Undedicated

As part of our fiction unit, the young writers in our classes were asked to dedicate their children's stories to someone who helped or inspired them. The addition to their books was purely optional, but we wanted them to realize that although writing can be hard and lonely, publishing is a chance to celebrate one's accomplishments with pride and gratitude.

Most of the dedications were sweet and predictable-- honoring parents, siblings, and other family members. A few were to teachers past and present, a couple were to pets, and one was to a duckling. Some were super snarky: 

I dedicate this book to absolutely no one! 

I dedicate this book to ME ME ME!

And the best one, in my opinion, just happens to fall into that category. It was to me (or not to me, as the case may be).

Making the Grades

Despite the fact that I know better, the final project of the third quarter stretched right up until the last day of the term for most of my sixth graders. That left 80 or so children's stories for me to assess and comment on over the weekend, so that my grades will be finished on time. In my own defense, I want to say that concurrent learning played a role-- I feel like I earned my paycheck twice over just getting some writing submitted from every student, virtual and in-person.

I am lucky to have a co-teacher in one of my sections who is willing to tackle some of the grading, but at 6 PM on Sunday evening, I'm not even halfway done. It's true that there is a bit of a learning curve when it comes to applying a complicated 8-point 8-section rubric to a piece of writing in a way that is fair and gives constructive feedback to the young writers. As such, my pace has quickened a bit as the task has progressed. 

I'm not worried that I won't finish; I'm just sad that I have to.

The In-Between

The days I love most are the ones where we can throw our windows open and let the fresh air in, free from the HVAC-- no dry forced-air heat or refrigeration. Oh, don't get me wrong: I appreciate a warm and cozy house in winter, and the cool relief that air conditioning offers from those blazing humid days of summer is irreplaceable.

But--

A cool cross breeze and the sound of the birds?

That's mighty nice.

Falling Action

News today that Prince Philip has died. I just saw him last night on The Crown, forcing his son, Prince Charles, to marry a woman he didn't love. Well, we all know how that story ended. 

The same can be said about most of the intriguing dramas that television show presents: it's all a matter of history, and many of the main players are gone. In addition to Princess Di and Lord Mountbatten, Princess Margaret, the Queen Mum, Margaret Thatcher and her husband Dennis, and a whole host of minor characters have all gone to their reward in real life. I suppose the fact that the Queen and Phillip have lived until now, both in their 90s, she having reigned for nearly 70 years, made the narrative a bit more compelling, and certainly more remarkable. 

And although it's not surprising for a man of 99 to pass away, one does feel a little sadness about knowing how that particular story ends.

Good and Tired

In the before times, we always left Lucy some treats and puppy puzzles to keep her busy until the dog walker came when we went to work in the morning. A tired dog is a good dog, was our motto. In the year we spent at home, neither treats nor dog walker were strictly necessary; Lucy had all the company and exercise she needed. (Sometimes, even, too much-- we walked a lot in those early shutdown days.)

Now that we've returned to our schedule, the puzzles have reappeared, but they may not be quite as necessary as they once were. When we rise from our beds before the sun, Lucy stays asleep until one or the other of us calls her for first out or breakfast. And though she seems to appreciate the treats when we leave? More evenings than not, when we return home, she bounds over to them and starts to snuffle and chew, because she hasn't touched them during the day.

Our dog walker, too, confirms what all the signs point to. When we leave? Lucy goes back to bed and snoozes for much of the day. When the door opens for her walk, she staggers bleary-eyed down the stairs to greet the day anew.

Well.

Evidently the inverse of our precept is true: A good dog is a tired dog. At least ours is.

Coulda Woulda Maple Suga

Maple Syrup Making Also Boomed as a Pandemic Hobby the headline read. The article detailed how all the sugaring equipment has been bought-up and back-ordered. When the tree sap begins to flow, it's an official sign that spring has arrived, the governor of New Hampshire is said to have noted.

Immediately, I visualized myself with a mallet and and pocketful of spiles, tapping maples all over the neighborhood, filling my tin buckets, and setting up a turkey fryer to boil the sap down. Even a cup of amber syrup would be grade A to me, but

Dang it! 

My working from home ended a couple of months too soon.

The Work Cut Out for Me

I was unprepared.

What is poetry to you? I asked.

Just more writing.

Specific words that rhyme and are too fancy to understand

Poetry bores me.

Usually it is something confusing with some meaning people want us to decode though the lamp was white for normal reasons.

I don't have feelings for poetry.

I like poetry but not when it's in school.

I see poetry as another writing-ish unit.

 They said.

I'm so surprised! I told them. Do you like music? Songs?

Oh yes! They certainly did.

You know that's poetry, right? Words, rhythm, repetition, rhyme, feelings?

They were skeptical. So much so, that one of them wrote her haiku about it:

Though it may be true--

I will never admit it.

Songs are poems?

Just yesterday I was celebrating the arrival of National Poetry Month, but now? I see it could be a long month!