Name That Book

My students were doing "speed book talks" today. This is an activity where they prepare a brief presentation about a book they have recently enjoyed and would like to recommend to others, and then kind of on the model of speed dating, rotate through the room in three minute increments to give and receive recommendations. In general it's a fun way to get sixth graders to think, write, and talk about books, plus it's good for their attention spans and it has plenty of movement opportunity built in.

As I circulate, I get a lot of insight into how and what they are thinking, too. For example, I overheard one girl begin the summary of her book this way:

It's about this girl, and instead of going out and partying with her friends, she has to stay in hiding and worry about getting caught by the Germans, so she spends a lot of time writing in her journal.

I confess that at first I was appalled, until I considered that at her age, this student is probably a little closer in mindset to Anne Frank than I. Plus? She obviously read the book.

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.