As the clock ticked toward the appointed hour for our meeting this afternoon, no one arrived. Allowing my facilitator's anxiety to take over for a moment, I entertained the notion that no one would come, not an uncommon fantasy of mine. I relish those quiet times before and after the students are here. What kind of teacher never wants the people she's teaching to show up? I wondered. Oh, once they arrive I'm fine, better than fine, really. I love my job, but it requires a lot of interaction with a lot of people, and by nature, I am an introvert. Hence the daydream of spending my time all alone in an empty classroom-- books arranged in proper rows, chairs pushed neatly in, no one talking, or writing, or reading.
But honestly, what fun would that be?
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
The First of the Lasts
Despite the amount of time we have left in this seemingly endless school year, some things are winding down.
Tomorrow is the last meeting of the language arts professional learning group that I facilitated this year: planned as a continuation of our local chapter of the National Writing Project, it's been one of the biggest disappointments of my career.
One key thing that my participation in the Writing Project reminded me of was that engaging kids is crucial to the success of any class. As a fellow in the summer institute four years ago, I was completely immersed in the culture of reading, reflecting, and sharing practice, not to mention the focus on my own writing. It was awesome, and I finished the summer with the focus and desire to create that level of engagement for my students. That's a gold standard that I still hold high.
Part of the required agenda for tomorrow will be to gather and combine everyone's opinions about the experience for a brief presentation in June. I'll be interested to see what other people think, but in my mind, it's been a failure, and worse-- a waste of time. I think the biggest problem with this professional learning group was that it needed the participants to be engaged to make it work; for a variety of reasons that didn't happen, and so it never get off the ground.
Can we write it off as being passably valuable to those who attended when they were able? Maybe, but such a casual engagement was not worth the time I spent planning the course. Is it unreasonable to think that such a community is possible to create during the school year? I don't think so, but a firm commitment to the concept would have to be a requirement, and any who were unable or unwilling should excuse themselves and join another group.
In any case, I won't be around to find out; I'm done.
Tomorrow is the last meeting of the language arts professional learning group that I facilitated this year: planned as a continuation of our local chapter of the National Writing Project, it's been one of the biggest disappointments of my career.
One key thing that my participation in the Writing Project reminded me of was that engaging kids is crucial to the success of any class. As a fellow in the summer institute four years ago, I was completely immersed in the culture of reading, reflecting, and sharing practice, not to mention the focus on my own writing. It was awesome, and I finished the summer with the focus and desire to create that level of engagement for my students. That's a gold standard that I still hold high.
Part of the required agenda for tomorrow will be to gather and combine everyone's opinions about the experience for a brief presentation in June. I'll be interested to see what other people think, but in my mind, it's been a failure, and worse-- a waste of time. I think the biggest problem with this professional learning group was that it needed the participants to be engaged to make it work; for a variety of reasons that didn't happen, and so it never get off the ground.
Can we write it off as being passably valuable to those who attended when they were able? Maybe, but such a casual engagement was not worth the time I spent planning the course. Is it unreasonable to think that such a community is possible to create during the school year? I don't think so, but a firm commitment to the concept would have to be a requirement, and any who were unable or unwilling should excuse themselves and join another group.
In any case, I won't be around to find out; I'm done.
Monday, May 3, 2010
What's Going on in those Furry Little Heads
We had the pet psychic visit today. Believe what you will, but she has always been amazingly accurate for us, and so it's worth every penny to feel like we have 60 minutes of direct communication with our pets. Even though we're pretty sure we have a general idea of what our dog and two cats are probably thinking and feeling, it's nice to have confirmation, and in some cases, correction.
Our dog started as she always does: she feels gorgeous and everyone always tells her how pretty she is. She likes her toys, ice cubes in her water dish, and sleeping late on the weekends. She's going to the beach this summer, and she likes the garden-- she's very well-behaved there, and even helps a little. Unfortunately, that's where she got the ticks; one was fat and one wasn't. All this without a word from us.
Our younger cat said that she's fed up with the older one, because he's so cranky all the time, so now whenever he gets close to her she screams. She's also a little upset that she can't go out on the deck, and she blames him for that. She knows that if it wasn't for his inveterate deck-hopping, they would be allowed outside. She likes having her own litter box, but wishes she could eat by herself, too. In fact privacy was kind of a theme of hers: she spends only as much time as she wants to with people, and then she goes away alone for a while.
As for the old guy, it was as we feared. He has some sort of a slow-growing tumor. At the moment, he's not uncomfortable, and although this is definitely the last chapter of his life, it's a thick chapter. He'll let us know when it's time to say good-bye.
Oh, and he's NEVER going to sit quietly outside the kitchen and wait to be fed. We should just give up on that one.
Our dog started as she always does: she feels gorgeous and everyone always tells her how pretty she is. She likes her toys, ice cubes in her water dish, and sleeping late on the weekends. She's going to the beach this summer, and she likes the garden-- she's very well-behaved there, and even helps a little. Unfortunately, that's where she got the ticks; one was fat and one wasn't. All this without a word from us.
Our younger cat said that she's fed up with the older one, because he's so cranky all the time, so now whenever he gets close to her she screams. She's also a little upset that she can't go out on the deck, and she blames him for that. She knows that if it wasn't for his inveterate deck-hopping, they would be allowed outside. She likes having her own litter box, but wishes she could eat by herself, too. In fact privacy was kind of a theme of hers: she spends only as much time as she wants to with people, and then she goes away alone for a while.
As for the old guy, it was as we feared. He has some sort of a slow-growing tumor. At the moment, he's not uncomfortable, and although this is definitely the last chapter of his life, it's a thick chapter. He'll let us know when it's time to say good-bye.
Oh, and he's NEVER going to sit quietly outside the kitchen and wait to be fed. We should just give up on that one.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Cultivating Couture
Another unexpected complication of the whole gardening thing-- I don't know what to wear when I'm working there. Yesterday the weather was unseasonably warm, but shorts weren't really right for kneeling in the dirt digging up weeds and roots, and jeans were too hot. What to do? (Not usually one to fuss about my clothes, I went for capri-length cut-off jeans, a look as odd as it was practical.)
The fact that people we know keep stopping to chat doesn't help. "I thought that was you!" they call through the fence in delight, and my garden anonymity evaporates, making me self-conscious about not only my wardrobe, but all those awkward postures that seem to be part of the job, too-- I spent a good part of the day with my butt in the air.
It's humbling; that it is.
The fact that people we know keep stopping to chat doesn't help. "I thought that was you!" they call through the fence in delight, and my garden anonymity evaporates, making me self-conscious about not only my wardrobe, but all those awkward postures that seem to be part of the job, too-- I spent a good part of the day with my butt in the air.
It's humbling; that it is.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Thirty Ways of Looking at a Vagabond
I.
What, exactly is there to look forward to?—
Long days of eggish sun and unrelenting heat,
where cool breezes are nothing more than vagabonds
waiting to hop the next jet stream north.
II.
Vagabond sparks fly through the gathering dark,
brilliant yellow on deep violet.
III.
As we listen, my vagabond brain
starts nicknaming all of her family members, too—
IV.
From the first page I was a vagabond
aboard an express train, dusty and sweet.
There was no stopping until we got to the end of the line.
V.
There were tales of long car rides with unruly siblings,
games lost at the last minute,
vagabond pets,
cousins who wouldn't leave,
sightseeing in the pouring rain,
parents who forced their children
out of bed for all manner of sunrise services,
grandparents who insisted that reading at the table was rude,
and television shows that simply disappointed.
VI.
Unlike the vagabond
only concerned with the road ahead,
I worried.
VII.
It was a flexible deadline,
more along the lines
of a vagabond's ETA.
VIII.
How surprised was I…
to feel a little vagabond smile
sneaking across my face?
IX.
Poor vagabonds, they spent the winter outside.
X.
Vagabond weeds had set up camp
on the abandoned rectangle.
XI.
Loads of tiny acorns,
each with a pale green filament,
extended hopefully into the soil.
Sorry to disappoint them,
I gave them a vagabond's chance
to put down roots somewhere else.
XII.
After one unsuccessful lap of the lot
and a near collision
with a vagabond shopping cart
I went home
XIII.
There stood a well-scrubbed young man
in a gaudy lime and white windbreaker
over shirt and tie. No vagabond he.
XIV.
There are lots of worms vagabonding all through the soil,
which I hear is a good sign.
XV.
I lay awake as one vagabond worry
after another tightened its grip on my gut.
XVI.
I hit the road, ride the rails,
or travel along the open trails.
I've set up camp at Walking the Dog,
but when May comes I'll leave this blog.
XVII.
Haricots verts and tomato
garnished a salad of14
vagabond spring greens
XVIII.
I'll never be a comfort zone vagabond
roaming merrily into the untested.
XIX.
Most of my passwords are vagabonds
on the express train to amnesia.
XX.
We took a vagabond's side trip into infamy
before we ever made it
to plain old heroes.
XXI.
My suggestions hold no interest for her;
they're like vagabonds asking for a handout—
she pretends not to hear them.
XXII.
In forty-eight hours,
my experience as a vagabond teacher
will commence.
XXIII.
I keep my own opinion
as elusive as a vagabond in a train yard.
XXIV.
Vagabond butterflies
fluttered in my stomach.
XXV.
Phantom ticks crawl on you—
every vagabond itch or twinge
is probably another one
trying to bury its mandibles
in your flesh for a blood meal.
XXVI.
I know in my vagabond's bones
that the end of the year
will be a messy departure
from what's already been done.
XXVII.
Vagabonds aside for a minute…
XXVIII.
True to the vagabond life
of a military man
they’ve been posted to another state.
XXIX.
I allow the conversation
to go vagabond—
taking us where it will.
XXX.
We end
with a vagabond dispatch
from the front lines
of public education.
What, exactly is there to look forward to?—
Long days of eggish sun and unrelenting heat,
where cool breezes are nothing more than vagabonds
waiting to hop the next jet stream north.
II.
Vagabond sparks fly through the gathering dark,
brilliant yellow on deep violet.
III.
As we listen, my vagabond brain
starts nicknaming all of her family members, too—
IV.
From the first page I was a vagabond
aboard an express train, dusty and sweet.
There was no stopping until we got to the end of the line.
V.
There were tales of long car rides with unruly siblings,
games lost at the last minute,
vagabond pets,
cousins who wouldn't leave,
sightseeing in the pouring rain,
parents who forced their children
out of bed for all manner of sunrise services,
grandparents who insisted that reading at the table was rude,
and television shows that simply disappointed.
VI.
Unlike the vagabond
only concerned with the road ahead,
I worried.
VII.
It was a flexible deadline,
more along the lines
of a vagabond's ETA.
VIII.
How surprised was I…
to feel a little vagabond smile
sneaking across my face?
IX.
Poor vagabonds, they spent the winter outside.
X.
Vagabond weeds had set up camp
on the abandoned rectangle.
XI.
Loads of tiny acorns,
each with a pale green filament,
extended hopefully into the soil.
Sorry to disappoint them,
I gave them a vagabond's chance
to put down roots somewhere else.
XII.
After one unsuccessful lap of the lot
and a near collision
with a vagabond shopping cart
I went home
XIII.
There stood a well-scrubbed young man
in a gaudy lime and white windbreaker
over shirt and tie. No vagabond he.
XIV.
There are lots of worms vagabonding all through the soil,
which I hear is a good sign.
XV.
I lay awake as one vagabond worry
after another tightened its grip on my gut.
XVI.
I hit the road, ride the rails,
or travel along the open trails.
I've set up camp at Walking the Dog,
but when May comes I'll leave this blog.
XVII.
Haricots verts and tomato
garnished a salad of14
vagabond spring greens
XVIII.
I'll never be a comfort zone vagabond
roaming merrily into the untested.
XIX.
Most of my passwords are vagabonds
on the express train to amnesia.
XX.
We took a vagabond's side trip into infamy
before we ever made it
to plain old heroes.
XXI.
My suggestions hold no interest for her;
they're like vagabonds asking for a handout—
she pretends not to hear them.
XXII.
In forty-eight hours,
my experience as a vagabond teacher
will commence.
XXIII.
I keep my own opinion
as elusive as a vagabond in a train yard.
XXIV.
Vagabond butterflies
fluttered in my stomach.
XXV.
Phantom ticks crawl on you—
every vagabond itch or twinge
is probably another one
trying to bury its mandibles
in your flesh for a blood meal.
XXVI.
I know in my vagabond's bones
that the end of the year
will be a messy departure
from what's already been done.
XXVII.
Vagabonds aside for a minute…
XXVIII.
True to the vagabond life
of a military man
they’ve been posted to another state.
XXIX.
I allow the conversation
to go vagabond—
taking us where it will.
XXX.
We end
with a vagabond dispatch
from the front lines
of public education.
Friday, April 30, 2010
News of the Week
Here's a vagabond dispatch from the front lines of public education:
Earlier this week, some sixth graders told a counselor that a few kids were calling people "dirty Jews." It was a teachable moment, so here's how she approached it:
"Is there anything wrong with being Jewish?" she asked the group.
They assured her there was not.
"Then why would you use it as a negative?" she wanted to know.
They were stumped.
"What about Muslim, or Christian, or any other religion-- anything wrong with them?"
No, no, and no.
"What other names do people call each other?" she wondered.
Gay was number one.
"Well, is there anything wrong with being gay?"
The consensus was no.
Wow. Most kids think it's okay to be gay-- or at least they say so-- and whether they actually believe it, or just think that's the "right" answer, things have changed a lot in the last few years.
Earlier this week, some sixth graders told a counselor that a few kids were calling people "dirty Jews." It was a teachable moment, so here's how she approached it:
"Is there anything wrong with being Jewish?" she asked the group.
They assured her there was not.
"Then why would you use it as a negative?" she wanted to know.
They were stumped.
"What about Muslim, or Christian, or any other religion-- anything wrong with them?"
No, no, and no.
"What other names do people call each other?" she wondered.
Gay was number one.
"Well, is there anything wrong with being gay?"
The consensus was no.
Wow. Most kids think it's okay to be gay-- or at least they say so-- and whether they actually believe it, or just think that's the "right" answer, things have changed a lot in the last few years.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Power of Poetry
Poem in Your Pocket Day was a big hit. This is the third year that I've made time in my class for all of my students to choose a poem in advance and then carry it with them. When the actual day arrives, we have an informal poetry reading in English, and I allow the conversation to go vagabond-- taking us where it will, from Langston Hughes to Shel Silverstein to Emily Dickinson, from Jabberwocky to The Raven and back around to some of their favorites that we've read together. It helps that I offer lollipops to all who are willing to read their chosen poems and explain why they carry those with them. Today, every single kid volunteered; that's a first.
Lots of adults in the building and especially the other teachers on my team also support the activity: carrying poems themselves, asking kids what they've chosen, and using any spare minutes to share poetry. No doubt that's a big part of why the kids were so into it. Also, since it's the third year we've celebrated PiYPD, most of the students in our school have been involved in this day before, and a fair number of seventh and eighth graders had poems in their pockets, too. Even so, I have a hunch there's a little more to its success than any of that.
Four years ago, before I had heard of this literary holiday, I did a mini-version of Robert Pinsky's Favorite Poem Project. My students chose a poem and practiced reading it, then I video-recorded their performances along with them telling why they had chosen that piece. It's been a while since I revisited that footage, but I dug out the DVD to see if it would be relevant today. I was surprised at how good it was; I honestly didn't remember what a wonderful job they did-- so earnest and sweet in both delivery and rationale-- and I wanted to take credit for it, but really? A better explanation is probably that poetry is just awesome.
Lots of adults in the building and especially the other teachers on my team also support the activity: carrying poems themselves, asking kids what they've chosen, and using any spare minutes to share poetry. No doubt that's a big part of why the kids were so into it. Also, since it's the third year we've celebrated PiYPD, most of the students in our school have been involved in this day before, and a fair number of seventh and eighth graders had poems in their pockets, too. Even so, I have a hunch there's a little more to its success than any of that.
Four years ago, before I had heard of this literary holiday, I did a mini-version of Robert Pinsky's Favorite Poem Project. My students chose a poem and practiced reading it, then I video-recorded their performances along with them telling why they had chosen that piece. It's been a while since I revisited that footage, but I dug out the DVD to see if it would be relevant today. I was surprised at how good it was; I honestly didn't remember what a wonderful job they did-- so earnest and sweet in both delivery and rationale-- and I wanted to take credit for it, but really? A better explanation is probably that poetry is just awesome.
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