Sense of Wonder

I spent the day catching up on some grading, and so at last I had the chance to carefully read the final drafts of the "sense poems" my students wrote and posted a week ago. As I mentioned in a previous post, the assignment was to choose a specific place and then conjure a descriptive detail for each of the senses and then put those descriptions into a prescribed format.

Overall, the kids did a nice job; most of the poems were sweet and observant, and almost every one had at least one inventive detail or conclusion that elevated the poem.

Even so, my favorite piece by far was this one about Egypt:

crowded stores with unique clothes that are new and fashionable

polluted air makes me hold my breath

shouting sellers make my eardrums go boom boom

strangers rush through me like I'm invisible

the hopeless water that comes from nowhere tastes like nowhere

oh my, what time is it?

Well Hush My Mouth

"Why don't we have summer rolls this week?" Heidi asked me last Sunday at the grocery store.

I shrugged. "Well," I said, "we could, but it's fall. That doesn't seem very seasonal."

Heidi graciously let it go, probably because in our family, I'm kind of the boss when it comes to food.

You can imagine my surprise (and humility), then, when I checked in with the New York Times food section this morning only to see this headline: Spring Rolls from Fall Vegetables.

And the recipes looked pretty darn good, too.

Thank Gooodness

On Friday evening everything seems possible. Homemade vegan pizza? No problem. Another glass of wine? Why not? That stack of papers in my school bag that is begging to be graded? Plenty of time for that--

tomorrow.

There are also books to be read, trails to be hiked, movies to be seen, groceries to be shopped for, and birthday dinners to be prepared and celebrated.

All easily within reach

on Friday evening.

Where Are They Now?

The English teachers in my school had subs today so that we could holistically score all of our students' writing samples. I spent most of the day reading eighth grade essays, which was fun, especially when I got to the ones that had been written by my former students. There weren't as many as I would have liked, and perhaps that was for the best, because call it bias, but I thought that overall they were better than the others I also read.

Not all who passed through my program shined, though. My favorite off-the-wall submission of the day was the work of one of my prior scholars. The prompt was to write about a special place-- describe it and explain why it is special to you. He wrote about the Virgin Islands. Reason number one that it was so special to him? Well, on his first visit, he caught a crazy virus and came down with a rash of blue spots all over. Reason number two was that his "great aunt (no relation)" has a condo overlooking the beach.

Can you wait for reason number three? Well... you'll have to, because that's where his story ended.

Poor Me! I Have Nothing to Say Because I'm too Busy

I once gave the following advice to a fellow blogger: Never write about having nothing to write about. It's boring and amateurish, even if done cleverly.

I stand by that, and there are a few other rules that I have developed over the last few years: General bitching is also dull, and No one wants to hear how busy you are.

Sometimes I think that I have unnecessarily hobbled myself, because when you try to write every day in addition to taking care of the rest of your jenk? Those three topics seem like an easy hundred words and out.

And yet I soldier on.

Written on the Body

"Has anyone else noticed that the kids have been doing an excessive amount of writing and drawing on themselves?" a colleague asked at our team meeting today. "Should we be concerned?"

The truth is, I had noticed, and I am mildly concerned. This dermography is not at the top of my list of worries about my students, but it's there, and I was glad to have the opportunity to grapple with it among other educators. The assistant principal was at our meeting, too. "Do we have a policy?" I asked. "If not, should we?"

I confess to an extreme bias here. I hate to have any markings on me, and likewise, I abhor tattoos. In my childhood they were limited to the biceps of a few ex-serviceman dads of my friends, but the explosion of ink in the last 15 years is unfathomable (and a little sickening) to me. BUT... I have learned to be very discreet about my opinion, because so many people have tattoos, both obvious and hidden.

There is no policy about writing on yourself, and at our meeting we briefly wondered if there should be. Is it just self-expression? Is it any worse than doodling on paper? Is the ink dangerous? One teacher offered that in middle school, she marked all over herself in gel pen, and it was her parents who put the kibosh on that.

I agree that it should be a parenting decision, but I wonder what some will think when their children come home all marked up. "When did you do that?" they might ask.

And if their children should reply, "Oh, in English class," I wouldn't fault those parents for questioning me.

Playing With My Food

Last night I made a roasted vegetable pot pie with a chick pea flour pancake on top, and today I shot a hundred almonds out of their skins and then pulverized them in some coconut milk. Once strained, they were amazingly milk-like, almost a dead ringer, really. Later I added some dates and cocoa powder and pureed them all up some more. With the addition of chia seeds? It was a surprisingly delicious pudding.

I've got veggies fermenting on the counter, vegan yogurt culture on order, and in a few minutes I'll be broiling braised white beans and chik'n marinated in olive oil and smoked paprika and sauced with tomatoes, peppers, and olives.

When I mention to people that Heidi is vegan, they almost always give me a sympathetic look and ask what I cook. It's natural to consider the limitations, but what about the opportunities?