Share and Share Alike

I have a couple rules about eating in my class. If I provide the treat, then all are welcome to eat it, right there and then. if it's an outside snack, then I usually default to save it for later, mostly on the basis that eating it will be a distraction. Trust me, it is nearly impossible for sixth graders to eat anything without a big production and a lot of detritus.

Post Halloween candy consumption adds another layer of complexity. Many kids have something in their pockets, but not everyone. So today, when a student was eating candy, I reminded her of the rules. "What if I have enough for everyone?" she asked, and I agreed that it would be fine for her to share. 

She ran out though, with a couple of students to go. "Can I run to my locker for more?" she asked.

I told her no, planning to supply the extra candy myself, but two kids who had their treat willingly gave theirs to the two who had missed out.

"Wow!" commented one of the beneficiaries. "Chivalry sure is not dead in here!"

A Hit and a Miss

"Wow!" one student exclaimed as she sat down for her writing conference today. "Look at this!" She flipped her iPad around so I could see the 400 words she had already written neatly divided into paragraphs. "I never knew how to do paragraphs until today when you taught us!" she reported with pride.

I felt a little proud, too. "Thanks!" I told her. "It's always nice to get positive feedback."

Overhearing our conversation, another student joined in. "Look at mine!" he said. "Paragraphs are so easy now!"

But before I could congratulate myself further, he continued, "I just count five sentences and hit return!"

Mmmm, No. No, I Do Not.

The young writers in my class spent a good chunk of the last couple of days in a writing workshop-style class. There was dedicated time set aside for them to work on first drafts of their personal narratives, and as they drafted, I met with each student for a 3-5 minute conference.

It felt good to talk to each of them as one writer to another, both from the perspectives of making a personal connection and demonstrating my credibility as a coach. (I'm pretty good at this writing stuff, y'know!) As expected, though, there were kids in every group who raised their hands 10 or 15 minutes into the writing time to ask, "What do I do if I'm finished?" and so I made the declaration that every draft had to be at least 500 words.

Eyes widened throughout the room every time, and I gave a quick tutorial of the word count feature on Google Docs so they could monitor their progress. Soon writers were checking their word counts frequently, but they were also using the guidelines and checklist to add to their writing. 

Even so, there was know-it-all in every class who waved a hand when I issued the 500 word challenge. "Don't you mean 500 characters?"

So There

Perhaps I was too hasty with my garden post the other day, for when I checked my email for the last time before I went to bed, I read a nasty-gram about rats in the garden and the proposal to ban all composters. Our plot is one of the seven with open-bin composting, but never do we put kitchen scraps or anything other than garden trimmings in the bin. Nor do we have any sign of rats in our plot. It seems unnecessarily draconian to ban all composting without trying incremental measures first.

Oh, we'll discuss it at the annual meeting, but because I'll be out of town, I'll have to send my input in writing, and I have little hope that the community in this community garden will suffer any compromise, so self-righteous is the spirit of the leadership. 

Ooh! It makes me mad enough to quit! And if it weren't for those shallots and garlic and cover crop I just planted on Saturday, I think I might.

Do Not Call List

My phone rang with an unknown number in Target yesterday, so I silenced it with a quick palm over the face of my watch. The caller was persistent though, and a moment later, my Linus and Lucy ringtone blared from my back pocket again, showing the same weird name and number. Again, I declined the call, but when my butt buzzed a third time, I yanked the phone from my pocket with irritation and punched the accept button. "Wrong number!" I snapped and hung up. A few seconds later I received a one word text: oven.

It was true that my original service appointment for my oven was scheduled for today, but I had canceled it earlier in the week after I got ahold of the extended warranty company and filed a claim. They were handling the service call now, and it was on the calendar for Wednesday afternoon, less convenient, but at no charge to me. The original, manufacturer-approved company was going to make me pay 160 bucks before even setting foot in the house, which was worrisome, because what incentive would they have to return with the part in a timely manner if I paid their entire labor upfront? 

Even so, I felt I owed it to the technician to explain that I had canceled the appointment, and so I called the number back. "Okay," he said and hung up.

I scanned through my email to check the Wednesday call, and I blinked when I saw the confirmation. It's the same company.

At least I'll recognize the number.

To Next Year

I shouldered a bag full of the last several pounds of green tomatoes and peppers, and spun the combination lock one more time as I exited the garden and headed home in the golden light of this October afternoon. Three hours after I had arrived, the fence line was clean, the beds clear, the compost bins full, next summer's shallots and garlic seeded, cover crops planted, and all the cages and stakes and buckets stacked neatly by the rickety plastic potting bench. 

They were chores I had put off, weekend after weekend, but as I turned my gaze one last time to that crazy, awful, problematic garden plot, I definitely felt a twinge of anticipation. 

Burying the Lead

It was a passage I have used dozens of times over the years to teach young writers how to craft an engaging lead. 

Taken from writing teacher guru Nancie Atwell's text Lessons that Change Writers, the paragraph is a short anecdote about a family going to their lake house and finding a car in the water at the end of their dock. The lesson calls for reading the overview and then showing students how this writer tried three leads for his piece, using action, dialogue, and reaction. 

This morning when I read the first passage to my class a student's hand shot up. "Rangeley Lake?" he asked in astonishment. "What state is this in?"

"Probably Maine," I guessed. "That's where this 7th grade writer is from."

"Oh my gosh!" he responded. "We have a cabin on the next lake over! It's called Loon Lake, because, y'know? Loons. But I've been to Rangeley Lake a million times!"

"That's pretty amazing," I agreed.

"I never did see a car in there, though," he finished.