The Most Wonderful Time of the Years

I really like Billy Collin's poem On Turning Ten. Funny and poignant, it also lampoons the angst so many of us feel about growing older.

For such a short poem, it has a lot of great lines, but one that struck me only after re-reading several times is I can lie on my bed and remember every digit. Once when I couldn't sleep I did lay on my bed and try to recollect one thing from each year of my life. I think I fell asleep in my twenties.

With the holidays coming and Christmas music piped in pretty much everywhere I go, my thoughts naturally turn to scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago (and those not so long ago, too).

So, as kind of a mash up of Collin's poem, that carol of counting, and Dickens' famous tale, I present to you, On Turning Fifty: Twelve Days of Christmas Past.

Tune in tomorrow for day one.

Just as I Expected

Today I gave my students this writing prompt:  

Write about something that didn't go the way you expected.

It was less than a minute before I heard my least favorite question as a teacher of writing. "What if this never happened to you?"

"Really?" I asked the culprit. "Everything in your life has always gone as you thought it would? Every. Single. Thing?"

He nodded optimistically, hopeful that this response might get him off the hook for the assignment.

"Well," I said, "What did you think would happen when you asked that question just now?"

His expression changed. Now he was looking a little worried. He shrugged.

I raised my eyebrows. "Is this conversation what you expected?"

"Not really," he said.

I clapped and gave him a cheery smile. "Well there you go-- instant writing topic!"

Believe it or not, he wrote about something completely different, and it was pretty darn good.

Stressed is Desserts Spelled Backwards

Last Friday, in an attempt to build morale at our school, the administration offered a nice assortment of desserts at the end of our required professional development meeting. It was a kind gesture made in good faith, but I'm not sure if it made a difference to very many. Platitudes don't really pacify us; they just seem patronizing.

Looking at the table loaded with sweets, one of my colleagues shrugged. "Just another thing to put on my plate," she said.

Rust Never Sleeps

We walked past a colleague's home tonight as we strolled the neighborhood admiring all the holiday lights. Rumor has it he's retiring in February... not the usual date for a teacher, right?

"Six years ago we were wishing for him to go out," Heidi remarked, "but now? It seems a little sad."

I nodded. She had a good point. The guy was famous for his cantankerous attitude. He had a reputation for unceremoniously blasting anyone-- coworker, administrator, parent, student-- anywhere, if he believed they were in the wrong. His irascible voice has boomed through the hallways of our school for over 18 years, and teaching was his second career! It seemed like anyone who had ever a run in with him just wished he would retire already.

I shrugged. "He's really toned it down a lot recently," I pointed out.

As we walked on in our silence, I considered his. "I guess that's what happens when you're really done," I said. "You stop fighting. Being burnt out is not being upset or angry at the direction things are going. Burnt out? That's when you don't care."

'Tis the Season

The tree is up and the branches are falling; I got my Christmas mug and pajamas down from the attic, and the wreathe is on the door.

Joy!

Assignment

Standardization v. Innovation?

Discuss.

I'm Number One!

And speaking of ghosts...

Do you know what khaghouls are?

Google it, baby!