watching the British Bake Show
and not in the family room
watching TV
at the end of a long day
right by my husband
is because
after enough time
standing on my feet
rubbing my eyes
taking a breath
shaking my head as I
stare at the world about me
I have decided
that I am done
watching
fictional shows
about the real world
I’ve been a member of the Slice of Life writing community for nine months now. It’s been a source of inspiration, support and validation as I work to become braver in my writing.
As time goes on, I learn more about the rituals and traditions that “slicers” have. Most recently, I learned that each New Year’s brings with it the challenge to come up with One Little Word to frame ourselves for the new year.
I didn’t know that was a thing the week most folks posted, but I promised myself to write a post with my own One Little Word. Which is…
gather.
For me, for right now, I have come to rely on the power of gathering.
Which, now that I think about it, is strange, given that the literal meaning is so very impossible right now.
But in the metaphorical sense, I have come to rely on gathering…
Thoughts. Some days, it takes everything I have to bring my attention and focus to heel. My brain slides in one direction and the other. Like right now, for instance. I feel in my bones…how I feel, which means I feel…how? I can’t name it. My thoughts slip past and that’s strange to me. I’m used to being able to spend time with my thoughts. I’m used to being able to stop and articulate what’s going on in my inner self. And lately, that’s been tricky.
Life. These past months in particular, I’ve experienced shattering and loss. For several weeks, I sat, cross-legged and dumbstruck, among the wreckage. I’m finally standing now. Tentatively. And as I look around the room, I’m witnessing all of the routines and habits and structure I’ve let fall to pieces. And seeing them reminds me of ways I’ve failed myself, or those I love most. One by one, I’m gathering those pieces. It’s still an armful, so this one is going to take a while.
Joy. Thankfully, I haven’t lost my ability to notice and name those things, big and small, that provide me with delight, that offer reasons to get out of bed each day, that fill my heart to bursting. I can’t forget to bring these things in and together.
Strength. Remember what I said about how all those pieces of my life were an armful? It’s a LOT to carry. I am indescribably grateful for the amazing humans who situate themselves near me in one way or another. It is through the care and compassion of others who help me with the heavy lifting.
Gather. I’ll always need this word, for sure, but I’m hoping that I’ll be ready for a new one before I know it.
There are parts of my job I love beyond belief. Those things get me up every day, remind me why I teach and steel my commitment as an educator.
And there are times like today, where we sit in the aftermath of history in the making. I’ve been here before as an educator.
For the Oklahoma City bombing.
For Columbine.
For 9/11.
For Sandy Hook.
For Parkland.
For George Floyd.
Each and every one of those times, I wrestled with my own fears, my own grief, my own confusion and doubt. And each and every one of those times, I have had to consider how I will get up the next morning, put my game face on, and support my students as they wrestle with the same.
And now.
It’s strange and sad to me that I know how to do this, how to counsel children in times of national grief. I’ve done this time and time and time and time again.
Some kids will not know anything has happened at all. Some kids will be steeped in news and news and news and conversation. I know our words together need to be mindful and supportive of both.
I know my kids will need time and space to sit, both in silence and in conversation. I know that I will start with questions. Sometimes I will have answers I can give in language short and clear and honest. Sometimes I will have to say, “I wish I only knew.”
And then? Sometimes that’s it. Sometimes a conversation of seventeen minutes or two hours is enough to bring us into a healthier space.
Sometimes it takes further action, development, thought, reflection.
Today I asked my fourth-grade students, home in each of their respective Zoom corners, to grab their social studies book and open it to a random historical event. I had kids read the events on the page they selected.
And then I said someday, in ten years or in twenty-five or fifty or one hundred, there will be a kid with a social studies book. And they will hold that book in their hands, just like you are holding this book in your hands. And they will read about the events that happened on January 6, 2021. And you! You are living through this. YOU are living this history. You are a person with a family and thoughts and feelings and hopes, and this history is happening to YOU.
And then I invited them to read, one more time, the historical event in their book. I said friends, as you read I want for you to think about the kid who was a kid when this was all happening. I want you to realize that there were PEOPLE at the time this history, people those events were happening to.
They read. They reflected and shared. As always, they were sincere, honest and insightful.
And I can only hope that each one of them will carry something from today forward, something wise or hopeful or helpful.
And I can also hope I won’t have another opportunity to get better at this.
Today, I bring you a bouquet of wonderfulness, plucked by my own hands from the bounty around me, gathered with care and bound with a length of twine I found in my kitchen drawer:
A video a student sent me, just because she knows I love animated shorts, and this one was beautiful and sweet and wonderful.
A student, who loves to play with language, becoming excited when I explain appositives, shouting, “I call those COMMA TWINS!” [see what I did there?] Which, for the record, is absolutely BRILLIANT.
That same student, who gets super excited to be noticed, basking in the spotlight because we then introduced “comma twins” as a literary term.
A group of fourth-graders who somehow stumble both onto the idea of “oxymorons” and “fatal flaws” within the space of a single hour lesson.
A fifth-grader who thinks it’s cool that I don’t care if people know how old I am, after I explain that today is my half birthday and that officially makes me forty-eight-and-a-half.
Turkey barley soup, served up for lunch out of a favorite mug.
Second-graders coming to realize that not every kid has everything they need to be healthy and happy.
A kid who notices an appositive in her book and thinks to email me a picture of it.
The musical videos a student sent me of him playing the ukulele with his sometimes-willing brother at his side. Oh, the beauty and the joy that he radiates.
There were so many other flowers by the side of the road it was tough to choose just a few.
A good problem to have.
Today for the weekly Slice of Life challenge I knew I had a poem to write, but wanted to experiment with language and form. I came to a modified version of a triversen, a William Carlos Williams-created form consisting of six tercets: 18 lines in 6 stanzas. I’m still tweaking and working and thinking, but here goes:
In timesothertimes my dreams are vivid
and I carry them clanking in my pocket
and I listen to how they speakatme
Now manytoomany dreams slip from holes
in my pocket and shatter on the floor leaving
shards beautiful to stare atandat
I see my selfnotself in pieces of these dreams
and I play those bits again and over
til their edges smooth roundanddown
I force these realnotreal visions to replay
like lyrics of beyond-reach songs so
I might slide into sight of what came nextandbefore
But each timeaftertime the light fades
from the edges, the lyrics never come and
neither does the wisdom that used to comeandstay
So for nowtilwhenever all my pocket holds is hope
that dream-words will once again rest there
long enough whole enough clear enough to be heardandfelt
Sometimes my lessons are OK, but no great shakes. Sometimes they crash and burn – sometimes sadly and softly, others in a great fiery blaze of glory.
But sometimes.
Sometimes I have an idea for a lesson that’s a GREAT ONE.
And it WORKS.
I’ve been trying to be deliberate this year about writing workshop for my fourth- and fifth-grade students. I want to create a community of writers where we improve our craft. Where we love writing and fiercely protect our time at every turn. Where we take risks in our writing. Where we exist as a group that offers our fellow writers support, feedback and the occasional kick in the proverbial pants.
So far, we’ve got a space where we love writing, where we take risks and fiercely protect our time. I’d like to think it’s because I’m transparent with my students about my own writing. Whatever I ask my students to do, I do along with them. I share my writing, even when I don’t like the results so much. I love what I write sometimes, and I struggle to write sometimes. I think, and I’d like to hope, that it’s validating for kids to know that someone they see as a “real writer” (translate: a grown-up with a blog) shares their hopes and insecurities.
One area that’s been really tough for me? Peer feedback. I’ve tried for years to create routines, rituals and skills that fulfill the vision I have for a student writing community. This year, I really want to make that happen. I want my kids to feel comfortable sharing their work with others. I want them to feel like they are part of a writing community. I want them to feel that other writers SEE them, that other writers READ them, that other writers RESPOND to them.
Kind of like…the community I have in the Slice of Life challenge.
(dim the lights)
Like the fearless writing my blog cohorts put out every week.
(cue soft music)
Like the thoughtful, sincere and thorough feedback in the comments.
(gradual crescendo)
Like the fascinating conversations that occur in the comment section.
(lights and angel music UP)
YES. That’s IT. How did I not see it before, ever?
I can use the posts and comments from other Slice of Life bloggers…as MENTOR TEXT for FEEDBACK!
How. On. EARTH. Did this idea not come to me sooner?
We started with my own blog post from last week. Students read my post and the comments that followed. What did we notice? Encouragement. Quotation from the text. Deep connections. Specific compliments. Questions.
And then? We hopped over to my blogging hero Fran Haley’s site and read her work. The students’ challenge? Work together to write a comment that’s worthy of being in the company of those we saw.
WOW. Did they ever deliver. Don’t believe me? Check out the page for yourself and be the judge!
What’s even more incredible is how excited the kids were to see their posts up on the Internet. We read the kind and sincere comments that Fran wrote back to each and every one of them. I don’t know how much time Fran put into her responses, but it was worth every second to see the smiles on my kids’ faces. I’m utterly overwhelmed by Fran’s generosity. Of course, she might read this, blush and say it was nothing.
But it was everything.
My kids feel seen. They feel proud. They now know their work deserves to be read, to be considered and talked about. And they feel inspired to continue their work.
I can’t fool myself into thinking that our work is done, that we have somehow magically perfected this community of writers. But we have laid the foundation, and I am grateful to the writers and colleagues from my own writing community for helping me make it happen.
Slice of Life bloggers, if you’re out there, and you’ve made it this far, THANK YOU. Thank you for providing me with your support, motivation, friendship and inspiration. It means the world.
My third graders have been delving into philosophy, of all things. Because if little minds deserve ANYTHING, it’s the ability to wrestle with BIG ideas.
I’ve been using resources from The Prindle Institute to support our work. Our questions lately have focused on: what is alive? what is real?
After an AMAZING webinar with my hero Ellin Keene and her co-conspirator Dan Feigelson, I decided that today, I’d try taking their strategies for a spin.
Rather than falling into the question-answer-response rut, I took Ellin and Dan’s advice and posted a thought statement to see how kids might respond.
Some context. Last week, we read Lio Lionni’s Let’s Make Rabbits, which challenges our ideas about what is real, about what is ALIVE.
On Monday, I gave kids a list of different things and asked them to explain if they were alive or not. The most interesting discussion came from those grey areas: a flower in a vase, a turtle in the egg, an apple that fell to the ground. Their conversation led me to think about the idea that life may not be a binary concept.
The thought statement I posted? “I wonder if being alive or not is like an on-off switch, or more like a dimmer switch.” (Yes, I demonstrated the two from my kitchen today. =)
Things I’ve learned:
1) There’s an ART to teaching this, and to structuring it for student success.
2) I didn’t quite get there.
3) Even the messy results were still pretty cool.
Some student thoughts/reflections from the day that made me smile:
-I am now wondering how people started.
-Something new I thought about today is what is real and not real.
-A dimmer light is like a person growing up.
-When you turn a dimmer switch, it’s like a person getting older and when it gets to the darkest point it’s like the person dying.
-Can life be pain?
-Is your imagination alive?
This, from eight year-olds. Friends, the world is in good hands.
Today I saw an owl.
It glided over and lit in my next-door neighbor’s tree just as I was returning from a walk at dusk. There it sat, easily a foot tall and several inches across.
It was a thing of wonder.
It sat long enough for me to walk through the front door of my house.
Long enough for me to shout to my boys, “Guys! There’s an OWL!”
Long enough for them to ignore me.
Long enough for me to quietly slip out the back to get a better look.
Long enough for me to slip back in for a flashlight to see better.
Long enough for me to turn that flashlight on and
Remind me that
A thing of wonder does not need me to
Stop in my tracks
Take a moment
Catch my breath
Stare in awe
Take a picture
Wonder will be wonder,
Whether or not
We bear witness.
I’ve been here.
I’ve returned to school after a devastating loss before, and I did it again today.
Days like these are strange, tiring and full of uncertainty. Will I be able to hold myself together? Can I make it through? Do I have it in me to accept the “we missed you’s,” the knowing eyes and nods, and not break down into a blubbery mess?
I felt like one of those candies – the cherry cordials. The one with the waxy hard shell and the super gooey insides.
I hate cherry cordials.
Had it not been for the “soft landing” gifts my colleagues left me –
had it not been for the air hugs I was offered in the hallways –
had it not been for texts with little more than a heart or the word “hug” –
had it not been for friends to arrange dinner, or a bottle of wine, or an errand –
had it not been for supervisors who offered grace and assistance beyond what I could hope to expect –
had it not been for family members who gave unconditional support and validation –
had it not been for the notes of sympathy from students of mine who just wanted to reach out –
had it not been for flowers that awaited me after a long drive home from the funeral –
had it not been for my husband and son, whose physical presence at that funeral meant more than I could say –
had it not been for the power of hugs when they are discouraged but so desperately needed –
had it not been for a family not my own to take me as one of theirs in a time I felt utterly alone –
had it not been for friends who held me in love and compassion in those early nightmarish days –
this strong shell, already cracked to pieces, most certainly would have shattered.
It all started with a super-cute dog video.
(Go ahead and watch. it’s only about a minute long.)
And then a question. “Is this language?”
Boy oh boy, did THAT ever stir up conversation. For me, as a teacher, this could not POSSIBLY have gone any better.
I wanted students to be engaged from the get-go. Check.
I wanted them to be excited to talk about big ideas. Check.
I wanted them to be curious about stuff they didn’t know. Check.
I wanted them to have conversations about difficult things without getting into arguments. Ch-well, no. We have some work to do on that one.
But the fruits of their labor are spectacular. Small groups worked together to develop rules for what language is. Here is their work, collected together:
Rules for Language:
Only represents part of communication
A code that uses sounds, symbols, signals
Has to convey meaning and be understood by who is using it
Needs to be consistent
Set grammar and structure
Many people share
People can both understand and talk back
It can be translated to other languages
Doesn’t have to be spoken
Don’t always need a recipient-can just be for self-expression
Verbal language involves phonics, structure
The symbols and codes can change, but people need to know about it
People have to USE it
Requires socially shared rules
Whoever said that 10 year-olds are not ready for thinking about and exploring big ideas, I offer you THIS as evidence to the contrary.
And this is only day TWO of our work together. Am I excited to see where this goes? Maybe a little.
Soapbox: The Way I see Things