And... Action!

With a lesson that revisited action verbs and how their use might make a writing piece more powerful, it became clear that there was a gap in some students' understanding of that part of speech. We had read a wonderfully gross example of personal narrative by Jack Gantos, and so I asked them to pull out a few vivid verbs that they noticed, but after teaching the lesson twice, I knew that my right-after-lunch group that was heavy on boys and energy might not appreciate it fully. And so I enhanced it on the fly.

"Find a great verb in context," I directed them, "and then have your writing partner read the passage and pause as you act out the verb. Remember: verbs are actions!"

There was a buzz in the room as sixth grade writers revisited the story to find the perfect verb. A few hands waved, and when I went to see what they needed, their questions were very similar: How do I act out "puke-smelling" or "private" or "special"?

"You don't," I told them each, "because they're not action verbs."

"Ooooooooohhhhh," they answered, a glimmer of understanding shining in their brains.

See what I did there?

We All Look Alike

After a day at the corn maze and farm, the kids were a little punchy those last twenty minutes they sat in our classrooms waiting for dismissal. Everyone had a lovely little pie pumpkin, and some students occupied themselves with decorating theirs with markers. Once he had a silly face on his, one student turned his pumpkin to another's. "I'm so stupid I'm going to vote for Donald Trump," he had the pumpkin say.

"Hey now!" said the sixth grade counselor who happened to be standing by, "Tell your pumpkin that nobody's stupid here."

"Who are you going to vote for?" the student questioned her.

"I can't tell you," she said.

"Clinton," he shrugged.

"Teachers really are not allowed to tell you who we support in the election," I told him.

"Clinton," he said to me.

"Why do you think so?" I asked.

"Because you even look like her!" he answered. "You two could be sisters!"

There's the Difference

The whole sixth grade is going on a field trip tomorrow. It involves 346 kids, 40 adults, and both me and Heidi. Because she has been mostly 8th grade in the past, the two of us don't usually take the same field trips. And, since I'm in charge of packing lunches, it was only natural that she asked me what we were having. 

"I usually bring a ham sandwich," I told my vegan wife. "It packs well and tastes good as I stand there supervising a hundred children or so."

She frowned. I shrugged.

"I was planning on sending you with a roasted cauliflower wrap, though," I disclosed a little later than I could I have.

"Yum!" she said.

"And, we're going to stop at the grocery store on the way home," I continued.

"What for?" she asked.

"It's a field trip," I answered, "we have to have special snacks!"

When I was a kid, my mom packed our lunches full of delicious homemade food, but we did not always appreciate it. Instead of blond brownies, oatmeal cookies, and milk, I was looking for Tasty Kakes and soda pop. The one exception to our nutritious lunch rule was on field trip days. Then, we were allowed to pick a store-bought treat and a can of soda to take along with us. (The soda went in the freezer the night before where it became both beverage and ice block to keep everything else fresh and cool.) I always chose a cherry pie and cream soda, but I have to confess that they were never as good as I thought they would be, and it was kind of a relief to go back to my regular lunch the following day.

Even so, I carry the idea to this day that field trip lunches should be special, and so I always bring a sandwich, some fruit, a bag of store-bought cookies, and a big bag of chips. The last two are to share, both with kids who don't have any treats and some of those who do, because it brings people closer to actually share a meal.

I explained my philosophy to Heidi as we shopped, and she picked up a couple of bags of Milanos and some Fritos to go with my Biscoffs and Cape Cod waffle chips. When we got home I started to put those items aside, but she grabbed the Fritos and opened them up. "Hey!" I scolded her. "You can't have those! They're for the field trip!"

"Who says?" she answered crunching on her snack. "We have a whole bag!"

Probably Not

The Billy Goat Trail out in Great Falls, MD was kind of a rite of passage for our older nephews. Starting from the time they were toddlers, we frequently took them rock scrambling on the first part of the trail, gradually increasing the length of the hikes over the years until that magical day when they were ready to do the full circuit. But because dogs are not allowed on the trail, it's been thirteen years since Heidi and I have done the route ourselves, and so, continuing our practice of doing things we wouldn't do if we had a dog, we headed out there this morning.

Perhaps a beautiful Sunday in October was not the best time to revisit this particular old haunt; it is one of the most popular outdoor activities in the region, and the tow path was already packed at 11:30 when we turned our boots toward the trail head.

But, as we walked, conversations drifted through the air with the falling leaves.

I heard you're going Euro-skiing... 

The plane exploded at the neck... 

I sent my revisions in Friday...

He hasn't actually said he wouldn't accept the results...  

I think Shakespeare said it best...

And we heard so many languages along the way-- English and Spanish, of course, but lots of Italian, some German, Russian, Swedish, Chinese, Korean, Urdu, French, and I think Greek, too.

So we patiently scrambled along behind and beside and between our fellow hikers, enjoying the views that the slower pace gave us the chance to take in. People were mostly friendly, and we snapped a few group photos for folks as we waited to rock-hop across a congested section. 

The worst bottleneck of the day was at the famous 50 foot traverse. As we stood at the bottom waiting our turn to climb the granite wall from river to ridge, I looked up at the line ahead of us and back at the one behind us, and my patience began to thin.

"Oh my gosh!" I said to Heidi, "This must be what it's like to climb Everest!"

Unexpected Behavior

Heidi teaches kids who are on the Autism spectrum, and so around here we talk a lot about social skills and social thinking. Two of the big buzz-phrases in that field these days are expected and unexpected behavior, which are used when talking to people who have difficulty reading social skills. The theory is that analyzing behavior and reactions to it in these terms allows those folks to intellectually process what others can do so intuitively.

Not surprisingly, Heidi also wanted to see the new movie The Accountant, in which Ben Affleck plays a guy on the spectrum, and we finally made it to the show this afternoon. It was a very entertaining movie! Mostly because of the plot twists, that to be honest?

I did not see coming.

Now that's unexpected behavior!

Calling Shotgun

A colleague I know slightly politely interrupted our CLT meeting this afternoon. "I have a question," she looked at me, "but it's personal, not professional. Do you mind if I take a minute?" she asked the other two teachers.

They nodded readily, and I could see they were intrigued, as I was also.

"How do you get to Buffalo?" she asked me, and I must have looked surprised, because she quickly continued, "Heidi says it's easy, but I should ask you."

My friend Mary laughed. "I'm sure Heidi does think it's easy! If you're her, you just get in the car and let Tracey drive you!"

Back to Synecdoche

"Tell your partner how you got your name," the facilitator said. "Is there a story or significance behind it?"

I looked at my colleague. "Well," I told him, "my mom wanted to name me Marcy, but my dad grew up in upstate New York."

He frowned. I continued.

"Back then, the state psychiatric hospital was in a town called Marcy. So when he was a kid, "going to Marcy" was the equivalent of going crazy."

He nodded. I shrugged.

"And that's why my name is Tracey, not Marcy." What is that figure of speech called where the specific stands for the general? I thought. Marcy is totally an example of that.

"Where was your mom from?" he asked me.

"She grew up in Maryland, but she was born in..." I did a little double take to myself. "Schenectady!"

He looked confused. "She wasn't there long enough to know about Marcy," I told him, but my mind was elsewhere.

Schenectady, synecdoche?

I think I might be able to remember that!