators of the quality of one's practice. As teachers we know this to be true of our students and ourselves; after all, there's more to Nancie Atwell than just 10,000 hours.
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