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Showing posts from 2011

Frost

Cold Change The icicle cracked from the eave Dropped direct Pierced, cleaved Life into two distinct halves Before loss and after Tick There Tock Gone A second to mark a lifetime Lost loved one Innocent sheen on life smothered under a shroud Chill coated skin, Sorrow frosted soul Reality is a heavy nipping cloud A mist that will never rise Wherever you go, whatever you do It clings to you Raw ice

Wordstock Moment #2

Afternoon and the convention halls are quiet. I’ve chosen to occupy the opposite end of the center, away from all the writers who love to talk. I want to write today. A few whispering women pass by on their way to the restroom, also on my end of the hall. I’m sitting in the “Laptop Lounge”, a cool name for an area with little stools, a long shelf and plugs in the wall. My back is to the hall. I get to face a dark blue wall for inspiration. At least my back is turned, allowing me to avoid all eye contact and feel alone. I like to be alone when I write. But I’m not alone. The bright recessed lighting overhead casts a hard shadow of my own hand writing on paper. My shadow is always there – but usually it contains itself better. I can’t seem to escape the smell of coffee. As much as I try to avoid grouping people and making blanket statements, I’m beginning to hypothesize that the one common thread among writers, beyond the love of words, is drinking coffee. I smell it

Wordstock Writers Conference

Moment #1 10:00 a.m. I’m sitting in a row of tightly packed convention chairs, cozy in my hat, sweater and jeans. The presenter tells us all to look around and be here now, so I have to stop deliberating over the necessity of another coffee or not and focus. The first place I look is up, cause whoever looks there? There could be a suspended monkey cage above me and I’d not notice, well, maybe if I’d had that other coffee I would. The ceiling is from the seventies, all squares and recessed lighting. It’s morning but the lighting glow is like that you’d find in a Vegas Casino where you can’t tell the time. The floor confirms my hypothesis of the seventies time frame, covered in bright blue, red and gold geometric shapes that made me dizzy when I walked in. To my right are two men who are totally different from one another. But what catches my attention first is that the man furthest to the fabric covered wall is drinking coffee and I’m envious. I love coffee – but

One Lingering Moment

One lingering moment is all we have. Most moments build the foundation of who you are, yet have no haven in minds memory. Some moments though, you remember. They aren’t all significant, the one’s you remember. Some just pop up. Some hang there. Some are etched. Some moments choose you and hang on. Some moments, you choose to hold onto. I don’t have the best memory, but there are moments when I remember to make the choice. There was this one moment, in college, sitting on the floor in my apartment. I can't recall if I’m alone, but in my memory I cannot see another face. I'm sitting on the floor of our shabby two-bedroom, and that was with five of us in that small space. I’m writing, doing crafts, delighting in doodling, feeling lighthearted and lackadaisical. The music is what I remember most vividly. It was loud. It was the Cranberries. The song was simple. Slow. At the moment, it was meaningful to me. Regardless, I closed my eyes and tried to imprint that

A Sentence in the Hands of a Child

Today I had the extreme honor of listening to third graders read their fictional stories. And I loved every minute of FBI baby brothers, Giant BFF's, and talking teddy bears. During one such conference I took pause - to marvel at the power of one sentence in the hands of a child. The boy was still writing his story but would occasionally stop to read aloud to me. He stopped reading mid-sentence at one point and began writing frantically, only taking a moment to fill me in, "He doesn't get back to earth with this sentence, but he does escape from the alien monster." I just smiled back, because where did that alien come from? Last I'd read with him, a few minutes prior, there was only a rabbit riding on the back of an electronic magical horse. Wow, that's one sentence. A sentence in the hands of a child, holds the potential of all things created - and yet to be imagined. A sentence in the hands of a child, is putty for little Gods - building new worl

Death is Only Part of Life

Death is only part of life. I know this So how can it shock me We were all here just a minute ago Complete, the circle of my family Time was counting down our bliss Death is only a part of life We know this The black cloud on the horizon Didn’t come in the order presumed It struck around - a chaotic tornado, ripping away our young The old were ready, the adults resigned The children, they were our protected Death was to meet with us first - our song had been sung His song Was on the tip of his tongue Death is only a part of life. Why did I believe it would care of our strife When great waves wash away a great many more Then earthquakes, floods and war Still The children should be last A selfish plea to the universe Take us all as I know you must But leave our children behind us

Education's Dirty Little Secret

Oh I'm gonna ruffle some feathers now... Now that I've touted the value of higher standards, I should remark on their worth. They are valuable to every teacher. He/she will have a goal, a guide to aim for, a benchmark for evaluation and goal setting. Every student is different: some low, some mid-range, and some high and they arrive at your classroom door in September spanned in a broad degree of varying levels. It is a teacher's job to take each student from where they are when they enter your classroom and move them forward. For student A- that journey may have to begin with single-digit addition, for student B- it may be double-digit addition, for student C- it may be multiplication. The goal is to move them forward. The standards are a guide for that journey, not an end-all-be-all, or a list to maneuver students through without their true understanding or when they already know the material. Take them from where they are and teach them more. St

Education - CA vs.OR Math Standards

Education - Standards Skew If you're like me and you've had the opportunity to teach in two different states, you too may have compared curriculums across borders. I happen to teach math now in Oregon and feel it's sparse. Take a look for yourself on both the California Math Standards for 2nd Grade at: http://www.cde.ca.gov/be/st/ss/documents/mathstandard.pdf And then compare to the Oregon Math Standards for 2nd Grade at: http://www.corestandards.org/the-standards/mathematics/grade-2/geometry/ Then you too will see the glaring truth. State standards differ dramatically. I know California is not leading the nation with its educational ranking, however, perhaps their standards are. I was at a neighborhood dinner recently, one consisting of parents of school-aged children who had moved to Portland from diverse places such as Israel, Texas and Utah. We debated education in Portland quite a bit, but all agreed on one thing in general, why do states not adopt th