This post is for Day 17 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
I have been nursing a respiratory infection for a week. I've been miserable but will not be complaining here. I know at some point I will be feeling better. But where did my energy go? I haven't felt like doing anything but sitting in my favorite chair in the living room!
However, I needed a few groceries today. So I set out this morning with my list of what I needed. We were out of milk and how could we go on without a gallon of milk in the fridge! My list wasn't long so I entered the store and started collecting what I needed. It wasn't long before my feet started feeling heavy and I would need to finish. I checked off my list and headed home. Oh, but when I got home I still needed to put those groceries away!
Then I realized that I needed to do a load of laundry. So I marched down the steps to the basement, sorted the laundry, put a load in the washer and made my way back upstairs. It wouldn't be long before I needed to switch the clothes from the washer to the drier. So I made another trip downstairs and upstairs and back downstairs and upstairs to bring the load of clothes up because I needed to fold them.
So many other little things needed to get done today. Somehow I managed enough energy to do them - at least most of them. But wait! Tomorrow is Monday and I have a boxing class to go to at the gym.
We'll see!
Sunday, March 17, 2019
Saturday, March 16, 2019
Revision
This post is for Day 16 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
I have been thinking about revision lately.
When I was in the classroom, it was sometimes difficult to get elementary writers to revise. When first graders wrote, it was as though their words were written in concrete. Permanently etched.
Difficult to change or remove. Even more difficult to stretch by adding words and thoughts.
When third graders wrote, they were open to thinking another way or adding descriptive words to their writing. Using mentor texts helped them see there were other ways to say things. Sharing other's writing helped them to see new ways to approach their writing.
When I worked with fifth graders, they were much more eager to recognize the ways they could improve their writing. They were more playful and interested in trying new words, extending their writing or focusing on smaller moments in their writing.
Is it because writers move from a self-centered approach to a more sophisticated way of thinking about writing? Teachers everywhere are doing outstanding jobs of supporting young writers and move them toward more independent thinking as they write.
In my own writing, I will always find revising difficult. It's stepping away from the words and reading them as another person would. But, as writers, we are so attached to our words and thoughts.
I posted on March 14 (My Remembering Place) with the intent of continuing to work on the piece over time. On March 15, I made changes and posted the revised version. But I had not stepped very far away from the piece. I need time. I need to give my writing some space to breathe. I need to come back to my writing when the actual words do not mean so much to me.
I will revisit the post another time in the future. I need distance. I need time. I need to be open to making those revisions that I think can be made.
How do you feel about revision? How do you put yourself in a place where revision is possible?
I have been thinking about revision lately.
When I was in the classroom, it was sometimes difficult to get elementary writers to revise. When first graders wrote, it was as though their words were written in concrete. Permanently etched.
Difficult to change or remove. Even more difficult to stretch by adding words and thoughts.
When third graders wrote, they were open to thinking another way or adding descriptive words to their writing. Using mentor texts helped them see there were other ways to say things. Sharing other's writing helped them to see new ways to approach their writing.
When I worked with fifth graders, they were much more eager to recognize the ways they could improve their writing. They were more playful and interested in trying new words, extending their writing or focusing on smaller moments in their writing.
Is it because writers move from a self-centered approach to a more sophisticated way of thinking about writing? Teachers everywhere are doing outstanding jobs of supporting young writers and move them toward more independent thinking as they write.
In my own writing, I will always find revising difficult. It's stepping away from the words and reading them as another person would. But, as writers, we are so attached to our words and thoughts.
I posted on March 14 (My Remembering Place) with the intent of continuing to work on the piece over time. On March 15, I made changes and posted the revised version. But I had not stepped very far away from the piece. I need time. I need to give my writing some space to breathe. I need to come back to my writing when the actual words do not mean so much to me.
I will revisit the post another time in the future. I need distance. I need time. I need to be open to making those revisions that I think can be made.
How do you feel about revision? How do you put yourself in a place where revision is possible?
Friday, March 15, 2019
My Remembering Place - Slightly Revised - A Work in Progress
This post is for Day 15 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
My mom had a small deck outside the back door of our home with just enough room for a couple of chairs and some potted plants. She would watch the birds and rock to the warm summer breezes or sit out there to read and think. It was her quiet place.
There was a wooden railing that surrounded the deck, and my mom had placed narrow flower boxes all along the top of the railing. They were filled with red, yellow and orange begonias, purple petunias and brightly colored lantana. She always had a few hanging plants that hung above the deck. She was an excellent gardener and loved spending time on her deck. It was her flower place.
We often found her out on the deck watering the flowers or pinching off dried blossoms and leaves. Those flower boxes were treasure chests of beauty. She watched her flowers grow and tended them with care. When I joined her on the deck, we would visit and talk about her day and whatever else found its way into our conversation. It was her happy place.
One year during the early summer months she had some health issues and was admitted into the hospital. It turned out the summer was a series of time in and out of the hospital. With so much time away from home, she wasn't able to enjoy her beautiful flowers. It broke my heart when she talked about wanting to go home. I knew she wanted to just sit on her deck and enjoy her flowers.
I spent most days with her at the hospital and I felt sad when she talked about her flowers. I promised her that I was caring for them and that they were beautiful. She ached to see them. I was determined to find a way to bring the flowers to her. So I took pictures of each beautiful plant and blossom. I had the pictures printed and put together a collage of her flowers in a clear acrylic frame. I brought the frame to the hospital and placed it on the window ledge next to her bed.
Those days were tough. She would drift in and out of dementia. She slept a lot but I stayed to be with her. When she was alert she made sure that everyone who walked in her room (nurses, doctors, family and friends) saw her beautiful flowers. She was so proud of them.
Towards the end of that summer she was moved to hospice and within days she was gone. My heart ached. It was difficult to go through the motions of burying my sweet mother. But there was one thing we did for her that I think would make her smile. We took those pictures from the frame and slipped them under the blanket that covered her in her resting place. I know they are with her and that means everything. I like to think that she is digging in the dirt, tending her flowers and enjoying the beautiful blooms. It is her forever place.
These days, I think she would be proud of my garden. I try to be the gardener she was. I cherish the colorful blooms that make me smile. It is my remembering place.
My mom had a small deck outside the back door of our home with just enough room for a couple of chairs and some potted plants. She would watch the birds and rock to the warm summer breezes or sit out there to read and think. It was her quiet place.
There was a wooden railing that surrounded the deck, and my mom had placed narrow flower boxes all along the top of the railing. They were filled with red, yellow and orange begonias, purple petunias and brightly colored lantana. She always had a few hanging plants that hung above the deck. She was an excellent gardener and loved spending time on her deck. It was her flower place.
We often found her out on the deck watering the flowers or pinching off dried blossoms and leaves. Those flower boxes were treasure chests of beauty. She watched her flowers grow and tended them with care. When I joined her on the deck, we would visit and talk about her day and whatever else found its way into our conversation. It was her happy place.
One year during the early summer months she had some health issues and was admitted into the hospital. It turned out the summer was a series of time in and out of the hospital. With so much time away from home, she wasn't able to enjoy her beautiful flowers. It broke my heart when she talked about wanting to go home. I knew she wanted to just sit on her deck and enjoy her flowers.
I spent most days with her at the hospital and I felt sad when she talked about her flowers. I promised her that I was caring for them and that they were beautiful. She ached to see them. I was determined to find a way to bring the flowers to her. So I took pictures of each beautiful plant and blossom. I had the pictures printed and put together a collage of her flowers in a clear acrylic frame. I brought the frame to the hospital and placed it on the window ledge next to her bed.
Those days were tough. She would drift in and out of dementia. She slept a lot but I stayed to be with her. When she was alert she made sure that everyone who walked in her room (nurses, doctors, family and friends) saw her beautiful flowers. She was so proud of them.
Towards the end of that summer she was moved to hospice and within days she was gone. My heart ached. It was difficult to go through the motions of burying my sweet mother. But there was one thing we did for her that I think would make her smile. We took those pictures from the frame and slipped them under the blanket that covered her in her resting place. I know they are with her and that means everything. I like to think that she is digging in the dirt, tending her flowers and enjoying the beautiful blooms. It is her forever place.
These days, I think she would be proud of my garden. I try to be the gardener she was. I cherish the colorful blooms that make me smile. It is my remembering place.
Thursday, March 14, 2019
My Remembering Place
This post is for Day 14 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
My mom had a small deck just outside the back door of our home with enough room for a couple of chairs. She would often sit out there to read. It was her quiet place.
There was a railing that surrounded the deck and she had placed narrow flower boxes all along the top of the railing. She would fill them every spring with begonias and other flower treasures that she found at the nursery. She also had many hanging plants that hung above the deck. She was a really good gardener. She loved spending time on her deck. It was her flower place.
We would often find her watering the flowers or picking off a dried blossom or leaves. They were her treasures. She delighted in the beautiful colored blossoms. She watched them grow and tended them with care. It was her happy place.
One year during the early summer months she had some health issues and was admitted into the hospital. It turned out the summer was a series of time in and out of the hospital. She wasn't able to enjoy her beautiful flowers. It broke my heart when she talked about wanting to go home. I knew she wanted to just sit on her deck and enjoy her flowers.
I spent most days with her and I felt sad when she talked about her flowers. I promised her that I was caring for them and that they were beautiful. She ached to see them. I had to find a way to bring the flowers to her. So I took pictures of each beautiful blossom on each bright green plant. I had the pictures developed and put together a collage of her flowers in a clear acrylic frame. I brought them to the hospital and placed them on the window ledge next to her bed.
Those days were tough. She was in and out of dementia. But when she was alert she made sure that everyone who walked in her room (nurses, doctors, family and friends) saw her beautiful flowers. She was so proud of them.
Towards the end of the summer she was moved to hospice and within days she was gone. My heart ached. It was difficult to go through the motions of burying my sweet mother. But there was one thing we did for her that I think would make her smile. We took those pictures from the frame and slipped them under the blanket that covered her in the coffin. I know they are with her and that means everything. Wherever she is, I hope she is tending her flowers and enjoying the beautiful blossoms.
These days, I think she would be proud of my garden. I try to be the gardener she was. I cherish the colorful blooms that make me smile. It is my remembering place.
My mom had a small deck just outside the back door of our home with enough room for a couple of chairs. She would often sit out there to read. It was her quiet place.
There was a railing that surrounded the deck and she had placed narrow flower boxes all along the top of the railing. She would fill them every spring with begonias and other flower treasures that she found at the nursery. She also had many hanging plants that hung above the deck. She was a really good gardener. She loved spending time on her deck. It was her flower place.
We would often find her watering the flowers or picking off a dried blossom or leaves. They were her treasures. She delighted in the beautiful colored blossoms. She watched them grow and tended them with care. It was her happy place.
One year during the early summer months she had some health issues and was admitted into the hospital. It turned out the summer was a series of time in and out of the hospital. She wasn't able to enjoy her beautiful flowers. It broke my heart when she talked about wanting to go home. I knew she wanted to just sit on her deck and enjoy her flowers.
I spent most days with her and I felt sad when she talked about her flowers. I promised her that I was caring for them and that they were beautiful. She ached to see them. I had to find a way to bring the flowers to her. So I took pictures of each beautiful blossom on each bright green plant. I had the pictures developed and put together a collage of her flowers in a clear acrylic frame. I brought them to the hospital and placed them on the window ledge next to her bed.
Those days were tough. She was in and out of dementia. But when she was alert she made sure that everyone who walked in her room (nurses, doctors, family and friends) saw her beautiful flowers. She was so proud of them.
Towards the end of the summer she was moved to hospice and within days she was gone. My heart ached. It was difficult to go through the motions of burying my sweet mother. But there was one thing we did for her that I think would make her smile. We took those pictures from the frame and slipped them under the blanket that covered her in the coffin. I know they are with her and that means everything. Wherever she is, I hope she is tending her flowers and enjoying the beautiful blossoms.
These days, I think she would be proud of my garden. I try to be the gardener she was. I cherish the colorful blooms that make me smile. It is my remembering place.
Wednesday, March 13, 2019
Not Feeling Well
This post is for Day 13 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
The flu crud has reached our house. I was the last to take it on. I know I will feel better soon but I just want to sleep through the day and night.
Tight breathing
Heavy weight sitting on my chest
Headache that pounds
A voice that is rough and low and scratchy
Coughing that keeps me from sleep
Life on hold
Until meds kick in
And restful sleep comes.
The flu crud has reached our house. I was the last to take it on. I know I will feel better soon but I just want to sleep through the day and night.
Tight breathing
Heavy weight sitting on my chest
Headache that pounds
A voice that is rough and low and scratchy
Coughing that keeps me from sleep
Life on hold
Until meds kick in
And restful sleep comes.
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
Look Closely
This post is for Day 12 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
I grabbed my spring jacket and stepped out the door eager to look for the signs of spring. Here's a collection of my thoughts as I took in this beautiful day.
Look closely and you will see the early signs of spring.
a sudden greening of the grass
spring bulbs reaching for the sun
trees bursting with buds
birds darting through the trees
shadows made by the sun
neighbors stepping out of their winter caves
spring is here
I grabbed my spring jacket and stepped out the door eager to look for the signs of spring. Here's a collection of my thoughts as I took in this beautiful day.
Look closely and you will see the early signs of spring.
a sudden greening of the grass
spring bulbs reaching for the sun
trees bursting with buds
birds darting through the trees
shadows made by the sun
neighbors stepping out of their winter caves
spring is here
Monday, March 11, 2019
Live Laugh Love
This post is for Day 11 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
I have a pillow in my living room. It's stitched with the words Live, Laugh, Love. I'm using that today as a framework for my post. Not feeling so creative today. Maybe this structure will help. What structures have you found helpful?
Live
Live for the rainbow after the storm.
Live with joy and gratefulness.
Live with devotion and curiosity.
Live for warm breezes after a chilly winter.
Laugh
Laugh with children and family.
Laugh even when it's hard
Laugh at the silly moments that happen.
Laugh at your own mistakes.
Love
Love friends and family
Love sunshine and blossoms
Love blue skies and the green forest.
Love the world.
I have a pillow in my living room. It's stitched with the words Live, Laugh, Love. I'm using that today as a framework for my post. Not feeling so creative today. Maybe this structure will help. What structures have you found helpful?
Live
Live for the rainbow after the storm.
Live with joy and gratefulness.
Live with devotion and curiosity.
Live for warm breezes after a chilly winter.
Laugh
Laugh with children and family.
Laugh even when it's hard
Laugh at the silly moments that happen.
Laugh at your own mistakes.
Love
Love friends and family
Love sunshine and blossoms
Love blue skies and the green forest.
Love the world.
Sunday, March 10, 2019
Push
This post is for Day 10 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
I went to the gym this morning. I had a great workout. Now that I am home with a cup of coffee (and my water bottle) sitting next to me, I am thinking about the word "push" and how it comes into play during my workouts. I am not an athlete and never have been. My goal is to get and stay healthy. (I will turn 70 this summer.) My workouts don't match the athletes at the gym but I am making progress.
I start my workout knowing that I want to push myself today. I have health goals in mind and I know what I need to do to get there. I begin a treadmill workout and think about my plan for this portion of my gym time. I walk at a quick pace to get my heart rate up a bit. My goal involves me running at nearly double that walking pace for 30-45 seconds and then bringing it back to my brisk walking pace. My heart rate jumps up and I am pushing - 20 seconds - 30 seconds - 45 seconds before I drop back to a walking pace. Then I repeat.
I recently started this "running" routine. I know it will take me awhile to build this routine into my workouts. It will take time and effort to raise my walking/running pace but it will happen. I have no doubt.
I am wondering this morning about the learners in our classrooms. It's easy for them to sit passively and perform what is asked of them. But is the "push" something that comes from inside when they shift from a passive to an active learner?
Do they believe that their efforts will make a difference?
Have they set goals for their learning?
Do they understand that it takes time?
Do they know that there will be setbacks?
Can athletes (and gym folks like me) teach them about learning?
I went to the gym this morning. I had a great workout. Now that I am home with a cup of coffee (and my water bottle) sitting next to me, I am thinking about the word "push" and how it comes into play during my workouts. I am not an athlete and never have been. My goal is to get and stay healthy. (I will turn 70 this summer.) My workouts don't match the athletes at the gym but I am making progress.
I start my workout knowing that I want to push myself today. I have health goals in mind and I know what I need to do to get there. I begin a treadmill workout and think about my plan for this portion of my gym time. I walk at a quick pace to get my heart rate up a bit. My goal involves me running at nearly double that walking pace for 30-45 seconds and then bringing it back to my brisk walking pace. My heart rate jumps up and I am pushing - 20 seconds - 30 seconds - 45 seconds before I drop back to a walking pace. Then I repeat.
I recently started this "running" routine. I know it will take me awhile to build this routine into my workouts. It will take time and effort to raise my walking/running pace but it will happen. I have no doubt.
I am wondering this morning about the learners in our classrooms. It's easy for them to sit passively and perform what is asked of them. But is the "push" something that comes from inside when they shift from a passive to an active learner?
Do they believe that their efforts will make a difference?
Have they set goals for their learning?
Do they understand that it takes time?
Do they know that there will be setbacks?
Can athletes (and gym folks like me) teach them about learning?
Saturday, March 9, 2019
It's Almost Time to Dig in the Dirt
This post is for Day 9 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
We change the time tonight and spring forward. These days our clocks will automatically jump to the next hour in the middle of the night. While I hate losing an hour of sleep, I can hear the whisper of spring and it makes me smile. Today, the sun is shining and it will be nearly 50 degrees. I sense new beginnings in the air. Spring comes in whispers.
In my garden, I see green tips of daffodils and crocuses pushing through the dark earth. The peonies are sending their dart red shoots into the air. I can count on my perennials to be the first to wish me a happy spring. I walk the yard picking up pine cones that have dropped from the tree at the corner of our house.
I have been receiving seed and bulb catalogs in the mail. I turn the pages with wonder at the beautiful colors of spring and summer blooms. I notice a spring sale at the local nursery. I may have to make a trip there today. I am itching to get started in my garden. I begin to plan the annuals that I'll want to plant. Always dahlias. Surely some coleus (the beautiful pink and green ones I found last year). Large green ferns nestled under the trees.
It's time to arrange the stones in my garden. They are a collection of unusual stones that my husband has collected and that one special stone - a piece of petrified wood that used to be in my dad's garden. It sits in my garden now as an instigator of memories.
I'll put out the hummingbird feeders soon. The hummingbirds should start showing up in April as they migrate from the south. I love watching out my window as they come to feed. Tiny visitors with their whirring wings hovering at the feeder as they drink the nectar I have made for them.
I dig out my garden gloves, shovels and rakes that sat in the corner of the garage all winter. The air whispers of spring. The birds chirp and spread their melodies through the air. And I am ready for sunshine and warm breezes. Spring brings me new beginnings and that annual itch to dig in the dirt.
We change the time tonight and spring forward. These days our clocks will automatically jump to the next hour in the middle of the night. While I hate losing an hour of sleep, I can hear the whisper of spring and it makes me smile. Today, the sun is shining and it will be nearly 50 degrees. I sense new beginnings in the air. Spring comes in whispers.
In my garden, I see green tips of daffodils and crocuses pushing through the dark earth. The peonies are sending their dart red shoots into the air. I can count on my perennials to be the first to wish me a happy spring. I walk the yard picking up pine cones that have dropped from the tree at the corner of our house.
I have been receiving seed and bulb catalogs in the mail. I turn the pages with wonder at the beautiful colors of spring and summer blooms. I notice a spring sale at the local nursery. I may have to make a trip there today. I am itching to get started in my garden. I begin to plan the annuals that I'll want to plant. Always dahlias. Surely some coleus (the beautiful pink and green ones I found last year). Large green ferns nestled under the trees.
It's time to arrange the stones in my garden. They are a collection of unusual stones that my husband has collected and that one special stone - a piece of petrified wood that used to be in my dad's garden. It sits in my garden now as an instigator of memories.
I'll put out the hummingbird feeders soon. The hummingbirds should start showing up in April as they migrate from the south. I love watching out my window as they come to feed. Tiny visitors with their whirring wings hovering at the feeder as they drink the nectar I have made for them.
I dig out my garden gloves, shovels and rakes that sat in the corner of the garage all winter. The air whispers of spring. The birds chirp and spread their melodies through the air. And I am ready for sunshine and warm breezes. Spring brings me new beginnings and that annual itch to dig in the dirt.
Friday, March 8, 2019
Our House
This post is for Day 8 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
1955 - We were a family of six - my mom and dad, my two sisters and my brother. My father was building a house. When it was finished we would be living there together. I was six and it's difficult now to recall the details of that time. Thankfully, I do remember moments, and feelings, and sounds and smells.
There were days that our whole family would go to the building site. We were together and the sense of family was so strong. We weren't running off to spend time with friends. We weren't distracted by the TV. And at that time we had no digital devices that would draw our attention away from our time as a family.
My mother would pack peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We would bring along a record player, games, coloring books and crayons. We would spend the day in the space that would one day be our dining room.
What I remember most is the smell of fresh wood. Walk into any lumber store and you will know what I mean. There is something about the smell of freshly sawed wood.
The closeness of our family was like the strength of the timber. The timber that formed the foundation of the home my father built.
1955 - We were a family of six - my mom and dad, my two sisters and my brother. My father was building a house. When it was finished we would be living there together. I was six and it's difficult now to recall the details of that time. Thankfully, I do remember moments, and feelings, and sounds and smells.
There were days that our whole family would go to the building site. We were together and the sense of family was so strong. We weren't running off to spend time with friends. We weren't distracted by the TV. And at that time we had no digital devices that would draw our attention away from our time as a family.
My mother would pack peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We would bring along a record player, games, coloring books and crayons. We would spend the day in the space that would one day be our dining room.
What I remember most is the smell of fresh wood. Walk into any lumber store and you will know what I mean. There is something about the smell of freshly sawed wood.
The closeness of our family was like the strength of the timber. The timber that formed the foundation of the home my father built.
Thursday, March 7, 2019
Chanel No 5
This post is for Day 7 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
For many years, my mother kept a bottle of Chanel No 5 on her bedroom dresser. I remember that someone gave it to her as a gift. I can recall the rich scent like it was yesterday and it brings back so many memories.
My mom was humble and we lived within our means so she would never have purchased such an extravagance for herself. The bottle was beautiful and the perfume a golden color. I thought it was the kind of perfume that movie stars would wear.
There weren't many opportunities for my mom to wear perfume. But on very special occasions she would reach for the bottle of Chanel No 5 and dab it behind her ears or on her slender wrists. It signified that it was a special occasion that lifted her away from her daily existence. To me it was a bit magical.
I don't know what happened to the bottle of Chanel No 5 when my mom passed away. I wish I had claimed it. Now, I visit the perfume counter at the department store in search of the scent that brings me memories of my mother. I find a Chanel No 5 tester bottle and spray it into the air or on my own wrists. I take a sample card, spray it with Chanel No 5 and slip it into my pocket. For days, it fills the air with memories of my mom.
So if you see me at the perfume counter in the department store, don't assume that I am shopping for a new perfume. Oh, no. I am visiting yesteryear.
For many years, my mother kept a bottle of Chanel No 5 on her bedroom dresser. I remember that someone gave it to her as a gift. I can recall the rich scent like it was yesterday and it brings back so many memories.
My mom was humble and we lived within our means so she would never have purchased such an extravagance for herself. The bottle was beautiful and the perfume a golden color. I thought it was the kind of perfume that movie stars would wear.
There weren't many opportunities for my mom to wear perfume. But on very special occasions she would reach for the bottle of Chanel No 5 and dab it behind her ears or on her slender wrists. It signified that it was a special occasion that lifted her away from her daily existence. To me it was a bit magical.
I don't know what happened to the bottle of Chanel No 5 when my mom passed away. I wish I had claimed it. Now, I visit the perfume counter at the department store in search of the scent that brings me memories of my mother. I find a Chanel No 5 tester bottle and spray it into the air or on my own wrists. I take a sample card, spray it with Chanel No 5 and slip it into my pocket. For days, it fills the air with memories of my mom.
So if you see me at the perfume counter in the department store, don't assume that I am shopping for a new perfume. Oh, no. I am visiting yesteryear.
Wednesday, March 6, 2019
W-R-I-T-E
This post is for Day 6 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
W-R-I-T-E
Write with wonder
as if you've seen the world anew
or searched deep into those memories
that stay close to your heart
Reflect on the words you've written
ponder what you've said (or didn't say)
write the words that resonate
with clarity and truth
Inspire and influence
with your carefully chosen words
rouse the thoughts that speak
of who you are and the world you know
Tell in the clearest way you can
the parts of you that need to be written
reveal your reality and
impart your deepest sense of knowing
Entrust your writing to the world
let your words emerge and rise up
impart what you know so others
can feel the beat of your heart
W-R-I-T-E
Write with wonder
as if you've seen the world anew
or searched deep into those memories
that stay close to your heart
Reflect on the words you've written
ponder what you've said (or didn't say)
write the words that resonate
with clarity and truth
Inspire and influence
with your carefully chosen words
rouse the thoughts that speak
of who you are and the world you know
Tell in the clearest way you can
the parts of you that need to be written
reveal your reality and
impart your deepest sense of knowing
Entrust your writing to the world
let your words emerge and rise up
impart what you know so others
can feel the beat of your heart
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
Birthday Celebration
This post is for Day 5 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
The evening descends.
The house awaits a celebration.
It's ready for
My husband's birthday.
As the family arrives
The house shifts
From a quiet, peaceful place
To a crazy mix
Of noise and hugs and chaos.
We circle around
As he opens his presents
And the handmade cards
From the grandchildren.
We gather at the table
For pizza, cake and ice cream.
The conversation wraps around us
Like a warm breeze.
Our family is together
Here in this house
Surrounded by laughter
And love.
The evening descends.
The house awaits a celebration.
It's ready for
My husband's birthday.
As the family arrives
The house shifts
From a quiet, peaceful place
To a crazy mix
Of noise and hugs and chaos.
We circle around
As he opens his presents
And the handmade cards
From the grandchildren.
We gather at the table
For pizza, cake and ice cream.
The conversation wraps around us
Like a warm breeze.
Our family is together
Here in this house
Surrounded by laughter
And love.
Monday, March 4, 2019
A Shift of Words
This post is for Day 4 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
Like many of you, I have been involved in countless conversations about education. Some of our conversations are about new instructional strategies or classroom environment. Some of them are about building relationships with our students and colleagues. Others focus on digital literacy or expanding our classroom libraries.
Among all those conversations that I have been part of, there was a time when a slight shift in words gave us a sharper focus as we talked about what happens in classrooms. I was fortunate to be part of a district that focused hard on improving teaching and learning. One day our Director of Education began to shift our thinking with a simple rearrangement of words. While it was a small and simple shift, it had a huge impact on our conversations and what we did in classrooms. This occurred several (maybe even many) years ago when the conversations about teaching focused on the how and what we as teachers did in our classrooms.
It was common in our district to frame our conversations around teaching and learning. One day, our director began shifting our conversations by flipping our focus to learning and teaching. It seemed simple enough. On the surface, one might not even notice the shift. But then, it began to change the way we thought about our classrooms, our schools, and our district. We began to pay attention to the learning before the teaching.
This simple shift put the focus on children and learning. It was no longer critical that we focus on what or how we taught each day although that was still an important part of our conversations. Observing students, listening to their responses to our classroom conversations, valuing them as individuals, paying attention to our informal assessments became our true vision. We saw with new eyes, we sought to understand what students were thinking and understanding, we taught in response to what we learned about our students. Looking back, I know it was a simple shift in words but now I can see what a huge impact it made.
Learning and teaching - paying attention to what comes first - our students.
Like many of you, I have been involved in countless conversations about education. Some of our conversations are about new instructional strategies or classroom environment. Some of them are about building relationships with our students and colleagues. Others focus on digital literacy or expanding our classroom libraries.
Among all those conversations that I have been part of, there was a time when a slight shift in words gave us a sharper focus as we talked about what happens in classrooms. I was fortunate to be part of a district that focused hard on improving teaching and learning. One day our Director of Education began to shift our thinking with a simple rearrangement of words. While it was a small and simple shift, it had a huge impact on our conversations and what we did in classrooms. This occurred several (maybe even many) years ago when the conversations about teaching focused on the how and what we as teachers did in our classrooms.
It was common in our district to frame our conversations around teaching and learning. One day, our director began shifting our conversations by flipping our focus to learning and teaching. It seemed simple enough. On the surface, one might not even notice the shift. But then, it began to change the way we thought about our classrooms, our schools, and our district. We began to pay attention to the learning before the teaching.
This simple shift put the focus on children and learning. It was no longer critical that we focus on what or how we taught each day although that was still an important part of our conversations. Observing students, listening to their responses to our classroom conversations, valuing them as individuals, paying attention to our informal assessments became our true vision. We saw with new eyes, we sought to understand what students were thinking and understanding, we taught in response to what we learned about our students. Looking back, I know it was a simple shift in words but now I can see what a huge impact it made.
Learning and teaching - paying attention to what comes first - our students.
Sunday, March 3, 2019
The story that grabs me my the hand...
This post is for Day 3 of the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
I'm reading a book right now that grabbed me by the hand in the first crafted words, tugged at my heart and compelled me to venture on a journey into the story.
The book is The Lost Girls by Heather Young
The story begins:
"I found this notebook in the desk yesterday. I didn't know I had any of them left, those books I bought at Framer's with their black-and-white marbled covers and their empty, lined pages waiting to be filled. When I opened it, the binding crackled in my hands and I had to sit down."
And it continues:
"The edges of the book's pages were yellow and curled, but their centers were white, and they shouted in the quiet of the parlor. Long ago, I filled these books with stories, simple things the children enjoyed, but this one demanded something else. It was as though it had lain beneath stacks of old Christmas cards and faded stationery until now, when my life has begun to wane with the millennium and my thoughts have turned more and more to the past."
The pull into the story was strong and I found I MUST read on.
What makes this pull so strong?
Is it the word selection?
Is it the author's craft?
Is it the promise of the unfolding story?
Is it the connection I find in those first few words?
Is it curiosity that makes me wonder about this character's life of writing?
Have your found books that impact you this way? What draws you in?
I wonder if students in our schools have a similar tug when reading books they have chosen to read?
What draws them in?
What keeps them there?
Can we know in the first few pages of a book that we will love the story?
I'm reading a book right now that grabbed me by the hand in the first crafted words, tugged at my heart and compelled me to venture on a journey into the story.
The book is The Lost Girls by Heather Young
The story begins:
"I found this notebook in the desk yesterday. I didn't know I had any of them left, those books I bought at Framer's with their black-and-white marbled covers and their empty, lined pages waiting to be filled. When I opened it, the binding crackled in my hands and I had to sit down."
And it continues:
"The edges of the book's pages were yellow and curled, but their centers were white, and they shouted in the quiet of the parlor. Long ago, I filled these books with stories, simple things the children enjoyed, but this one demanded something else. It was as though it had lain beneath stacks of old Christmas cards and faded stationery until now, when my life has begun to wane with the millennium and my thoughts have turned more and more to the past."
The pull into the story was strong and I found I MUST read on.
What makes this pull so strong?
Is it the word selection?
Is it the author's craft?
Is it the promise of the unfolding story?
Is it the connection I find in those first few words?
Is it curiosity that makes me wonder about this character's life of writing?
Have your found books that impact you this way? What draws you in?
I wonder if students in our schools have a similar tug when reading books they have chosen to read?
What draws them in?
What keeps them there?
Can we know in the first few pages of a book that we will love the story?
Saturday, March 2, 2019
Snow Visitors
This post is Day 2 in the 2019 Slice of Life Challenge. Thanks to the Two Writing Teachers for bringing this community of writers together to share our writing in the month of March.
A few weeks ago, I jotted some thoughts down in my journal after waking up to fresh snow on the ground. Today, I hope to expand my brief notes to a longer moment in time. I wonder what I will learn about writing, reflection and revision.
In the early morning hours, I step softly from my bedroom to greet the day. The house is quiet for now, resting in the slow muffled breathing of my family. In the hush of the early moments of my day, I glance out through the window and notice the soft, white snow that has fallen during the night. It's pure white flakes have blanketed the yard and covered the brown grass of winter. I love the brightness of this new-fallen snow. I strive to stretch those early morning quiet moments as long as I can. The peace. The quiet. The white. The calm.
I glance across the yard to see two rabbits darting through the snow. They leave the footprints that clearly mark their early morning dance.
And so the day begins. I am ready. I have seen beauty and felt peace in the beginning of a new day.
This is what I learned about writing, reflection and revision:
1. There are small gems of writing in my writing notebook that are invitations to revisit a moment in time and expand. They are starting points for more writing.
2. When revising, word choice can be an entertaining way to discover more words and enrich the writing piece. I played with a few words and the thesaurus as I recrafted this moment in time.
3. Revising is an opportunity to rethink something you've written. I read these words and tried to take a step back and think about how I could make it better.
4. Writing is never finished. On another day, I would enjoy working with this piece a bit more. Maybe I would make it longer. Maybe I would arrange it into a poem.
Friday, March 1, 2019
Blue Eyes
.
My father had blue eyes
They were the clear, deep blue of the lake.
They were the blue of the brightest summer sky.
I always wanted blue eyes.
Mine were brown.
I used to love it when he looked at me.
His smile was sort of impish.
The creases of his face framed his eyes
And etched the wisdom of the years.
My eyes were different than his
But I'd like to think our eyes saw
The same promise of each new day.
The good in others.
The magic of spring.
The love of family.
The promise of tomorrow.
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