Mythical Creatures

From the NY Times:

Lesbian Republicans Raise Their Profiles

Collaboration

Earlier this year when we went down to Atlanta, I got a little app for my iPad so that my nephew and niece could write and illustrate their own stories. We had a good time creating tales that starred their new kitten.

It was a hit this weekend, too. The only glitch was that as they took turns using the iPad (they are really good sharers, those two) Annabelle accidentally created several pages in Richard's book. Today was the day when we were writing the text, so rather than delete the extra pages forever, the kids worked together to write one story-- the sequel to the kitten's first adventures.

There were some surprising transitions (Page 7: The kitten is using a really strong gun to blow up a robot. Page 8: The kitten is resting in a beautiful flower garden at night.), and a little disagreement-- one wanted to write a story for boys, the other, for girls, but in the end, the story came together nicely as a tale for people of any age.

A Family History

Some time back, I got the results of my family DNA test. It turns out that I'm 97% of British Isles descent with a dash of Northern Africa or Middle Eastern ethnicity thrown in. Regular readers will note the absence of any American Indian genes and may conclude that my friend long ago was correct. (Click here to refresh your memory or catch up with that saga.)

We spent the day today visiting with family and friends, and so I broke the news to my mother's sister, our Aunt Harriett. She laughed, but it must have been kind of a blow to her after spending her 76 years believing she was one-eighth Choctaw.

As we chatted around the table, Emily and Annabelle were drawing and making cool accordian-pleat books. They handed a blank one to Aunt Harriett.

"You can call it All My Indian Ancestors," her husband said.

Instead of Sheep

This morning, when I was browsing online, I happened to see Marilyn Monroe's turkey recipe. Written in pencil on a sheet from a City Title Insurance Company pad (telephone? GArfield1-8530), it was a fascinating window into a real person who happened to also be Marilyn Monroe.

In my family, one of our traditional dishes is an oyster casserole. It was always on the table at my Aunt Sis's house where we spent the holiday each year, and the story is that the recipe came from Rosemary Clooney, via a mutual friend. The other must have from those days is mashed yellow turnip. When I was a child, those were the things I hated most, but now I personally prepare them for our meal.

Earlier in the week, I heard someone say that Thanksgiving is a time when emotions are close to the surface. I couldn't fully agree, until she made the further point that it is a time when our traditions, while comforting, are also reminders of those who are no longer at the table.

There is a lovely essay by Michael Chabon in the November issue of Bon Apetite magazine in which he warns that the act of returning to the same table, to the same people and the same dishes--to the same traditions--can blind you to life's transience. It can lull you into believing that some things, at least, stay the same. And if that's what you believe, then what have you got to be grateful for? He advises us to be thankful not for what we have, but rather for what we have lost.

Today I am thankful for both.

Freshly Remembered

I got to spend some fun quality time today with my niece and nephews. Our conversations were typically wide-ranging and at one point involved watching the trailer for Iron Man 3 with my older nephews. One Marvel thing led to another, and as we were discussing Thor, I remembered that it had been directed by Kenneth Branaugh.

"That's Gilderoy Lockhart to you," I said, but then I thought back to when Branaugh was kind of a sensation after directing Henry V. "You might like that movie," I told my nephew Treat. "It was great. Hey! Let's watch the trailer."

I pulled it up on YouTube without any trouble, and then the voice over started. You know the one.

It was a time of courtier and kings...
It was the turning point for the English throne...
It was one of history's greatest adventures...

And so it went on. For a moment, I was sure it was a really funny parody, and I giggled, but as it turned out, it was just a cheesy trailer from 1989.

Not at all what I remembered, which is ironic given the pivotal speech of both play and movie.

This story shall the good man teach his son,
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered

Or not.

Assignments With Friends

I have a colleague who, to me, has always seemed a little obsessed with preventing kids from cheating on tests. She teaches math, though, and so I realize it's a much larger issue for her class-- it would be silly, and a little obvious, for my students to copy each other's writing. I guess I just assumed that their integrity extended beyond the walls and purview of English class.

Today, though, my lesson plan included a few puzzles and other fun activities for them to exercise their thinking and creativity on the day before Thanksgiving break. I have to admit that I was a little appalled at how many kids were peeking at their neighbors' work to get a little help in solving the challenges. It almost seemed like a time-honored strategy, but where's the fun in that?.

Here's a version of one of the puzzles I offered:

Directions: Add two squares to the drawing so that every turkey has its own pen.

(Thanks to this site for the image-- mine was in a word doc and just would not cooperate with this format.)

Up and Coming

One day, several years ago probably, I crossed the line from teacher to old teacher. Although I didn't even notice it, clearly the boundary has been breached. Oh, I remember how it was when I first started, building relationships with the veterans, asking for guidance, hoping for approval, but secretly looking at them kind of critically, too. What could they possibly know that I didn't? One thing they weren't? Friends.

But now, the tables have turned, the shoe's on the other foot, insert your own proverb here, and younger, less experienced teachers are everywhere. It's just another part of the job to negotiate a professional relationship with them, never mind a personal one.

This year, as a result of our expanding enrollment, we have gone from 2 teams to three, and so now we Dolphins share our space with the Sting Rays. Some of that team were on our team last year, but of course there are new folks, too, and one of them is the science teacher. She is young and brash, and the introvert in me has taken some time to warm to her.

Last weekend, on our trip to the beach, we found some fossilized ray teeth, and when word got back to my friends on the Ray team, they were curious about it. After a grade level meeting, I quickly filled them in, and as one thing led to another, we exchanged a little fun trash talk, something about dolphins this and rays that. I was laughing as I turned to leave, when the new girl gave me an ironic salute.

"Peace out, Flipper."

I kind of liked that.