Testy

It's testing season and tempers are short. High stakes mean high stress, and this year is no exception. At our school everyone has something to be cranky about. There's the testing coordinator who didn't mention when she was hired last fall that she would be on maternity leave right now, and all the people who are stepping in to help do her job in addition to their own. Only they don't know what they're doing, which is not a problem unless you get mad when someone points out an error or oversight. There are the teachers who are feeling the pinch from losing all those instructional days to snow way back in February and wondering if it could have made the difference for their borderline students. There is the new superintendent who got wind of the public perception that once the tests are through it's all movies and parties, baby, and who has informed all the administrators that he will personally be touring the schools in June to make sure that is not the case. He's on a collision course with the kids who are sure that once the testing is over they no longer need to take school seriously (and the staff members who kind of agree with them). Personally, I just want the computer labs back... they're out of commission for the next three weeks. I'm also with the people who think that all of this nonsense is yet more evidence of the unintended consequences of over-emphasizing standardized testing. I mean, really.

Connectors

I met someone today who knows Kevin Bacon... what degree of separation is that?

Like everyone else, I read The Tipping Point a few years ago. I'd have to say that the part that has stayed with me most was near the beginning of the book; it's when Gladwell introduces his trinity of trendsetters, the mavens, salesmen, and connectors, those three types of people who are responsible for making anything go viral. Once I got beyond the fact that I was not in any of those categories (ahem, maven-wannabe), and was therefore really no more than just another lemming at the cliff's edge, it was those darn connectors that got under my skin. My Meyers-Briggs is probably showing when I posit that this is more than just another I/E thing:  come on... connectors are amazing! They are the evangelicals of extroverts.

We have a neighbor who is a perfect example of what I mean. She and her kids stop by regularly for a casual Hey how are ya? visit, but often when we step onto the stoop for a few seconds of socializing, they are accompanied by someone else.  In the time we've known her, we've met her mom, some friends, other neighbors, and another teacher she knows, all without ever leaving our home. I really admire how single-handedly she connects us all, and in much more than some Kevin Bacon sort of way.

28 Ounces of Inspiration

My school bag is a backpack. After nearly 17 years of teaching, my third pack is nearing the end of its life. As a right-handed person, I carry my bag on my left shoulder, so all the padding is gone from that strap. In addition, it has handy double zippers for both the main compartment and front pocket, or at least they were handy until one zipper on each stopped working-- now I have to remember to zip the main all the way to the left and the pocket over to the right. (Or is it the other way?)

Even so, I don't really want a new pack... they don't make them like this anymore, and I feel like it's my fault that it's not lasting longer. I carry way too much around with me all the time.

For example, I have two professional texts in my backpack right now. They're so good and inviting that I try to steal 20 minutes every afternoon to read a little bit of each. One is Pyrotechnics on the Page by Ralph Fletcher. The premise of his newest book is captured in the subtitle: Playful Craft That Sparks Writing. Fletcher is all about finding the fun in writing through wordplay and other rhetorical flourishes, mostly by using the writer's notebook to collect and experiment. The book is complete with craft lessons and helpful appendices, and it's even dedicated to one of my students' favorite poets this year-- Naomi Shihab Nye.

The other book I carry with me is called Hidden Gems. Katherine Bomer challenges us to find what we admire about unconventional writing, both in modern texts and by our students, and to use that to stay student-centered in our increasingly standardized world. She also offers very practical suggestions for teaching, assessing, and grading. (Coincidentally, Nye makes an appearance in her book, too.)

Both Fletcher and Bomer remind me that writing need not be forced drudgery. I for one am not interested in spending 5+ hours a day convincing my students that what we are doing is "good for them." Some keys to keeping it from becoming just another chore are to keep it fun and to celebrate each original voice, and these two books have loads of good ideas for anyone like me.

Poaching

We spent part of this Mothers Day with my brother and sister-in-law and their boys over at her parents' deserted place. I hadn't been over there since her mom died and her dad moved to the assisted care facility. Since then, Emily and her brothers have been dividing and moving and sorting through their parents' possessions, but there's still a lot of stuff left. "It seems like a junk shop in here," I blurted out when we walked in. "In a good way," I tried to recover, "you know the fun kind of shop where they have lots of cool stuff?" There were sighs of agreement, but we all knew what I meant.

Vic and Judy were avid gardeners, and it wasn't too long ago that theirs was a stop on the annual garden tour that our county historic association organizes each spring. Judy graciously served ice cold milk and fresh cookies to all who visited that day.

One of the hand-me-downs we got from them is a poaching spade. My brother was practically rhapsodic about its utility when he delivered it to us a few weeks ago. Novices that we are, it seemed like a stretch to muster the appropriate gratitude for such an item. As most of the work in our garden has been weeding so far, the small shovel has gotten limited use, but it seems pretty good for digging. Today I found out how it got its name.

We were over there to take plants that we wanted from their garden.  My nephews used the spade to neatly dig them up and place them in empty pots that we collected from the bench at the back of the yard. When we got to our own garden, we used the same shovel to make an equivalent hole and dropped the plants we had poached right in, just as if they had always been there.

I'm really glad to have them, and as it turns out, that shovel really is pretty slick.

Gene Pool

We took our three-year-old friend Savannah to the farmer's market this morning so that she could pick out some flowers to plant in our garden. Waiting in line to pay for some marigolds and okra, I spotted my brother a few vendors down waiting in line for strawberries. "Savannah," I said, "my little brother is over there."

She was immediately intrigued. She has a little brother of her own, and as we waited we talked about how when they were grown up, they might run into each other around town, too. We paid up and headed over to catch my brother. He was charmed to meet Savannah, and immediately engaged her in conversation. "Do you have a little brother?" he asked.

She told him she did. "But he's just a baby," she said.

"Well, when you're grown up," my brother told her, "you might see him places like this and he'll be big like me-- I'm Tracey's little brother. Can you believe it?"

It didn't seem to bother Savannah at all to have the exact same conversation twice in a row. To her credit, she even acted surprised.

Look Forward

Every school year is full of surprises, and this one has been no exception: there are definitely a few things that didn't turn out quite the way I expected. For example, in September, I would have bet money that our school renovation would have been behind schedule and I never would have had to move, but here I am in a cavernous yellow room in the basement shouting poetry and directions over the constant whine of power tools as the workmen cut through brick and cinder block right above us.

Back then, I wouldn't have dared hope that the two new teachers on my team would turn out to be so great, or that for the most part, the kids would stay so nice-- this year has been super that way. I also wouldn't have predicted that the professional collaboration that I've enjoyed for the last four school years would succumb to the inevitable demands of busy schedules and evolving priorities, but it looks like it has.

Every day this week, one of the kids has asked me how much more time we have in the year. Seven weeks is the answer. Is that all? they gleefully reply, to which I sternly remind them that seven weeks is a really long time. Look what we were doing seven weeks ago, I tell them, but they are unconvinced. Children look forward, not back. Maybe it's for this reason that I've started thinking ahead to next year already.

I can't say that it is without a little sadness that I've been re-organizing and re-structuring to compensate for the changes, but it's kind of exciting, too. I have a couple of ideas to further unify all the disparate parts of my program that I'm anxious to put in place, and since seven weeks is kind of a long time, I might even try out a few of them before the end of the year. You never know what will happen.

Pssst... Have I Got a Character for You

A friend and fellow-blogger mentioned me in her blog yesterday. It was really just a fleeting reference; I was but a minor character in her daily anecdote, but I admit to a bit of a thrill when I read it. I write about people all the time, but as far as I know, no one writes about me. Pity-- there's a part of me that wants to be a character in someone else's narrative, if only so I can read about it later. Perhaps I should just make an effort to commit more memorable acts when around my writer friends.