South Georgia Writing Project
I even added a pic to my profile. I feel like an old pro now!
posted by Adam at
11:37 PM
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0 comments
June 29, 2006
South Georgia Writing Project
Baby's good, mamma's good, Daddy's tired! It was a trying experience to say the least, but well worth the wait. I got the biology lesson of a lifetime yesterday. Watching all that was...scarey. Sariah Phoenix was 8 pounds 14 ounces and 20 inches long. I have been trying to post to the blog since last night, but I haven't been holding my mouth right I don't guess. Maybe this time it will work. I had to throw in the deer picture. I'm proud of that too! I have a better picture I'll post tomorrow.
posted by Adam at
11:14 PM
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4 comments
More possible grants
I was looking at a CD I have, science based, and the link goes to an environmental science website. On the site are links to grants
http://www.eealliance.org/occ%20symposium/grant_resources.htm
http://www.eealliance.org/occ%20symposium/grant_resources.htm
posted by Diana Chartier at
9:37 PM
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0 comments
At 18
What I Was Like When I Was 18
For most of the people in this group, they don’t have to think back very far, but for me it was just over 3 decades ago. That would be somewhere around 1972. My hair was blonde and like Cher’s—waist long and straight. I was Twiggy-like skinny. Not skinny because I dieted but quite the opposite. I could eat everything in sight and not gain an ounce. That’s probably when my thyroid was burning itself out. I weighted a whopping 90 pounds at 5’2.
We all wore bell-bottom, hip hugger blue jeans. Guys were either enlisting or being drafted into the military and sent to Vietnam. Nixon was president. I was in college. The legal drinking age was 18 then so occasionally I would go out drinking and dancing with friends. I still lived at home.
VSC students complained about the parking problem—not enough places close enough to the campus. The pedestrian overpass had been built over Oak Street and we complained that it was too physically demanding.
My sister would have been the age that her daughter is now. I barely remember my sister as a kid. Vague recollections from old photographs.
At 18, I was silly, quiet, playful, naïve, clueless, but knew-it-all nonetheless. Smart enough to stay away from drugs.
For most of the people in this group, they don’t have to think back very far, but for me it was just over 3 decades ago. That would be somewhere around 1972. My hair was blonde and like Cher’s—waist long and straight. I was Twiggy-like skinny. Not skinny because I dieted but quite the opposite. I could eat everything in sight and not gain an ounce. That’s probably when my thyroid was burning itself out. I weighted a whopping 90 pounds at 5’2.
We all wore bell-bottom, hip hugger blue jeans. Guys were either enlisting or being drafted into the military and sent to Vietnam. Nixon was president. I was in college. The legal drinking age was 18 then so occasionally I would go out drinking and dancing with friends. I still lived at home.
VSC students complained about the parking problem—not enough places close enough to the campus. The pedestrian overpass had been built over Oak Street and we complained that it was too physically demanding.
My sister would have been the age that her daughter is now. I barely remember my sister as a kid. Vague recollections from old photographs.
At 18, I was silly, quiet, playful, naïve, clueless, but knew-it-all nonetheless. Smart enough to stay away from drugs.
posted by Buttercup at
2:41 PM
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2 comments
Bertha's demo
Bertha’s Demo
Bertha’s demo was on DNA
Where it comes from in class we can’t say
“Ask your parents,” she said.
“not when they’re in bed,”
"or they’ll tell you to go out and play.”
Bertha’s demo was on DNA
Where it comes from in class we can’t say
“Ask your parents,” she said.
“not when they’re in bed,”
"or they’ll tell you to go out and play.”
posted by Buttercup at
10:25 AM
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6 comments
Inner Child or Inner Martyr?
The topic from David is the title.
First, congratulations to Adam and Heather on the birth of beautiful Sariah, the long-anticipated addition to the SGWP/BWP community.
I don't have a martyr in me. I'm not sure I have a child in me either. But I still have that sense of wonder, that sense that anything can happen, that sense that I can make things happen through will alone. Isn't that what writers do? Isn't that what teachers do? Good teachers make magic happen within classrooms. They create communities where people succeed despite poverty, hunger, bad attitudes, poor preparation. They create belief, belief that success is possible. They find the good in people, in situations. I don't think I'm Pollyanna, looking at a malnourished kid and saying, "Wow, how great that you're skinny." But I don't usually see failure when I look at students. I see potential writers, potential teachers. I see change agents. I want to work with other teachers, other writers, other change agents.
I want to help students achieve. I'm willing to devote extra time to help students who need help, but I'm not willing to listen to student complaints about why they can't achieve. That's what notebooks, friends, family are for--the venting. We actually talk about that in my class. I tell them I'll whine to Wes, and they can grumble to their friends and each other about the class and the workload, but not to me. I'm not interested in listening to teachers complain either. It doesn't help. It's easy to construct students as others, as people who just don't get it, who don't care enough, who aren't smart enough. It's untrue though. Students just may not care about the same things we do, but they care deeply about other things. We need to connect with them.
Okay, sorry. I'm lecturing, and who wants to hear a lecture? I don't.
I appreciate the Summer Institute because we discuss the constraints we face, but usually within the context of how to overcome those constraints, how to help students despite the limitations of discipline problems, changing state requirements, insufficient funding, etc. We don't wring our hands and say, "This is too hard. No one appreciates us." Instead, we look for funding sources, we investigate how to increase parental involvement, and we work to build bridges across disciplines, grade levels, and school districts.
As we move into crunch time of the Summer Institute, I just want to say thanks for your hard work, thanks for being a dedicated group of teachers and potential teachers who are change agents, who use writing to help students learn. You rock! I'm looking forward to the next stage of our community, the continuity as we return to our classrooms and enact these philosophies and strategies.
First, congratulations to Adam and Heather on the birth of beautiful Sariah, the long-anticipated addition to the SGWP/BWP community.
I don't have a martyr in me. I'm not sure I have a child in me either. But I still have that sense of wonder, that sense that anything can happen, that sense that I can make things happen through will alone. Isn't that what writers do? Isn't that what teachers do? Good teachers make magic happen within classrooms. They create communities where people succeed despite poverty, hunger, bad attitudes, poor preparation. They create belief, belief that success is possible. They find the good in people, in situations. I don't think I'm Pollyanna, looking at a malnourished kid and saying, "Wow, how great that you're skinny." But I don't usually see failure when I look at students. I see potential writers, potential teachers. I see change agents. I want to work with other teachers, other writers, other change agents.
I want to help students achieve. I'm willing to devote extra time to help students who need help, but I'm not willing to listen to student complaints about why they can't achieve. That's what notebooks, friends, family are for--the venting. We actually talk about that in my class. I tell them I'll whine to Wes, and they can grumble to their friends and each other about the class and the workload, but not to me. I'm not interested in listening to teachers complain either. It doesn't help. It's easy to construct students as others, as people who just don't get it, who don't care enough, who aren't smart enough. It's untrue though. Students just may not care about the same things we do, but they care deeply about other things. We need to connect with them.
Okay, sorry. I'm lecturing, and who wants to hear a lecture? I don't.
I appreciate the Summer Institute because we discuss the constraints we face, but usually within the context of how to overcome those constraints, how to help students despite the limitations of discipline problems, changing state requirements, insufficient funding, etc. We don't wring our hands and say, "This is too hard. No one appreciates us." Instead, we look for funding sources, we investigate how to increase parental involvement, and we work to build bridges across disciplines, grade levels, and school districts.
As we move into crunch time of the Summer Institute, I just want to say thanks for your hard work, thanks for being a dedicated group of teachers and potential teachers who are change agents, who use writing to help students learn. You rock! I'm looking forward to the next stage of our community, the continuity as we return to our classrooms and enact these philosophies and strategies.
posted by Donna Sewell at
9:11 AM
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1 comments
June 28, 2006
I have not been back to the blog to create since the first time. I have been reading with an occasional response. I'm writing now because I wanted to tell everyone some thing. I wouldn't do this before my demo because it would have seemed I was buttering you all up. Now it is over! I just wanted to be sure I told everyone just how great a group you are. Thank you for the support and help presenting today. I love teaching children. You adults scare me! I am enjoying growing and learning with you all this summer. I am proud to be called your peer and colleague. It is great to know that you are all out there making a difference with our children, young adults, and all ages (for you college educators). Keep up the great work!!
God bless you all!
Bertha
God bless you all!
Bertha
posted by Anonymous at
12:09 PM
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2 comments
18
Due to pending litigation, restraining orders, and various other non-disclosure agreements, I am not at liberty to discuss anything I did at the age of 18 until the year of our lord 2089.
posted by lc at
9:24 AM
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1 comments
Jem is Truly Outrageous
Track 4: "Superstitious" Stevie Wonder
The writing prompt for this morning included a series of circuit training type instructions. David forced us out of our comfort zone through the fusion of writing and music. However, as we were training, the lights went out.
According to LE, Jelly, a young clown with a Jekyll and Hyde complex, supernaturally forced the electricity in the building to go down, thus cutting short David’s exercise. From the darkness, however, we continue to write. We can only wonder why Jelly has done this and what is the nature of his intent.
Track 5: "Bring "Em Out" T.I.
P.S. Check out the SWGWP Blog--swgwp.blogspot.com. BJ has posted an interesting question.
The writing prompt for this morning included a series of circuit training type instructions. David forced us out of our comfort zone through the fusion of writing and music. However, as we were training, the lights went out.
According to LE, Jelly, a young clown with a Jekyll and Hyde complex, supernaturally forced the electricity in the building to go down, thus cutting short David’s exercise. From the darkness, however, we continue to write. We can only wonder why Jelly has done this and what is the nature of his intent.
Track 5: "Bring "Em Out" T.I.
P.S. Check out the SWGWP Blog--swgwp.blogspot.com. BJ has posted an interesting question.
posted by lc at
9:18 AM
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2 comments
When I was eighteen . . .
David's topic: Remember when you were eighteen. What did you look like? Think about?
Hmm, when I was eighteen, I moved to Valdosta to begin college, a new experience. My parents, brother and his wife, and grandmother all came to Valdosta with me to move me into Georgia Hall, where I would share a room with my best friend from high school. I joined a community; my roommate's boyfriend had an active social life, and we joined him.
I enjoyed college; a few semesters I enjoyed it far too much, but I learned from those experiences as well.
I enjoyed high school as well. I enjoy life. Period. I don't look back at earlier times and say, "I had it made then. I wish I were there again." I like where I am. I like who I am. I often want to be better, definitely smaller, but not enough to work towards it.
I love teaching. I love watching writers form ideas, words, texts. I love when students transform into writers, when they realize they created a text that moves others, when they read texts at the final reading and people laugh or cry in response.
Transformations aren't easy, though. They're more like the transformation scene in _An American Werewolf in London_ when the main character becomes a wolf. He screams as his hands lengthen and his snout develops. Becoming a writer doesn't involve simply writing for fluency although that's important. Editing for conciseness and precision requires close reading, close enough to blur vision; it may involve turning to a grammar handbook to double check commas.
Hmm, I'm struggling this morning to write. I wonder if Heather has started surgery yet, if Sariah has arrived, the newest member of the Summer Institute.
Sinatra plays in the background, "Lady Luck," and I remember seeing _Guys and Dolls_ last summer in London. Susan and I waited for tickets and paid full price, but it was the best production I saw that summer. And I saw plenty.
I eat more gorilla bread; thanks, Lindsi. Yum!
People chat in here, distracting me. I realize that I need quiet to write. I've known that, but I wanted to give the music a chance. I wanted to push my boundaries a bit, take chances as a writer. The blog has been one risk this summer--writing and posting to the blog. I censor myself a bit when I write here. Going public in this manner is a bit more risky than posting to the E-Anthology, which has a closed audience and a very encouraging audience.
Diana types. I wonder if she's blogging. I wonder if her boys are reading. I smile as I imagine the audience for the blog--the unexpected readers. Hi, guys!
We have a good group of writers and teachers this summer. I have learned a lot. I'd love to keep this community going throughout the school year. We need to figure out how to do that. Maybe we'll create a BWP newsletter to stay in touch with the whole community (all the past participants), sending it out once a month or once a quarter with news and writing and grant announcements and teaching ideas and meeting info. Hmm, I'll keep thinking about it.
Hmm, when I was eighteen, I moved to Valdosta to begin college, a new experience. My parents, brother and his wife, and grandmother all came to Valdosta with me to move me into Georgia Hall, where I would share a room with my best friend from high school. I joined a community; my roommate's boyfriend had an active social life, and we joined him.
I enjoyed college; a few semesters I enjoyed it far too much, but I learned from those experiences as well.
I enjoyed high school as well. I enjoy life. Period. I don't look back at earlier times and say, "I had it made then. I wish I were there again." I like where I am. I like who I am. I often want to be better, definitely smaller, but not enough to work towards it.
I love teaching. I love watching writers form ideas, words, texts. I love when students transform into writers, when they realize they created a text that moves others, when they read texts at the final reading and people laugh or cry in response.
Transformations aren't easy, though. They're more like the transformation scene in _An American Werewolf in London_ when the main character becomes a wolf. He screams as his hands lengthen and his snout develops. Becoming a writer doesn't involve simply writing for fluency although that's important. Editing for conciseness and precision requires close reading, close enough to blur vision; it may involve turning to a grammar handbook to double check commas.
Hmm, I'm struggling this morning to write. I wonder if Heather has started surgery yet, if Sariah has arrived, the newest member of the Summer Institute.
Sinatra plays in the background, "Lady Luck," and I remember seeing _Guys and Dolls_ last summer in London. Susan and I waited for tickets and paid full price, but it was the best production I saw that summer. And I saw plenty.
I eat more gorilla bread; thanks, Lindsi. Yum!
People chat in here, distracting me. I realize that I need quiet to write. I've known that, but I wanted to give the music a chance. I wanted to push my boundaries a bit, take chances as a writer. The blog has been one risk this summer--writing and posting to the blog. I censor myself a bit when I write here. Going public in this manner is a bit more risky than posting to the E-Anthology, which has a closed audience and a very encouraging audience.
Diana types. I wonder if she's blogging. I wonder if her boys are reading. I smile as I imagine the audience for the blog--the unexpected readers. Hi, guys!
We have a good group of writers and teachers this summer. I have learned a lot. I'd love to keep this community going throughout the school year. We need to figure out how to do that. Maybe we'll create a BWP newsletter to stay in touch with the whole community (all the past participants), sending it out once a month or once a quarter with news and writing and grant announcements and teaching ideas and meeting info. Hmm, I'll keep thinking about it.
posted by Donna Sewell at
9:12 AM
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1 comments
1982
This was the year I turned 18. Married 6 months, and adjusting to the Air Force way of life. I walked 3 miles into town just to look around the shops and sit for coffee before walking home. I crocheted baby layettes in hopes of holding a baby of my own. I called my parents for a ride and stayed with them when Gary was away, busses did not run past my house, and I could not take a dog on the bus.
So what did I look like. Well, it is awful to look back and see yourself, and it is never the same image that others have. I was a little smaller than now, and my eyes were not so bad they required additional attachments in order to see words in a book or faces of people I was talking to. My hair was long in front and back. Any pictures of me showed a fringe (bangs) that covered my right eye. I suppose I thought that if I couldn't see out of it why bother showing it. I still wore no make-up, in fact I was so down on anything artificial that for my wedding I washed and dried my own hair and saved the money a hairdresser would have charged for the same service.
I walked down into town with a feeling of pride that I had at least been able to find someone to love me and become a wife, because just 18 months previously I had finished school and the forecast for my future was not supposed to be bright.
October 3, I turned 18. Within 3 weeks Gary was in Germany and I was in a hospital. Miscarriage #1. How embarrasing that Saturday night was. All was well, we sat playing cards my parents, grandparents, and I, until I got sick. I wanted to just stay in bed. Not sure where my parents slept since I was in their bed.
Gary came home when it was time, we had told him the news over the phone, but since nothing could be done, my parents said I would stay there until he got back in a week or so.
My first Christmas as a wife. My husband agreed to go to my parents house. We arrived on Christmaas Eve. Of course a trip to the pub was in order, especially since I was now legal. I felt like a small child when I arranged with sisters Debbie, and Michelle and brother Neil to set the alram early. Supposed to be for 6a.m. oops! 4 a.m. was even earlier. We made tea and toast then woke up Gary and landed in Mum and Dads room at almost 5. My last Christmas here would be a continuation of all those that had gone before. Pillow cases with goodies and sillies, all bearing paper name tags taped to the front. Of course I started first, even though I was the oldest, because I open everything so slowly it would take longer for me to finish than everyone else. Mum and Dad even had a pillowcase for Gary in which he received his first Ferrari, of course in red, but too small to do much except put on a mantel. (It still sits on a shelp in the den.)
Before my first anniversary in May we broke the news to my parents that the next Christmas would not include us, we were being sent to California. It sounded so far away in time and distance. Those months flew. I found out about packing and moving, immigration, a criminal has had less fingerprint cards completed, and in September everything was shipped off. We moved in with my parents for the last 7-8 weeks that I would live on the same land as they.
My 19th birthday approached, and good news, another pregnancy. Sadly this would not work and a stay in the hospital was how my 18th year ended.
Wow! This was harder to write than I thought when I started. It may not even be something that belongs on the blog, but too late now.
So what did I look like. Well, it is awful to look back and see yourself, and it is never the same image that others have. I was a little smaller than now, and my eyes were not so bad they required additional attachments in order to see words in a book or faces of people I was talking to. My hair was long in front and back. Any pictures of me showed a fringe (bangs) that covered my right eye. I suppose I thought that if I couldn't see out of it why bother showing it. I still wore no make-up, in fact I was so down on anything artificial that for my wedding I washed and dried my own hair and saved the money a hairdresser would have charged for the same service.
I walked down into town with a feeling of pride that I had at least been able to find someone to love me and become a wife, because just 18 months previously I had finished school and the forecast for my future was not supposed to be bright.
October 3, I turned 18. Within 3 weeks Gary was in Germany and I was in a hospital. Miscarriage #1. How embarrasing that Saturday night was. All was well, we sat playing cards my parents, grandparents, and I, until I got sick. I wanted to just stay in bed. Not sure where my parents slept since I was in their bed.
Gary came home when it was time, we had told him the news over the phone, but since nothing could be done, my parents said I would stay there until he got back in a week or so.
My first Christmas as a wife. My husband agreed to go to my parents house. We arrived on Christmaas Eve. Of course a trip to the pub was in order, especially since I was now legal. I felt like a small child when I arranged with sisters Debbie, and Michelle and brother Neil to set the alram early. Supposed to be for 6a.m. oops! 4 a.m. was even earlier. We made tea and toast then woke up Gary and landed in Mum and Dads room at almost 5. My last Christmas here would be a continuation of all those that had gone before. Pillow cases with goodies and sillies, all bearing paper name tags taped to the front. Of course I started first, even though I was the oldest, because I open everything so slowly it would take longer for me to finish than everyone else. Mum and Dad even had a pillowcase for Gary in which he received his first Ferrari, of course in red, but too small to do much except put on a mantel. (It still sits on a shelp in the den.)
Before my first anniversary in May we broke the news to my parents that the next Christmas would not include us, we were being sent to California. It sounded so far away in time and distance. Those months flew. I found out about packing and moving, immigration, a criminal has had less fingerprint cards completed, and in September everything was shipped off. We moved in with my parents for the last 7-8 weeks that I would live on the same land as they.
My 19th birthday approached, and good news, another pregnancy. Sadly this would not work and a stay in the hospital was how my 18th year ended.
Wow! This was harder to write than I thought when I started. It may not even be something that belongs on the blog, but too late now.
posted by Diana Chartier at
9:11 AM
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1 comments
June 27, 2006
South Georgia Writing Project
Hi guys and gals! I am moments away from being a father again. Heather and I leave for the hospital in an hour and a half. If you're real observant, you'll notice the time right now is around 9:30 PM. We have to report at midnight tonight. I feel like I'm in boot camp again doing crazy things at completely inappropriate hours of the night. They are taken Heather down to the O.R. at 9:45 in the morning and we should have baby by 11. I have no idea why we have to be there so early, I guess they think we may change our minds. I'm already tired of looking at pink. We finally decided on a name: Sariah (Sa-ri-ah) Phoenix Hathaway. I also got my deer back and hung yesterday. I killed a 12 point monster last season. We named him lil' Rob. He was the 3rd largest buck killed in Ben-Hill county history. I'll send pics of the deer and the Dear. I need Prayers!!! Lots. Oh yeah, Heather does to. Peace out!
posted by Adam at
9:51 PM
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3 comments
S'mores Brownies
Hi Folks,
I wanted to show my "sweet" side today so I baked some s'mores brownies and shared with the class. I discovered the recipe on the the side panel of a box of Duncan Hines brownie mix.
Ingredients:
Brownie mix
2 c mini marshamallows
1 c regular or semi-sweet chocolate chips
5 graham crackers separated into quarters
Step one make the brownies. The box calls for a 13x9 pan but I use a slightly smaller one for thicker brownies.
As soon as you take them out of the oven, sprinkle 2 cups of mini marshmallows and 1 cup of regular or semi-sweet chocolate chips. Return the pan to the warm oven for about 2 minutes to melt the marshmallows and chips. Gently place the graham crackers on top. (I melted the last of my chocolate chips and drizzled it on the top, as if it wasn't sweet enough.)
Cool completely.
I wanted to show my "sweet" side today so I baked some s'mores brownies and shared with the class. I discovered the recipe on the the side panel of a box of Duncan Hines brownie mix.
Ingredients:
Brownie mix
2 c mini marshamallows
1 c regular or semi-sweet chocolate chips
5 graham crackers separated into quarters
Step one make the brownies. The box calls for a 13x9 pan but I use a slightly smaller one for thicker brownies.
As soon as you take them out of the oven, sprinkle 2 cups of mini marshmallows and 1 cup of regular or semi-sweet chocolate chips. Return the pan to the warm oven for about 2 minutes to melt the marshmallows and chips. Gently place the graham crackers on top. (I melted the last of my chocolate chips and drizzled it on the top, as if it wasn't sweet enough.)
Cool completely.
posted by Buttercup at
7:25 PM
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2 comments
Lowes Community Partner Grant
This extensive campus beautification project was made possible with a grant from the Lowes website which may allow up to $20,000 for certain projects. Other area community partners contributed allowing the students to revamp the Freshmen Academy grounds through Service Learning.
posted by Alex Alvarez at
8:52 AM
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0 comments
Jr. Service League Grant (Freshmen Garden)
Here is the Freshmen Garden/ Outdoor classroom that begin with the Jr. Service League grant I received last year. I have the completed application for those of you applying for this grant. Alex
posted by Alex Alvarez at
8:38 AM
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1 comments
June 26, 2006
Little Prompts for Happiness
Topic for today, courtesy of David: A little thing that makes you happy
I'll start with a list and see if one item pulls me toward story:
I'll start with a list and see if one item pulls me toward story:
- laughter
- an unexpected compliment
- an a-ha moment from a student
- encountering a former student who seems happy to see me
- good news
- talking to my parents
- going through pictures at Wes's parents' home
- spending time with Wes
- critiquing ads with Wes
- digging my toes into the sand at a Gulf of Mexico beach
- time to write
- alone time (I need lots of it)
- sharing time in the ISI
- starting a project I had been procrastinating and finding out it isn't as terrible as I thought
- bowling with friends
- bike rallies with friends (as long as I can hide away occasionally)
- playing in the water with Wes
- reading novels and eating sunflower seeds
- naptime
I love pawing through the boxes of pictures Mimi (Wes's mom) keeps under the bed. It overflows with treasures. Father's Day, I pulled out a box while Wes, his younger brother, and his dad took shotguns to the shooting range. Darby (my sister-in-law) and I pulled out pictures, occasionally showing them to Mimi to ask who someone was. Laughter filled the room at pictures of the boys in their seventies clothes and wild hair.
I laughed as I read a note Wes wrote to his mom: "You're one in a million. I love you." It was a two-page note. The second page showed tons of stick figures, but one of those stick figures was in red, the one indicating his mom. I stashed the note away and brought it home along with a few pictures.
Playing in that box of pictures reminds me of an archeological dig, an exploration into Wes's early literacy. He wrote letters often. My favorite letter reads, "Mom, I'm sorry I made you mad. I'll be better. Love, Wes. PS: Here's a tooth." Sure enough, a tooth is taped to the page. I took that letter too.
He still writes letters. I woke up on our fifteenth wedding anniversary to find a banner taped across the dining room, telling me happy anniversary with the number of days we had been married. And I'm supposed to be the literate one?
posted by Donna Sewell at
9:14 AM
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0 comments
A little thing that makes you happy
A smell of grass, freshly cut. The dust inhabiting a nose tickling until a sneeze erupts. Baby's breath, friends surriunding me in a moment of angst, my son calling to say hello when he was off of Iraqi soil.
There are many things that are small that make me happy. Even a giggle from the person trying to hide behind a sofa. You know, the one whose legs you can see extended past the end.
This is a hard topic. It is hard to pin down any one thing when so many things are worthy of inclusion. Perhaps if I start with a wake up and work through a day, and see where that takes me.
Shrill beep of an alarm clock, eyes don't have to open, fingers find their way to the snooze button. Seven more minutes of cozy warmth snuggling under the quilt. The phone whistles, hubby's voice erupts from the earpiece, "It's your alarm call." Of course, eventually, I will roll off the bed and try to dodge the dog who is sure to be where my feet will land. It's nice to know she is there, and her fur softly tickles my feet, and she grunts enjoying the good morning rub. Sunshine or rain is something I check for right away. Not because I will have a depressing day if it is rain, but because I like to see the yard in its various states. Sunshine would glint off the leaves and reflect in the window, while dazzling rays pour golden through the limbs to land in a heap on the ground. Rain has a beauty all its own. Puddles that beckon the birds and squirrels, glimmering crystals balanced delicately on a leaf or blade of grass, watch it closely, it trembles and shakes, holding on as long as possible before falling to the ground and in doing so losing its individuality to become one of many. Small to big. (analogy in there somewhere for me to use)
Waking up my children is a pleasure that they may not share. Stretching and rolling before curling back up into a ball, they slowly appear to waken as a flower opens its petals to the early morning sunshine. Sleepy eyes are rubbed by knuckles from a closed fist, then a yawn to take that first real breath of the day. Then there is the hair, woah! Spiked and looking like a hedgehog who has been invited to sleepover without permission, it greets me up close. Stumbling to the floor, they wobble, did they have one too many last night? Feet drag and shoulders slouch, the whole body not ready for the day ahead.
Smells of tea and toast awaken the nose. Hugs say goodbye when I leave.
Outside the dirt is soft under me feet. The radio that sings when the engine turns, I feel the bumps in the road that take me to a destination of my choosing.
Anyway, you get the idea. I can go through a day and find things to make me happy.
When I first came to the US, phone calls home wer extremely rare and cost prohibitive. The plan I have now allows me to call often for one set price. It is wonderful to wake up and call my mum or sister before heading out for the day. We get to keep in touch as if I were closer. Relate the days events so far, give a weather report, or share plans for the day. Letters used to be the way to keep in touch. But by the time they were received the information had no bearing. Mum could not call and say is so and so still enjoying this, when it had been over for a while. Emails and instant messages keep us in touch now. Instead of doing like my sister and calling to say the baby just took a step (for example), we email the little things that happen during the day. If it is a bad day, we can even write that, knowing it stays as secret as if we met in the park and chatted while sitting on a bench.
All these things and more are small, but when I am happy they are also large. Life is so small, that is what makes me happy.
There are many things that are small that make me happy. Even a giggle from the person trying to hide behind a sofa. You know, the one whose legs you can see extended past the end.
This is a hard topic. It is hard to pin down any one thing when so many things are worthy of inclusion. Perhaps if I start with a wake up and work through a day, and see where that takes me.
Shrill beep of an alarm clock, eyes don't have to open, fingers find their way to the snooze button. Seven more minutes of cozy warmth snuggling under the quilt. The phone whistles, hubby's voice erupts from the earpiece, "It's your alarm call." Of course, eventually, I will roll off the bed and try to dodge the dog who is sure to be where my feet will land. It's nice to know she is there, and her fur softly tickles my feet, and she grunts enjoying the good morning rub. Sunshine or rain is something I check for right away. Not because I will have a depressing day if it is rain, but because I like to see the yard in its various states. Sunshine would glint off the leaves and reflect in the window, while dazzling rays pour golden through the limbs to land in a heap on the ground. Rain has a beauty all its own. Puddles that beckon the birds and squirrels, glimmering crystals balanced delicately on a leaf or blade of grass, watch it closely, it trembles and shakes, holding on as long as possible before falling to the ground and in doing so losing its individuality to become one of many. Small to big. (analogy in there somewhere for me to use)
Waking up my children is a pleasure that they may not share. Stretching and rolling before curling back up into a ball, they slowly appear to waken as a flower opens its petals to the early morning sunshine. Sleepy eyes are rubbed by knuckles from a closed fist, then a yawn to take that first real breath of the day. Then there is the hair, woah! Spiked and looking like a hedgehog who has been invited to sleepover without permission, it greets me up close. Stumbling to the floor, they wobble, did they have one too many last night? Feet drag and shoulders slouch, the whole body not ready for the day ahead.
Smells of tea and toast awaken the nose. Hugs say goodbye when I leave.
Outside the dirt is soft under me feet. The radio that sings when the engine turns, I feel the bumps in the road that take me to a destination of my choosing.
Anyway, you get the idea. I can go through a day and find things to make me happy.
When I first came to the US, phone calls home wer extremely rare and cost prohibitive. The plan I have now allows me to call often for one set price. It is wonderful to wake up and call my mum or sister before heading out for the day. We get to keep in touch as if I were closer. Relate the days events so far, give a weather report, or share plans for the day. Letters used to be the way to keep in touch. But by the time they were received the information had no bearing. Mum could not call and say is so and so still enjoying this, when it had been over for a while. Emails and instant messages keep us in touch now. Instead of doing like my sister and calling to say the baby just took a step (for example), we email the little things that happen during the day. If it is a bad day, we can even write that, knowing it stays as secret as if we met in the park and chatted while sitting on a bench.
All these things and more are small, but when I am happy they are also large. Life is so small, that is what makes me happy.
posted by Diana Chartier at
9:07 AM
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1 comments
June 25, 2006
Daily Log 22 Jun 06
Victoria English
Daily Log
June 22, 2006
Breakfast was courtesy of me. I brought fresh fruit, mini cinnamon rolls, and mini blueberry muffins.
Topic courtesy of Tashia: The greatest story told over and over—man vs. man aka public image vs private self.
Sharing:
Bertha told us a story about her son that is told over and over. He left his little sister to be eaten by a lion.
Peter talked about celebrities and how we’re taken in by their private lives. People make celebrities and people break celebrities.
(I think people take perverse pleasure in tearing down others.)
David: wrote about the Bobby Knight of choral directors. Note: Never take a shower after a man. Don’t ask.
Tashia: Inspired by Virginia Woolf, Public vs Private Lives. How do people pleasers behave when there are no people to please? If we were all real with people we would be hermits.
Christy: Dixie Chicks and double standards.
Donna: Conflict? Run when you can. Doesn’t tilt at windmills. Doesn’t sponsor lost causes.
Kimberly presented the log…a looping activity. Confusing to me, but fun. Pour me some more coffee.
Breaktime! Yea! Too much coffee.
We reconvened for Hayden’s teaching demo on Virginia Woolf’s “A Room of One’s Own.” Her presentation was enlightening, interactive, and gave us all lots to critically think about. And she made the yummiest Peppermint Patty Brownies, I can attest because I ate two of ‘em.
Lunch as usual. Most returned close to the designated time.
The afternoon was spent in small groups for writing and reading. David entertained us all with his renditions of our future t-shirt. For alternate ideas and designs, I suggested CafePress.
Daily Log
June 22, 2006
Breakfast was courtesy of me. I brought fresh fruit, mini cinnamon rolls, and mini blueberry muffins.
Topic courtesy of Tashia: The greatest story told over and over—man vs. man aka public image vs private self.
Sharing:
Bertha told us a story about her son that is told over and over. He left his little sister to be eaten by a lion.
Peter talked about celebrities and how we’re taken in by their private lives. People make celebrities and people break celebrities.
(I think people take perverse pleasure in tearing down others.)
David: wrote about the Bobby Knight of choral directors. Note: Never take a shower after a man. Don’t ask.
Tashia: Inspired by Virginia Woolf, Public vs Private Lives. How do people pleasers behave when there are no people to please? If we were all real with people we would be hermits.
Christy: Dixie Chicks and double standards.
Donna: Conflict? Run when you can. Doesn’t tilt at windmills. Doesn’t sponsor lost causes.
Kimberly presented the log…a looping activity. Confusing to me, but fun. Pour me some more coffee.
Breaktime! Yea! Too much coffee.
We reconvened for Hayden’s teaching demo on Virginia Woolf’s “A Room of One’s Own.” Her presentation was enlightening, interactive, and gave us all lots to critically think about. And she made the yummiest Peppermint Patty Brownies, I can attest because I ate two of ‘em.
Lunch as usual. Most returned close to the designated time.
The afternoon was spent in small groups for writing and reading. David entertained us all with his renditions of our future t-shirt. For alternate ideas and designs, I suggested CafePress.
posted by Buttercup at
4:50 PM
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0 comments
June 24, 2006
trials and tribulations
Journal entry
June 19, 2006
Well as predicted, I forgot my writing journal, but technology has not failed me and I can still write. The topic is trials as in tests or tribulations. Oh, please, that is my life.
St. Theresa of Avila once said, during one of her bouts with migraine headaches, on a particularly bumpy carriage ride in 16th century Spain, “God, if this is how you treat your friend, no wonder you don’t have many.” The meaning being that the closer you grow to God, the more you will suffer. How you handle the suffering is what makes the difference between us ordinary souls and the saints. The saints had the grace to bear their sufferings well, giving glory to God for the gift and offering it up to Christ as penance for sinners.
I never came to see suffering and trials as spiritual attacks until the most difficult trial of my life…so far. That was the attack on my brother by Ashley Paulk. This is when I came face-to-face with Satan. This began the darkest time for my soul. I felt like my prayer life was dry, empty. I received comfort from nothing and struggled daily and nightly with the overpowering desire for revenge. I was alone in the desert and temptation was all around me. The only salvation was clinging to my faith. I clung to it like I was hanging from a cliff. If I allowed my grip to loosen even for a moment, the results would be catastrophic for my soul.
This led to my first trip to Lourdes on a service pilgrimage. I had nowhere else to go. As Father Corapi preaches, when the enemy is at hand, go to your Mother. So I did. I went to Our Lady of Lourdes and prayed for her intercession. Most of that week was spent in prayer, service, and penance, penance, penance. When I came back, I had peace in my heart and I knew everything would be okay with my brother.
Circumstances that followed did not seem, at least on the surface, to be okay but after I meditated for awhile, I soon realized how much worse it could have been. I thanked Mary for her intercession and continue to serve Christ through Her as thanksgiving for what could have been. I trust in God that everything has been done for a reason and that it is His will. I know that my brother has special protection from harm and that gives me peace. I just wish he would see it, but I guess that is his trial and I can’t take it for him. I pray that he is equally successful.
June 19, 2006
Well as predicted, I forgot my writing journal, but technology has not failed me and I can still write. The topic is trials as in tests or tribulations. Oh, please, that is my life.
St. Theresa of Avila once said, during one of her bouts with migraine headaches, on a particularly bumpy carriage ride in 16th century Spain, “God, if this is how you treat your friend, no wonder you don’t have many.” The meaning being that the closer you grow to God, the more you will suffer. How you handle the suffering is what makes the difference between us ordinary souls and the saints. The saints had the grace to bear their sufferings well, giving glory to God for the gift and offering it up to Christ as penance for sinners.
I never came to see suffering and trials as spiritual attacks until the most difficult trial of my life…so far. That was the attack on my brother by Ashley Paulk. This is when I came face-to-face with Satan. This began the darkest time for my soul. I felt like my prayer life was dry, empty. I received comfort from nothing and struggled daily and nightly with the overpowering desire for revenge. I was alone in the desert and temptation was all around me. The only salvation was clinging to my faith. I clung to it like I was hanging from a cliff. If I allowed my grip to loosen even for a moment, the results would be catastrophic for my soul.
This led to my first trip to Lourdes on a service pilgrimage. I had nowhere else to go. As Father Corapi preaches, when the enemy is at hand, go to your Mother. So I did. I went to Our Lady of Lourdes and prayed for her intercession. Most of that week was spent in prayer, service, and penance, penance, penance. When I came back, I had peace in my heart and I knew everything would be okay with my brother.
Circumstances that followed did not seem, at least on the surface, to be okay but after I meditated for awhile, I soon realized how much worse it could have been. I thanked Mary for her intercession and continue to serve Christ through Her as thanksgiving for what could have been. I trust in God that everything has been done for a reason and that it is His will. I know that my brother has special protection from harm and that gives me peace. I just wish he would see it, but I guess that is his trial and I can’t take it for him. I pray that he is equally successful.
posted by Buttercup at
10:49 PM
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1 comments
Hayden channeled my inner-nerd
Like Hayden, I am not a lit person. But, in languages it's a common path for course selections. In grad school I took this one course entitled Femme écrivain et sa vie, or The Woman Writer and her life. The course was based mostly on autobiography of Francophone woman writers. I thought never, ever would I pick up and read anything again by George Sand...until Hayden's demo. There was this one little mention of George Sand in "Shakespeare's Sister" that sparked my interest. It got me to thinking about what I did know about George Sand: the fact she dressed in male clothing when she visited Paris, which offered her access to meetings only attended by men; the fact she smoked a pipe; the fact she left her children in the care of her mother at their estate in Nohant so she could attend social gatherings of other period writers, like Flaubert, Musset. So, yesterday I reread parts of her autobiography, Histoire de ma vie (The Story of my Life), something I didn't think I would ever do, ever again. But, I feel richer today because of it. In her autobiography, she does talk about writing in a man's world and the social stigmas attached to being a femme écrivain. Have a looksie.
posted by Anonymous at
10:47 AM
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1 comments
June 23, 2006
Peppermint Pattie Brownies
- 1/3 c. cocoa
- 2 sticks butter
- 4 eggs
- 2 c. sugar
- 1 1/2 c. flour
- dash salt
- 1 t. vanilla
- 20 small peppermint patties
Melt cocoa, butter, and 10 mints over low heat. Beat eggs well. Sift sugar, flour, and salt into eggs; beat until smooth. Pour cocoa mixture into egg mixture; add vanilla and beat well. Pour into greased 13 x 9" pan. Bake 20-25 min. at 350 degrees. Remove from oven and place remaining 10 mints on top of brownies. Return to oven to melt mints (about 5 min.), then spread evenly over top of brownies. Cut when cooled.
- 2 sticks butter
- 4 eggs
- 2 c. sugar
- 1 1/2 c. flour
- dash salt
- 1 t. vanilla
- 20 small peppermint patties
Melt cocoa, butter, and 10 mints over low heat. Beat eggs well. Sift sugar, flour, and salt into eggs; beat until smooth. Pour cocoa mixture into egg mixture; add vanilla and beat well. Pour into greased 13 x 9" pan. Bake 20-25 min. at 350 degrees. Remove from oven and place remaining 10 mints on top of brownies. Return to oven to melt mints (about 5 min.), then spread evenly over top of brownies. Cut when cooled.
posted by Hayden Lindsey at
8:19 AM
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0 comments
June 22, 2006
Daily Log
I just wanted to put a copy of the daily log in case you didn't get it or misplaced it. I also wanted to say that I had fun with the looping activity, or any daily log for that matter. It is funny to watch people not remember what crazy things came out of their mouths. I am guilty of that. I am having a great time in the summer institute. (tear) NOT!
Kimberly Ross
South Georgia Writing Project
Looping Activity
What did we have for breakfast? I have Lisa
Who had mercy on us? I have Donna
She was distracted by the professor’s loud voice. I have Jason
He refused to name his boys Tim and Jim. I have Ivy
She needed to be blessed because she spoke up for herself. I have Peter
He was the bachelor that was ignored at a birthday party. I have Gracie
She wanted Mrs. Donna to know that she said hey. I have David
He said, “busy as a cat covering up crap?” I have Christy
She thought that the kaleidoscope was like drunk goggles. I have Pat
She is like the Nutty Professor. I have Diana
Her phone went off during an interview. I have Bertha
She wants the t-shirts to be pastor’s wife appropriate. I have Hayden
She bribed us to do homework. I have Robert
His students called him Bipolar Bob. I have Tashia
She eats a pig every morning. I have Alex
He thinks the summer institute starts at 9:15. I have Victoria
She lived to tell it. I have Lindsi
“I am exempt from posting the daily log, not Bertha!” I have donuts, blueberries, bananas and fuzzy animals.
Instructions for looping activity
Write down question number one.
Write down question number two.
Write the answer to question two next to question number 1.
Write down question number three.
Write the answer to question number three next to question number 2.
Continue until you get to the last question.
Write the answer to number one next to the last question.
You can start with any student, the student asks the question on his index card.
The student with the answer says it and asks the question on his index card.
Continue and you should end up with the student you started with.
Kimberly Ross
South Georgia Writing Project
Looping Activity
What did we have for breakfast? I have Lisa
Who had mercy on us? I have Donna
She was distracted by the professor’s loud voice. I have Jason
He refused to name his boys Tim and Jim. I have Ivy
She needed to be blessed because she spoke up for herself. I have Peter
He was the bachelor that was ignored at a birthday party. I have Gracie
She wanted Mrs. Donna to know that she said hey. I have David
He said, “busy as a cat covering up crap?” I have Christy
She thought that the kaleidoscope was like drunk goggles. I have Pat
She is like the Nutty Professor. I have Diana
Her phone went off during an interview. I have Bertha
She wants the t-shirts to be pastor’s wife appropriate. I have Hayden
She bribed us to do homework. I have Robert
His students called him Bipolar Bob. I have Tashia
She eats a pig every morning. I have Alex
He thinks the summer institute starts at 9:15. I have Victoria
She lived to tell it. I have Lindsi
“I am exempt from posting the daily log, not Bertha!” I have donuts, blueberries, bananas and fuzzy animals.
Instructions for looping activity
Write down question number one.
Write down question number two.
Write the answer to question two next to question number 1.
Write down question number three.
Write the answer to question number three next to question number 2.
Continue until you get to the last question.
Write the answer to number one next to the last question.
You can start with any student, the student asks the question on his index card.
The student with the answer says it and asks the question on his index card.
Continue and you should end up with the student you started with.
posted by Kim at
6:32 PM
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1 comments
Public v. Private
It’s a hard topic on which to write. It is instinctual for humans to conceal their vulnerabilities, idiosyncrasies, and general weirdness from both intimate acquaintances and strangers. We walk around pretending to be normal and functioning, while living on the cusp of sanity itself. I imagine that every life is a story waiting to be told--that every life has the tension and uncertainty that fills the best literature. Although, I would like to exclude people who wear wool and gingham from this sweeping overgeneralization. I think people who wear wool and/or gingham regularly are the living embodiment of all that is Puritanical (in ideology, not reality).
I wish I could look into the lives of others “reality television show “ style, minus the scripts and the postproduction manufacturing of the “reality”. I would want to see how the “people pleaser” functions when there is no one to please. I would love to see how the dean or head of some department behaves when there are no heads to dean over. I would like to see the conservative have a moment of passion, or the liberal tear up in a moment of unlived nostalgia prompted by some 50’s sitcom.
Again, I’m becoming too holier than thou. My own public and private selves are nearly foreign to each other. There have been far too many instances where I would relive a public moment in my private persona and be devastated by the outcome. Too many times I was left with the taste of “what if” on my mind. I written and talked about it more than I care to admit. What if I had said the things that I was really thinking/feeling/believing/wanting/knowing to him/her/them? Why didn’t I reveal my true self? Why didn’t I tell the moron to seal off his mouth? Why didn’t I relate my experience that negated the beliefs of someone who could never know my reality?
Perhaps it is safer, though self-destructive in some way, to have these personas. I think if we were “real” with each other, we would all be hermits.
I wish I could look into the lives of others “reality television show “ style, minus the scripts and the postproduction manufacturing of the “reality”. I would want to see how the “people pleaser” functions when there is no one to please. I would love to see how the dean or head of some department behaves when there are no heads to dean over. I would like to see the conservative have a moment of passion, or the liberal tear up in a moment of unlived nostalgia prompted by some 50’s sitcom.
Again, I’m becoming too holier than thou. My own public and private selves are nearly foreign to each other. There have been far too many instances where I would relive a public moment in my private persona and be devastated by the outcome. Too many times I was left with the taste of “what if” on my mind. I written and talked about it more than I care to admit. What if I had said the things that I was really thinking/feeling/believing/wanting/knowing to him/her/them? Why didn’t I reveal my true self? Why didn’t I tell the moron to seal off his mouth? Why didn’t I relate my experience that negated the beliefs of someone who could never know my reality?
Perhaps it is safer, though self-destructive in some way, to have these personas. I think if we were “real” with each other, we would all be hermits.
posted by lc at
9:43 AM
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0 comments
Man vs. Man
The greatest story told over and over about man vs. man....maybe it's just me, but this group seems to be very interested in the spirituality/religious topics. This one, although it ostensibly is open to all arenas, lends itself well to that same paradigm. The greatest story of man vs. man that is told over and over is probably David vs. Goliath. Everyone knows the moving story of triumph over an overwhelming opponent as the young boy David is able to slay the giant Goliath with a pebble, a small rock propelled with extreme force, and the understanding that the holy spirit enhanced David's powers as he faced certain annihilation. The great thing about the story is you don't have to be a Jew or a Christian to appreciate the story's moral. When you feel like you're up against an immovable object, whether it be personal, financial, spiritual or anything else, focus and determination can lead to unexpected results and great success. David's story is also one of precision. Hitting Goliath anywhere else on his body would not have taken him down. David had to concentrate very hard, pinpoint his goal, and then yes, hope for a little bit of good fortune. It's kinda like the guy who dropped out of Harvard, got arrested for pot, was down and out with little prospects. He focused his life, put forth maximum effort, and got a little help from Lady Fortune. What seemed like a life run amok and off track has become a life of unimaginable wealth and unmatched human philanthropy. Bill Gates may not make it into a text like the Bible, but his life has touched so many people and revolutionized the world, that his name will not be soon forgotten. Remember both of these men when you feel like you won't ever get published, won't ever get through to the kids, or won't ever get that job you want. Fortune and Fate play a part, but only after you have done the legwork, my friend. So happy walking....
posted by Fisher at
9:13 AM
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0 comments
June 21, 2006
http://www.aynrand.org/site/Survey?SURVEY_ID=1600&ACTION_REQUIRED=URI_ACTION_USER_REQUESTS
Don't know how good this offer is, but might be worth a try, if you can use Ayn Rand's books that is.
Don't know how good this offer is, but might be worth a try, if you can use Ayn Rand's books that is.
posted by Diana Chartier at
9:53 PM
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0 comments
Homework
Please don't forget to read the Virginia Woolf chapter for my demo. tomorrow. If you *misplaced* your handout, it's available online at
http://etext.library.adelaide.edu.au/w/woolf/virginia/w91r/chapter3.html
There will be a sweet reward. :-)
http://etext.library.adelaide.edu.au/w/woolf/virginia/w91r/chapter3.html
There will be a sweet reward. :-)
posted by Hayden Lindsey at
2:52 PM
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4 comments
Topic: Voice
Sometimes the thought of speaking out can paralyze. Sometimes all it takes is for a person to say a word and that can make all the difference. Self-consciousness forces courage to dissipate. Imagine having one moment in time to cause transformation and shying away from it because your voice is possessed by fear.
posted by lc at
9:25 AM
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2 comments
Voice
Voice . . . hmm, voices surround me in the Oasis area. A gaggle of girls loiter near the stairs, and I wonder what they're doing: waiting for class, waiting for teacher training of some kind. Ages escape me now. I miss them wildly when I guesstimate.
Voice . . . I don't know how to teach voice, but I teach style, the effect word choices have on style. I fight against Engfish, Ken Macrorie's term for smelly, stuffy academese, the kind of writing that seems authored by a robot. Richard Lanham, Peter Richardson, Joseph Williams--all good authors for helping students with style and conciseness.
A professor's lecture floats into the hallway. I listen closer and realize she's reviewing test answers, explaining correct choices, distracting me. I grab distractions easily, preferring to explore tangents rather than stay on track. I get that from my dad. He rarely goes the same way twice; he figures out new ways to travel. The other day I cruised through Pavo to get to Valdosta, a route Wes never wants to take because we can't drive as fast as we can on 84. But taking the Pavo route connected me to my father as if I were walking in his footsteps, the way children like to do at the beach, trying those steps on, seeing how they fit.
I'm not sure I could find a better guide than my father. Yes, girls often idealize their fathers, seeing them in some kind of softer light, excusing their faults. That's not me. My critical faculties are highly developed. He's a good man, a good person, the most ethical person I know. He never capitalizes on the mistakes of others. He is a great teacher. He taught me how to ski, how to drive, Hmm, way too serious for this morning.
I wish the professor would close her door. Instead, I should move further away. I do. Much better. Her voice still carries to me, but it doesn't demand my attention.
Voice is a nebulous concept. LC warned us she was going abstract today with the topic. She did. Students can understand voice by hearing it, I think. Perhaps just bringing in very different writers and reading their words aloud would help. Hmm, writers with strong, engaging voices: David Sedaris (probably my favorite writer right now), Anne Lamott, Jane Austen.
I wonder if anyone is doing a teacher demonstration on voice. Cool topic. No one has focused on revision yet, but revision is closely linked to voice. In fact, revision is where I begin to think about the way I sound. I don't worry at all about voice in early drafts. I just write, spilling words onto the page, watching where they take me.
Voices overpower me now. A mass of men head down the stairs, shouting at each other. They look like construction guys to me. I wonder what kind of construction is occurring upstairs. Finally, they exit the building, their voices trailing after them. I'm always surprised by the impact people make on spaces, the way people shout in public. I'm not a quiet person, but I get loudest at bike rallies and concerts, not in college buildings. I guess I still act on the concept of inside voices and outside voices. Such a good little girl.
Voice . . . I don't know how to teach voice, but I teach style, the effect word choices have on style. I fight against Engfish, Ken Macrorie's term for smelly, stuffy academese, the kind of writing that seems authored by a robot. Richard Lanham, Peter Richardson, Joseph Williams--all good authors for helping students with style and conciseness.
A professor's lecture floats into the hallway. I listen closer and realize she's reviewing test answers, explaining correct choices, distracting me. I grab distractions easily, preferring to explore tangents rather than stay on track. I get that from my dad. He rarely goes the same way twice; he figures out new ways to travel. The other day I cruised through Pavo to get to Valdosta, a route Wes never wants to take because we can't drive as fast as we can on 84. But taking the Pavo route connected me to my father as if I were walking in his footsteps, the way children like to do at the beach, trying those steps on, seeing how they fit.
I'm not sure I could find a better guide than my father. Yes, girls often idealize their fathers, seeing them in some kind of softer light, excusing their faults. That's not me. My critical faculties are highly developed. He's a good man, a good person, the most ethical person I know. He never capitalizes on the mistakes of others. He is a great teacher. He taught me how to ski, how to drive, Hmm, way too serious for this morning.
I wish the professor would close her door. Instead, I should move further away. I do. Much better. Her voice still carries to me, but it doesn't demand my attention.
Voice is a nebulous concept. LC warned us she was going abstract today with the topic. She did. Students can understand voice by hearing it, I think. Perhaps just bringing in very different writers and reading their words aloud would help. Hmm, writers with strong, engaging voices: David Sedaris (probably my favorite writer right now), Anne Lamott, Jane Austen.
I wonder if anyone is doing a teacher demonstration on voice. Cool topic. No one has focused on revision yet, but revision is closely linked to voice. In fact, revision is where I begin to think about the way I sound. I don't worry at all about voice in early drafts. I just write, spilling words onto the page, watching where they take me.
Voices overpower me now. A mass of men head down the stairs, shouting at each other. They look like construction guys to me. I wonder what kind of construction is occurring upstairs. Finally, they exit the building, their voices trailing after them. I'm always surprised by the impact people make on spaces, the way people shout in public. I'm not a quiet person, but I get loudest at bike rallies and concerts, not in college buildings. I guess I still act on the concept of inside voices and outside voices. Such a good little girl.
posted by Donna Sewell at
9:09 AM
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1 comments
Voice
Here is my voice. It can be loud and harsh, a little brash, and then of course thre is the accent. This even rolls over into my writing. How in the world do I write something which a person when reading hears me speaking? I don't know, but it can be a lot of fun. Unless I am saying, drawing...
I am probably not going to stay on topic because again I id not sleep well and my brain is frazzled. At least tonight I am not tutoriing. Perhaps I'll get to go home and get things done early, and then I can have an early night to bed. Or at least to relax and do nothing; read a book sounds good. I am doing ok reading and keeping up with the boys, but the book I am on now seems to have sat collecting dust more days than I have opened it.
I could just sit here and stare at the screen thinking nothing right now. It is hard to focus. If I liked to jog that is probably what I should do to get the body and mind awake and willing to work.
I will record my poem in a little while, hopefully all the pictures I scanned will look good so that I can choose a couple to illustrate the poem. Gary chose the couple of his dad for me to use. I didn't even realize we had them. I remember Mom giving us the album, but never took time to go through it. The pictures are so much smaller than what we see today. It seemed easy to look at Dad in Vietnam, wonder where the other people are now? But harder were the pictures at the end. Gary and his sister at Christmas and Easter. Pictures taken especially to send to their dad thousands of miles away. They look so posed, stiff, as if this is not soemthing they chose to do. Were they told look serious, not smile? Or were they afraid they might cry? Too long ago for them to remember. There will be more pictures eventually, Mom already said we will get them. Cheryl doesn't want them, and her kids don't seem interested. Phillip has a fascination, but he knew his grandfather for 6 years, and now that he is in the Navy and has been in Iraq, he can associate (is this the right word?) with some of the things that must have happened.
I must check and see if I can get into yahoo, it wan't working a while ago. Maybe I am jinxed today, nothing is working. I am going around in circles with my thoughts.
Gary didn't call this mornign to wake me up. I guessed he had work waiting as soon as he entered the building. I was about to pick up the phone to call him when it rang. There is no lovey dovey stuff, but to hear his voice in the morning gives the day a good start. Its even better when he is in a goofy mood. Never know what to expect then.
A few days ago, we went out for a few hours. Adult time, something I have insisted upon ever since we had kids. Just talking and listening to the band, I chatter away like a squirrel, it never ends. A shiver passed over me, and the topic turned to how I was always cold. Gary is like an electric blanket, always toasty warm, he commented on how I always have popsitoes. I will never look at popsicles again without seeing toes. Wonder if I can find ice cube trays in the shape of toes???
Wow we have passed the halfway mark. Guess I had more to say than I thought.
I wonder what the boys are doing? Sean thinks he might have an ear infection beginning, will have to watchthat, forgot to ask Gary to bring home earplugs, note to self to call. Robert was dozey when he got up, might be time for an early night, before he turns into this monster for whom nothing oges right, and the least little thing said causes an eruption that thunders around the house.
Phillip is on FEX for two weeks. Field Exercises. Little or no communication with the outside world, but also means no shaving. Course the uniforms walk home by themselves when the time is up. Just glad I am not doing his laundry. This time next year he will be in Iraq or Kuwait. Maybe he will get to come home for the holidays. Missed them last year because Iraq is too far for a weekend jaunt.
I think the next time I see my brother I would like to ask him about Northern Ireland. Get more pictures, and really find out some things about him. Being so far away means a detachment in more ways than just separation. There is little we do that is relatable (is this a word?) to the other. We weren't close as kids, but it seems the older we get the more alike we are. When he came to visit a few years ago we drank too much, I kept up with him, what an accomplishment, I drove too fast, didn't want him to beat me, shame, tsk, tsk, and had a great time. Might get to see him this year, he is visiting Disney with his family, we aren't that far from where he'll be. We also are hoping to go to England next year for our 25th. Hard to think I will be married a quarter of a century. That is a long time. I would not change much, given the chance. We have learned a lot along the journey together, and little of it can be put into words and given to others. Our greatest gifts have been the way we stick together and show our kids how much we love this family as a group. Good thing, because part-time nomads that we are, we are all we have.
I think I will stop a few minutes early. Have too many things I ant to do, they all relate to class, and to projects we are working on. I will reread the poem one last time to be sure there are no major changes I wish to make, and look for the pictures I want to use to illustrate.
Signing off. Have a great day. Be happy. Smile. Laugh.
I am probably not going to stay on topic because again I id not sleep well and my brain is frazzled. At least tonight I am not tutoriing. Perhaps I'll get to go home and get things done early, and then I can have an early night to bed. Or at least to relax and do nothing; read a book sounds good. I am doing ok reading and keeping up with the boys, but the book I am on now seems to have sat collecting dust more days than I have opened it.
I could just sit here and stare at the screen thinking nothing right now. It is hard to focus. If I liked to jog that is probably what I should do to get the body and mind awake and willing to work.
I will record my poem in a little while, hopefully all the pictures I scanned will look good so that I can choose a couple to illustrate the poem. Gary chose the couple of his dad for me to use. I didn't even realize we had them. I remember Mom giving us the album, but never took time to go through it. The pictures are so much smaller than what we see today. It seemed easy to look at Dad in Vietnam, wonder where the other people are now? But harder were the pictures at the end. Gary and his sister at Christmas and Easter. Pictures taken especially to send to their dad thousands of miles away. They look so posed, stiff, as if this is not soemthing they chose to do. Were they told look serious, not smile? Or were they afraid they might cry? Too long ago for them to remember. There will be more pictures eventually, Mom already said we will get them. Cheryl doesn't want them, and her kids don't seem interested. Phillip has a fascination, but he knew his grandfather for 6 years, and now that he is in the Navy and has been in Iraq, he can associate (is this the right word?) with some of the things that must have happened.
I must check and see if I can get into yahoo, it wan't working a while ago. Maybe I am jinxed today, nothing is working. I am going around in circles with my thoughts.
Gary didn't call this mornign to wake me up. I guessed he had work waiting as soon as he entered the building. I was about to pick up the phone to call him when it rang. There is no lovey dovey stuff, but to hear his voice in the morning gives the day a good start. Its even better when he is in a goofy mood. Never know what to expect then.
A few days ago, we went out for a few hours. Adult time, something I have insisted upon ever since we had kids. Just talking and listening to the band, I chatter away like a squirrel, it never ends. A shiver passed over me, and the topic turned to how I was always cold. Gary is like an electric blanket, always toasty warm, he commented on how I always have popsitoes. I will never look at popsicles again without seeing toes. Wonder if I can find ice cube trays in the shape of toes???
Wow we have passed the halfway mark. Guess I had more to say than I thought.
I wonder what the boys are doing? Sean thinks he might have an ear infection beginning, will have to watchthat, forgot to ask Gary to bring home earplugs, note to self to call. Robert was dozey when he got up, might be time for an early night, before he turns into this monster for whom nothing oges right, and the least little thing said causes an eruption that thunders around the house.
Phillip is on FEX for two weeks. Field Exercises. Little or no communication with the outside world, but also means no shaving. Course the uniforms walk home by themselves when the time is up. Just glad I am not doing his laundry. This time next year he will be in Iraq or Kuwait. Maybe he will get to come home for the holidays. Missed them last year because Iraq is too far for a weekend jaunt.
I think the next time I see my brother I would like to ask him about Northern Ireland. Get more pictures, and really find out some things about him. Being so far away means a detachment in more ways than just separation. There is little we do that is relatable (is this a word?) to the other. We weren't close as kids, but it seems the older we get the more alike we are. When he came to visit a few years ago we drank too much, I kept up with him, what an accomplishment, I drove too fast, didn't want him to beat me, shame, tsk, tsk, and had a great time. Might get to see him this year, he is visiting Disney with his family, we aren't that far from where he'll be. We also are hoping to go to England next year for our 25th. Hard to think I will be married a quarter of a century. That is a long time. I would not change much, given the chance. We have learned a lot along the journey together, and little of it can be put into words and given to others. Our greatest gifts have been the way we stick together and show our kids how much we love this family as a group. Good thing, because part-time nomads that we are, we are all we have.
I think I will stop a few minutes early. Have too many things I ant to do, they all relate to class, and to projects we are working on. I will reread the poem one last time to be sure there are no major changes I wish to make, and look for the pictures I want to use to illustrate.
Signing off. Have a great day. Be happy. Smile. Laugh.
posted by Diana Chartier at
9:06 AM
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0 comments
South Georgia Writing Project
Ok, Now I feel like I'm missing something. A giant web of life! I'm not really sure what the hell that is, but it looks cool in the picture. Hope everyone is still having a good time and learning lots of stuff. I just wanted to tell Pat good luck, and sorry I couldn't be there. Half of our coaching staff is gone this week, and I have to be gone half of next week. I'm looking forward to seeing all of you soon.
posted by Adam at
7:19 AM
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1 comments
June 20, 2006
Grant Resources
Please respond to this post to share ideas for finding and writing grants. Here's a webpage that offers help with writing grants: www.ncte.org/about/grants/resources/107736.htm
Robert mentioned Best Buy. Other companies (Wal-Mart, Target, Starbucks, etc.) probably offer local grants as well.
NCTE (www.ncte.org) lists many potential grants. Check the Georgia Dept. of Education for other possibilities.
Let's use this space as a resource for grant info.
Robert mentioned Best Buy. Other companies (Wal-Mart, Target, Starbucks, etc.) probably offer local grants as well.
NCTE (www.ncte.org) lists many potential grants. Check the Georgia Dept. of Education for other possibilities.
Let's use this space as a resource for grant info.
posted by Donna Sewell at
6:12 PM
|
1 comments
Web of life
Here we are, learning about the web of life and how everything connects to everything else. Way to teach, Ivy! (Photo credit: Wes Sewell, www.miragestudios.us)
posted by Donna Sewell at
5:24 PM
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0 comments
Classroom management and Lesson Plans
Ivy and Christy and anyone else interested in the card-system of management or having copies of my LP, send me an email to ashenbriar@hotmail.com
posted by Anonymous at
3:02 PM
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2 comments
Religion & Spirituality
My first memory of going to church involves my grandfather. He took me to a loud church filled with old people. The preacher talked about heaven and hell and loving Jesus above all else. I remember him smearing a fingertip’s worth of olive oil on the foreheads of my sister, myself, and some other people. I tried to wipe the oil off when I got back to my seat. I was so restless and confused. That moment defined my experience in church from that point on.
Wearing uncomfortable dresses, being forced to sit through sermons that made little sense, old people watching yelling about the joys of Jesus made church a burden. In one church, people would start speaking in “tongues” a whirling about on the floor in a frenzy. In another church, hapless children, victim of their parent’s good faith and bad taste would be forced to “pantomime” religious dances. Although, that has been pure comedy gold for me. How can I not mention the hats, my goodness, the hats. I would go to church just to see the pageantry of the hats. Hats with fake birds, flowers, and sequin and rhinestones of all shapes and colors. The music was the best part of church. Even when I didn’t understand the lyrics, the music could easily move me to tears. The love people could express for their faith.
When I was thirteen, I asked my mother if I had to go to church again. She told me that I did not. She also told me that I was now accountable for my own soul. I wasn’t sure of what that meant, but I did not have to go to church anymore, so I really didn’t care. Oddly enough, I went to church more often.
But the more I went to church, the more cynical I became. Saturdaynightsinners become Sundaymorningsaints. Congregations did the very things the preacher cautioned against. And it seemed as if the people who followed the rules suffered the most. And no one had clear answers for the contradictions. They would throw out clichés and catch all phrases that did little to relieve my faltering faith.
It wasn’t until, I started to read various religious texts that I gained some sense of spirituality. I let go of all the labels, establishments, and conventions of organized religion. Most religions are the (r)evolutions and hodgepodges of religions that came before. All societies have had some form of religion, many lost to time. When humans organize something, we find a way to destroy its inherent beauty and necessity be theorizing it to death, dissection, and explication. But I’ve decided that my spirit transcends the madness of this, and that there is divinity within everyone. I’m sure there is a philosophy that explains this in far more detail though.
Wearing uncomfortable dresses, being forced to sit through sermons that made little sense, old people watching yelling about the joys of Jesus made church a burden. In one church, people would start speaking in “tongues” a whirling about on the floor in a frenzy. In another church, hapless children, victim of their parent’s good faith and bad taste would be forced to “pantomime” religious dances. Although, that has been pure comedy gold for me. How can I not mention the hats, my goodness, the hats. I would go to church just to see the pageantry of the hats. Hats with fake birds, flowers, and sequin and rhinestones of all shapes and colors. The music was the best part of church. Even when I didn’t understand the lyrics, the music could easily move me to tears. The love people could express for their faith.
When I was thirteen, I asked my mother if I had to go to church again. She told me that I did not. She also told me that I was now accountable for my own soul. I wasn’t sure of what that meant, but I did not have to go to church anymore, so I really didn’t care. Oddly enough, I went to church more often.
But the more I went to church, the more cynical I became. Saturdaynightsinners become Sundaymorningsaints. Congregations did the very things the preacher cautioned against. And it seemed as if the people who followed the rules suffered the most. And no one had clear answers for the contradictions. They would throw out clichés and catch all phrases that did little to relieve my faltering faith.
It wasn’t until, I started to read various religious texts that I gained some sense of spirituality. I let go of all the labels, establishments, and conventions of organized religion. Most religions are the (r)evolutions and hodgepodges of religions that came before. All societies have had some form of religion, many lost to time. When humans organize something, we find a way to destroy its inherent beauty and necessity be theorizing it to death, dissection, and explication. But I’ve decided that my spirit transcends the madness of this, and that there is divinity within everyone. I’m sure there is a philosophy that explains this in far more detail though.
posted by lc at
10:02 AM
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1 comments
Changing the topic
Well, there's the topic: religion and spirituality. I stare at it, hoping it will morph into something else. Since it won't change, I will. That's one of the perks, after all, of freewriting: complete freedom.
Hmm, what topic should I write about? I haven't been getting stories down that I want to tell. Wes reminded me of some good ones not long ago, but I've already forgotten them. I hate when that happens. I expect my memory to hold ideas and events indefinitely, but it fails me regularly. I type words, then pause, wondering where to go. I have no hooks today, nothing pulling me toward the computer, urging me on. I re-read the page, hoping something will engage me, but nothing does.
I'll blame it on Wes. He's visiting today to take some action shots of teachers and writers at work. We need new digital photos for the brochure. I worry how our community will react to an outsider, then giggle as I imagine Wes as an interloper to the community. They probably feel they already know him, and he suspects they know too much about him.
I wonder if anyone will be willing to participate in the writing to legislators campaign. I would love for everyone to do so, but people have enough requirements already for the ISI. Still, maybe a few people will volunteer. I'll ask. Maybe members of the Advisory Board will do it as well. I need to send them an email. Okay, that's done.
Hmm, I'm struggling to write today, almost wriggling in anticipation for Ivy's demo. I expect good things from her, partly because I've heard great things about her coach's demo. I'm looking forward to the next thing instead of appreciating this moment.
Words wait just outside my consciousness, taunting me, hiding, leaving me chasing half-formed ideas that dissipate as I grab for them.
I like that last line, so I'll stop with it.
Hmm, what topic should I write about? I haven't been getting stories down that I want to tell. Wes reminded me of some good ones not long ago, but I've already forgotten them. I hate when that happens. I expect my memory to hold ideas and events indefinitely, but it fails me regularly. I type words, then pause, wondering where to go. I have no hooks today, nothing pulling me toward the computer, urging me on. I re-read the page, hoping something will engage me, but nothing does.
I'll blame it on Wes. He's visiting today to take some action shots of teachers and writers at work. We need new digital photos for the brochure. I worry how our community will react to an outsider, then giggle as I imagine Wes as an interloper to the community. They probably feel they already know him, and he suspects they know too much about him.
I wonder if anyone will be willing to participate in the writing to legislators campaign. I would love for everyone to do so, but people have enough requirements already for the ISI. Still, maybe a few people will volunteer. I'll ask. Maybe members of the Advisory Board will do it as well. I need to send them an email. Okay, that's done.
Hmm, I'm struggling to write today, almost wriggling in anticipation for Ivy's demo. I expect good things from her, partly because I've heard great things about her coach's demo. I'm looking forward to the next thing instead of appreciating this moment.
Words wait just outside my consciousness, taunting me, hiding, leaving me chasing half-formed ideas that dissipate as I grab for them.
I like that last line, so I'll stop with it.
posted by Donna Sewell at
9:13 AM
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0 comments
June 19, 2006
Community event?
In 2004, SGWP participants headed to the river to go tubing one day. Whether we go tubing or not, it might be fun to have a social event outside of the Institute--maybe a potluck dinner or bowling night or tubing one Friday--an event to which we can invite family. What do you think? My house is way too dirty for hosting a potluck, though; seriously, it's a construction zone as usual.
Also, we need to plan a Post-Institute day for you to pick up the anthologies. I'd prefer to schedule it after classes begin so that we can talk about what we've incorporated into classes, sharing successes and failures. Also, I'll need to figure out what leadership roles, if any, people want to play next year. Possibilities include Publicity, Historian, Publications, Tech Liaison, Writing Coordinator, Legislative Liaison, and probably many others.
Also, we need to plan a Post-Institute day for you to pick up the anthologies. I'd prefer to schedule it after classes begin so that we can talk about what we've incorporated into classes, sharing successes and failures. Also, I'll need to figure out what leadership roles, if any, people want to play next year. Possibilities include Publicity, Historian, Publications, Tech Liaison, Writing Coordinator, Legislative Liaison, and probably many others.
posted by Donna Sewell at
7:22 PM
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1 comments
I promise to leave it alone...soon
Below, I am posting examples of two "blogs" that illustrates the class outside the classroom. They both relate to French, but they are pretty good pedagogically.
What's unique about them is that they have actual podcasts of lessons. The owner of the blog has created lessons that are played in a media player. The podcasts go along with lessons created that can also be downloaded. Pretty cool. And it seems to be free...for the moment.
The two sites, just for perusal if nothing else:
1. The French Pod Class
2. The French Ecole Podcast Page
Remember, if you want to begin with the first lesson, you will have to track back to the beginning of the blog because blogs go in reverse-order. I would be happy to show you how to podcast lessons, if you're interested. It's quite simple, but takes some patience. You can simply add the podcast to your blog and, for lack of a better word, voilà...you have podcasts as lessons. Just another cool extension of the tech world. Happy practicing of your French.
What's unique about them is that they have actual podcasts of lessons. The owner of the blog has created lessons that are played in a media player. The podcasts go along with lessons created that can also be downloaded. Pretty cool. And it seems to be free...for the moment.
The two sites, just for perusal if nothing else:
1. The French Pod Class
2. The French Ecole Podcast Page
Remember, if you want to begin with the first lesson, you will have to track back to the beginning of the blog because blogs go in reverse-order. I would be happy to show you how to podcast lessons, if you're interested. It's quite simple, but takes some patience. You can simply add the podcast to your blog and, for lack of a better word, voilà...you have podcasts as lessons. Just another cool extension of the tech world. Happy practicing of your French.
posted by Anonymous at
6:46 PM
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1 comments
Trials/Tests/Tribulations
Why do these three words go together so well? They all mean the same but then again different things.
OJ just reared his head. What a travesty that trial was. A forgone conclusion that has yet to be fully resolved. I have a morbid interest in things of a gory nature, at least according to my hubby. I bought a book called Murders of the Black Museum long time ago. It is filled with 50 cases of murder and mayhem, and the ways in which some people have been caught while others remain anonymous. I think there was a second book, will have too look for it. Crime is interesting to read about. There are unknowns, and new technologies that make some of the details hard to undeerstand but possible with thought about what is being accomplished.
If the word test was the only one listed then the topic would slide automatically to school and a regurgitation of what has been learnt. But because it sits beside trial and tribulation it causes the thought that is it a test of a person's character. Will I pass muster when I stand for my test. Have I failed in some way to reach my potential or to do the best I could?
My children are tested each day not just in school but at hme with whatever task is set for them to accomplish. A trial today will be to see if they do their reading and writing even though I did not write it on the list of things to be done. Their sense of duty is on trial as much as anything. Can they be trusted to do what is supp;osed to be a daily occurence, or will they attempt to wriggle out of the dreaded assignment?
Tribulations we have all gone through. According to the dictionary this is a great moment of stress or trial. How small a test or trial is just that? When does it become a tribulation and affect a person on a deeper level?
A trial right now is to stop my stomach from talking too loud. All is peaceful and I rumble away like a train rolling over the tracks. If it gets much worse this will become a tribulation.
Demos are a requirement of this institution, theres another odd word, and we all stress about how to proceed. Testing ourselves on the information to be given, we face a trial of standing before our peers. This is such a hard thing to do. And yet we do it every day in some form or other. But so much rests upon those minutes. This was perhaps the hardest thing I have had to do in a while and it was definitely a good thing to have it over. Next time I present that information there should be less tribulations because I know that it works and is a concept that spreads across age and curriculum.
What are others writing about this morning? Only a couple of us are tapping away. How much of a trial is this to others in the room? Please tell me if this bothers you. I do not want to make your task harder than it needs to be. Trying to write for 45 minutes has become easier, but there are still disruptions and other events that can cause us to lose the thought we had or to make this seem like an important test.
That leads me to think of the Praxis, both 1 & 2. No breaks in between, just a series of tests to determine what you know. The first one felt like a regular test, of course getting into the Ed program was a goal, but the test itself did not have a very strenuous feel to it. Because of the expense, I felt more worried about passing and needing to come up with the fees to pay for any part should I not meet the requisite score first go around. PHEW!! Next came work for the second part. Praxis 2 is a trial. No longer good enough to know how to write an essay or find sentences that fit better in the context, now we had to prove what we said and decide what others felt was the best response. 4 hours later and it felt as if all reasonable thought had gone forever. Would the jury looking at the transcript of this trial find me guilty of not knowing enough or justify what I said and give me a certificate? Time would tell, the jury would be out for a month. AT least I had a time frame in which to get nervous and suffer the stress of not knowing.
Of course marriage has to be included. This may be one of the greatest tests we ever take. It is hard to live with another person, and have to come together while being so very different. A deliberate testing of the other occurs daily, even after many years. Do most people realize they are doing this? I don't think so. Being a military wife meant my husband would leave for weeks, months, or a year at a time. Especially at the beginning, whenever the time drew near for him to leave I caused fights. It did not matter about what, just anything to see how far I could push. Easier to say piss off than goodbye with a kiss, but the real test was would he come back and stay with me. This was a test of wills.
Childbirth is a test of strength, but no one warns you that the real test is just beginning. The many sufferings that happen through the years are tempered with smiles and hugs. It will be many years before discovering whether the trials and tribulations of the terrible twos, the selfish fours, and don't forget the tweens before the real thing. Frought with hidden agendas, child rearing is a battle of wits and wills. Who wins depends on the how strategic the battles have been. It is hoped that all involved come through relatively unscathed and capable of passing on to others a wonder that becomes a wanting to try their own hand at this effort which is essential for survival of the species.
Should I get another piece of bread, it is rather delicious and surely one piece will not be an undoing of a diet which I never seem to start. Test myself to see if I can keep my mind off of food until the writing is done. But then there are logs and demos, it is rude to eat while another is talking. Oh blast, at some point I have to shake off some of the rules I grew up with because otherwise I will not get to do many things. This is not a test, trial, or tribulation, it is a fact and I must decide whether it is a goal for which I wish to aim?
OJ just reared his head. What a travesty that trial was. A forgone conclusion that has yet to be fully resolved. I have a morbid interest in things of a gory nature, at least according to my hubby. I bought a book called Murders of the Black Museum long time ago. It is filled with 50 cases of murder and mayhem, and the ways in which some people have been caught while others remain anonymous. I think there was a second book, will have too look for it. Crime is interesting to read about. There are unknowns, and new technologies that make some of the details hard to undeerstand but possible with thought about what is being accomplished.
If the word test was the only one listed then the topic would slide automatically to school and a regurgitation of what has been learnt. But because it sits beside trial and tribulation it causes the thought that is it a test of a person's character. Will I pass muster when I stand for my test. Have I failed in some way to reach my potential or to do the best I could?
My children are tested each day not just in school but at hme with whatever task is set for them to accomplish. A trial today will be to see if they do their reading and writing even though I did not write it on the list of things to be done. Their sense of duty is on trial as much as anything. Can they be trusted to do what is supp;osed to be a daily occurence, or will they attempt to wriggle out of the dreaded assignment?
Tribulations we have all gone through. According to the dictionary this is a great moment of stress or trial. How small a test or trial is just that? When does it become a tribulation and affect a person on a deeper level?
A trial right now is to stop my stomach from talking too loud. All is peaceful and I rumble away like a train rolling over the tracks. If it gets much worse this will become a tribulation.
Demos are a requirement of this institution, theres another odd word, and we all stress about how to proceed. Testing ourselves on the information to be given, we face a trial of standing before our peers. This is such a hard thing to do. And yet we do it every day in some form or other. But so much rests upon those minutes. This was perhaps the hardest thing I have had to do in a while and it was definitely a good thing to have it over. Next time I present that information there should be less tribulations because I know that it works and is a concept that spreads across age and curriculum.
What are others writing about this morning? Only a couple of us are tapping away. How much of a trial is this to others in the room? Please tell me if this bothers you. I do not want to make your task harder than it needs to be. Trying to write for 45 minutes has become easier, but there are still disruptions and other events that can cause us to lose the thought we had or to make this seem like an important test.
That leads me to think of the Praxis, both 1 & 2. No breaks in between, just a series of tests to determine what you know. The first one felt like a regular test, of course getting into the Ed program was a goal, but the test itself did not have a very strenuous feel to it. Because of the expense, I felt more worried about passing and needing to come up with the fees to pay for any part should I not meet the requisite score first go around. PHEW!! Next came work for the second part. Praxis 2 is a trial. No longer good enough to know how to write an essay or find sentences that fit better in the context, now we had to prove what we said and decide what others felt was the best response. 4 hours later and it felt as if all reasonable thought had gone forever. Would the jury looking at the transcript of this trial find me guilty of not knowing enough or justify what I said and give me a certificate? Time would tell, the jury would be out for a month. AT least I had a time frame in which to get nervous and suffer the stress of not knowing.
Of course marriage has to be included. This may be one of the greatest tests we ever take. It is hard to live with another person, and have to come together while being so very different. A deliberate testing of the other occurs daily, even after many years. Do most people realize they are doing this? I don't think so. Being a military wife meant my husband would leave for weeks, months, or a year at a time. Especially at the beginning, whenever the time drew near for him to leave I caused fights. It did not matter about what, just anything to see how far I could push. Easier to say piss off than goodbye with a kiss, but the real test was would he come back and stay with me. This was a test of wills.
Childbirth is a test of strength, but no one warns you that the real test is just beginning. The many sufferings that happen through the years are tempered with smiles and hugs. It will be many years before discovering whether the trials and tribulations of the terrible twos, the selfish fours, and don't forget the tweens before the real thing. Frought with hidden agendas, child rearing is a battle of wits and wills. Who wins depends on the how strategic the battles have been. It is hoped that all involved come through relatively unscathed and capable of passing on to others a wonder that becomes a wanting to try their own hand at this effort which is essential for survival of the species.
Should I get another piece of bread, it is rather delicious and surely one piece will not be an undoing of a diet which I never seem to start. Test myself to see if I can keep my mind off of food until the writing is done. But then there are logs and demos, it is rude to eat while another is talking. Oh blast, at some point I have to shake off some of the rules I grew up with because otherwise I will not get to do many things. This is not a test, trial, or tribulation, it is a fact and I must decide whether it is a goal for which I wish to aim?
posted by Diana Chartier at
9:05 AM
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1 comments
One big cookie!
Here's a picture of the "chocolate hamburgers" (whoopie pies) I wrote about in my freewrite on Thurs.
posted by Hayden Lindsey at
8:07 AM
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3 comments
June 17, 2006
Cake Recipe
Here is the recipe for the apple date nut cake.
Mrs. Callie's Apple Cake
In a small bowl:
2 eggs well beaten
2 cups sugar
2 cups fresh apples, chopped
Mix together and let stand while preparing other ingredients in large bowl.
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp. soda
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 cup chopped dates
1 cup chopped pecans
Mix the above together then add:
apple mixture
1 cup oil
2 tsp. vanilla
Mix well and pour into a greased tube pan or 2 loaf pans. Bake at 325 degrees for 1 hour and 30 minutes for tube pan and 1 hour 20 minutes for loaf pans. Check doneness with a toothpick in the center.
Happy eating!!
Bertha
Mrs. Callie's Apple Cake
In a small bowl:
2 eggs well beaten
2 cups sugar
2 cups fresh apples, chopped
Mix together and let stand while preparing other ingredients in large bowl.
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp. soda
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
1 cup chopped dates
1 cup chopped pecans
Mix the above together then add:
apple mixture
1 cup oil
2 tsp. vanilla
Mix well and pour into a greased tube pan or 2 loaf pans. Bake at 325 degrees for 1 hour and 30 minutes for tube pan and 1 hour 20 minutes for loaf pans. Check doneness with a toothpick in the center.
Happy eating!!
Bertha
posted by Anonymous at
8:30 AM
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1 comments
Hello
Hello everyone,
It is 1:37 am and girly girl is still awake. I thought I would drop in and say hello. So, HELLO.
Girly Girl
It is 1:37 am and girly girl is still awake. I thought I would drop in and say hello. So, HELLO.
Girly Girl
posted by Kim at
1:41 AM
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2 comments
June 15, 2006
Some Pootie Tang for thought
I thought you may want to see what kind of hero Pootie Tang is. True hero.
Just press play. Nothing bad/dirty happens. This will help you understand the belt reference from this morning.
Just press play. Nothing bad/dirty happens. This will help you understand the belt reference from this morning.
posted by Anonymous at
6:24 PM
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4 comments
Ran out of time
Fellow Writers....
I ran out of time before I could entice you with one last bit of technology to go along with the blog focus. I wanted to show you a feature of hyper space that I think is kind of cool, but one that requires your discretion and review before using. Youtube is a "database" of clips from the tele, such as in the form of shows or commercials or film, or can be clips of things you film personally, which is where the discretion comes in to play. For the most part, it is genuine. But, as with anything on the web, there are always questionable acts. Here are two clips I wanted to share, to give you ideas and such.
This first clip is a French student (not mine) who had to make a commercial for his French class:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHllXxCPdE8
The second is of a student (Biology) discussing/illustrating photosynthesis:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMgD83_SkxE
There is a way to embed the youtube player into your post, but it isn't working for me. I just posted the link for you to click. There are tons of other clips. Currently, youtube is free to use. The way I would use this in a blog setting or class is, for French, through listening comprehension tasks and culture. There are French commercials, some in horrible, nasty tatse; others, though, in jest and goodwill. You be the judge. I thought youtube was worth you knowing, if not professionally, certainly personally. There are clips from those tele shows of the 80's we miss. Have a great weekend.
I ran out of time before I could entice you with one last bit of technology to go along with the blog focus. I wanted to show you a feature of hyper space that I think is kind of cool, but one that requires your discretion and review before using. Youtube is a "database" of clips from the tele, such as in the form of shows or commercials or film, or can be clips of things you film personally, which is where the discretion comes in to play. For the most part, it is genuine. But, as with anything on the web, there are always questionable acts. Here are two clips I wanted to share, to give you ideas and such.
This first clip is a French student (not mine) who had to make a commercial for his French class:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHllXxCPdE8
The second is of a student (Biology) discussing/illustrating photosynthesis:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMgD83_SkxE
There is a way to embed the youtube player into your post, but it isn't working for me. I just posted the link for you to click. There are tons of other clips. Currently, youtube is free to use. The way I would use this in a blog setting or class is, for French, through listening comprehension tasks and culture. There are French commercials, some in horrible, nasty tatse; others, though, in jest and goodwill. You be the judge. I thought youtube was worth you knowing, if not professionally, certainly personally. There are clips from those tele shows of the 80's we miss. Have a great weekend.
posted by Anonymous at
3:07 PM
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0 comments
Robert's question list
Questions to respond to in our first post: 1. What letter (of the alphabet) best describes you? Why? A, my initials are double A. 2. What's one artist, concert or musical era that you'd like to have been alive to see, or see again if you saw it in the past? 20's 3. What's the one history lesson you most remember (could be actual History or your personal lessons learned from history)? Presentation on Nostradamus 4. Name a band that's not together anymore (members can be alive or dead) that you would absolutely love to see reform. Smashing Pumpkins 5. What is your favorite: Television show? Movie? Book? Napolean Dynamite 6. Honestly, can Tom Hanks really act? YES 7. How many movies do you own? How many of those star Tom Hanks? 100, 5 8. Who is your favorite character/personage from a book? History? Science? Lord Byron 9. You’re in a fix. MacGyver has been killed. What do you find in his pockets to help you survive? string 10. You and your spouse take a trip to an exotic island. You go out with a group to explore the water world. The boat leaves you and your spouse, stupidly!, in the water. What are you discussing? HINT: no sign of sharks, yet. this stinks 11. What movie/tele/film star would you most like to meet? Why? Will Ferrall, comedy
posted by Alex Alvarez at
11:20 AM
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0 comments
Blogging demo questions
Questions to respond to in our first post: [Go to the SGWP blog to copy]
1. What letter (of the alphabet) best describes you? Why?
2. What's one artist, concert or musical era that you'd like to have been alive to see, or see again if you saw it in the past?
3. What's the one history lesson you most remember (could be actual History or your personal lessons learned from history)?
4. Name a band that's not together anymore (members can be alive or dead) that you would absolutely love to see reform.
5. What is your favorite: Television show? Movie? Book? (presently or from the past)
6. Honestly, can Tom Hanks really act?
7. How many movies do you own? How many of those star Tom Hanks?
8. Who is your favorite character/personage from a book? History? Science?
9. You’re in a fix. MacGyver has been killed. What do you find in his pockets to help you survive?
10. You and your spouse take a trip to an exotic island. You go out with a group to explore the water world. The boat leaves you and your spouse, stupidly!, in the water. What are you discussing? HINT: no sign of sharks, yet.
11. What movie/tele/film star would you most like to meet? Why? (Sorry, Tom Hanks need not apply. And yes, he is so “accomplished” that he encompasses movie, television and film).
SONGS:
a. A song you love a lot right now
b. A song that came out in your senior year of high school
c. A song about a woman
d. A song with naughty thoughts
e. A song with a great guitar solo
f. A song by a Canadian
g. A song you hate
h. A song other people hate but you love
i. A song your students like a lot
j. Recommend a song to your readers to get them up and boogie'ing. Go ahead. No, Tom Hanks hasn’t cut a record…yet.
1. What letter (of the alphabet) best describes you? Why?
2. What's one artist, concert or musical era that you'd like to have been alive to see, or see again if you saw it in the past?
3. What's the one history lesson you most remember (could be actual History or your personal lessons learned from history)?
4. Name a band that's not together anymore (members can be alive or dead) that you would absolutely love to see reform.
5. What is your favorite: Television show? Movie? Book? (presently or from the past)
6. Honestly, can Tom Hanks really act?
7. How many movies do you own? How many of those star Tom Hanks?
8. Who is your favorite character/personage from a book? History? Science?
9. You’re in a fix. MacGyver has been killed. What do you find in his pockets to help you survive?
10. You and your spouse take a trip to an exotic island. You go out with a group to explore the water world. The boat leaves you and your spouse, stupidly!, in the water. What are you discussing? HINT: no sign of sharks, yet.
11. What movie/tele/film star would you most like to meet? Why? (Sorry, Tom Hanks need not apply. And yes, he is so “accomplished” that he encompasses movie, television and film).
SONGS:
a. A song you love a lot right now
b. A song that came out in your senior year of high school
c. A song about a woman
d. A song with naughty thoughts
e. A song with a great guitar solo
f. A song by a Canadian
g. A song you hate
h. A song other people hate but you love
i. A song your students like a lot
j. Recommend a song to your readers to get them up and boogie'ing. Go ahead. No, Tom Hanks hasn’t cut a record…yet.
posted by Anonymous at
10:19 AM
|
1 comments
Food, Its what We Eat
I have decided to sit in the Oasis area, wonder what it will be called now that the Oasis snack bar is no more? The first thing that struck me, before I wrote at least, was that we really need new covers on the tables. I do not think they get cleaned too often or well, and they have been here as long as I have, 5 years.
We started talking as a small group today of foods, especially since the cake Bertha provided was so obvious a starting point. I am glad we have a couple of people who unselfishly give of their time to provide good food for us to feast upon. Now where else was I going with this? I don’t know. It has run away from me like water in a bathtub. So I will start again. Hmmm, where to go with my thoughts.
Without food we would be no more, but food is not all we are or need.
Randomness. WOOF!
Was it a real dog, is it hungry?
Yesterday I was stopped by someone wanting to know if we ere done in the room. I was unsure what to say because it came out of nowhere and we were just going to lunch. Asked why, the speaker responded that she was looking for leftovers, since we usully put them out. Did we? I wondered. According to her on Monday we had put out doughnuts, this would not have been possible since we had bagels and bread. I did not say this just that we were not done yet.
They are putting in a new bagel place right here where the Oasis used to be. I can’t imagine having just a few minutes to grab something before, and during when you have no time to go elsewhere so all you eat is bagels all day. Maybe they will serve different things as well. I like bagels but not that much. It’s a shame Oasis is gone. They had great sandwiches, soups, salads not exciting but offered and had a variety, as well as the coffee in the morning. Surely the new place will have coffee? Don’t they all?
There are birds outside singing, what messages do they send to each other, do the parents call out to bring home a worm in the same manner as we call spouses to bring milk?
Gary and I seem not to communicate well at all some days. For a couple of days I knew we were running low on milk, finally I knew I had to go to Walmart and get the goods for breakfast, so I grabbed milk. I had called to remind Gary I need to stop and get doughnuts etc. You think he would know where I am going. Or maybe just mention he bought milk that afternoon.
Nope. I get home and now we have 2 gallons of milk in the fridge, I was supposed to know he would pick it up, not sure how. Meanwhile, he mentioned how I could have remembered cat litter that he had forgotten. I just remarked how this could have been whistled across the space that we used talking on the phone. He didn’t know I was going to Walmart. What a night!
Since I have been in school Gary has really become my rock. Since I was still working and rarely home food stocks started running low. My husband took it upon himself to become the one who would on his way home stop and buy groceries. I do miss my way of keeping the shelves stocked and not so much prepackaged but it is a load I do not have to bear right now. Because many classes do not get out early enough to get home and prepare a meal as well as having time to eat before kids needed to be in bed, Gary also took over this area. Now the kitchen appears to be his, I am told to keep out, and even the kids remark at the ability to remember how to work around the gadgetry and food stuffs. Just wait. Their turn is coming. Time to learn to cook. They do pretty well on packaged goods, peeling potatoes is something I am not sure will ever be mastered. Instant mash in their homes, YUCK!
Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
To fetch her poor doggie a bone
But when she got the
The cupboard was bare
And so the poor doggie
Had none
Little miss muffet sat on her tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
Red riding hood was taking food to grandmother
Little tommy tucker sings for his supper
All the things we sing to little kids seem to revolve around food. Is there a reason for this?
It is distracting to sit here and see such a pretty day outside. I want to be out there, but that is only because I am in here.
We started talking as a small group today of foods, especially since the cake Bertha provided was so obvious a starting point. I am glad we have a couple of people who unselfishly give of their time to provide good food for us to feast upon. Now where else was I going with this? I don’t know. It has run away from me like water in a bathtub. So I will start again. Hmmm, where to go with my thoughts.
Without food we would be no more, but food is not all we are or need.
Randomness. WOOF!
Was it a real dog, is it hungry?
Yesterday I was stopped by someone wanting to know if we ere done in the room. I was unsure what to say because it came out of nowhere and we were just going to lunch. Asked why, the speaker responded that she was looking for leftovers, since we usully put them out. Did we? I wondered. According to her on Monday we had put out doughnuts, this would not have been possible since we had bagels and bread. I did not say this just that we were not done yet.
They are putting in a new bagel place right here where the Oasis used to be. I can’t imagine having just a few minutes to grab something before, and during when you have no time to go elsewhere so all you eat is bagels all day. Maybe they will serve different things as well. I like bagels but not that much. It’s a shame Oasis is gone. They had great sandwiches, soups, salads not exciting but offered and had a variety, as well as the coffee in the morning. Surely the new place will have coffee? Don’t they all?
There are birds outside singing, what messages do they send to each other, do the parents call out to bring home a worm in the same manner as we call spouses to bring milk?
Gary and I seem not to communicate well at all some days. For a couple of days I knew we were running low on milk, finally I knew I had to go to Walmart and get the goods for breakfast, so I grabbed milk. I had called to remind Gary I need to stop and get doughnuts etc. You think he would know where I am going. Or maybe just mention he bought milk that afternoon.
Nope. I get home and now we have 2 gallons of milk in the fridge, I was supposed to know he would pick it up, not sure how. Meanwhile, he mentioned how I could have remembered cat litter that he had forgotten. I just remarked how this could have been whistled across the space that we used talking on the phone. He didn’t know I was going to Walmart. What a night!
Since I have been in school Gary has really become my rock. Since I was still working and rarely home food stocks started running low. My husband took it upon himself to become the one who would on his way home stop and buy groceries. I do miss my way of keeping the shelves stocked and not so much prepackaged but it is a load I do not have to bear right now. Because many classes do not get out early enough to get home and prepare a meal as well as having time to eat before kids needed to be in bed, Gary also took over this area. Now the kitchen appears to be his, I am told to keep out, and even the kids remark at the ability to remember how to work around the gadgetry and food stuffs. Just wait. Their turn is coming. Time to learn to cook. They do pretty well on packaged goods, peeling potatoes is something I am not sure will ever be mastered. Instant mash in their homes, YUCK!
Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
To fetch her poor doggie a bone
But when she got the
The cupboard was bare
And so the poor doggie
Had none
Little miss muffet sat on her tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
Red riding hood was taking food to grandmother
Little tommy tucker sings for his supper
All the things we sing to little kids seem to revolve around food. Is there a reason for this?
It is distracting to sit here and see such a pretty day outside. I want to be out there, but that is only because I am in here.
posted by Diana Chartier at
9:40 AM
|
0 comments
Food
Food is good. I eat food every day. My friends eat food too. They like it. When I go to different places, I eat food. One time, I ate food and I got “the poisoning” from the food. I was very sick. I’m better now. I went to the grocery store to get more food last night. I saw a former student.
He said “Hello Ms. Coleman.”
I said, “Hello you. How are you?”
He said, “I’m fine. I just got out of class.”
I said, “Yeah.”
I turned back to the cashier, and he also asked me how I was doing.
I said, “I’m fine. How are you?” Like most other people, he did not answer the question. I found that odd. I went home, I ate the food, and I went to bed after doing very extensive research on inquiry-based teaching pedagogies.
He said “Hello Ms. Coleman.”
I said, “Hello you. How are you?”
He said, “I’m fine. I just got out of class.”
I said, “Yeah.”
I turned back to the cashier, and he also asked me how I was doing.
I said, “I’m fine. How are you?” Like most other people, he did not answer the question. I found that odd. I went home, I ate the food, and I went to bed after doing very extensive research on inquiry-based teaching pedagogies.
posted by lc at
9:25 AM
|
2 comments
Food, Fabulous Food
Bertha made some wonderful cake for breakfast. How great is life when you eat cake for breakfast? I feel so decadent now. My life is posher than I realized
I do a writing exercise in class that involves food. Students brainstorm their favorite foods for two to three minutes, listing them in their notebooks. Then we go around the room, sharing one or two favorite foods from our list. I tell students to pick one food and create another list, a list of memories associated with that food. I model the activity first on the board.
Quesadillas
I do a writing exercise in class that involves food. Students brainstorm their favorite foods for two to three minutes, listing them in their notebooks. Then we go around the room, sharing one or two favorite foods from our list. I tell students to pick one food and create another list, a list of memories associated with that food. I model the activity first on the board.
Quesadillas
- trying them the first time at El Toreo with Wes and Jeff
- figuring out the recipe and making them for Wes
- making them for my parents back when we used to bake them in the oven
- making them for Wes's family at the beach every year on vacation; I tried to get out of it this year and make something else, buy they insisted
Students take some time to jot down memories. A few people share one or two, and we look for specific memories that might be good for writing. For example, I don't really remember the first time I ate them. I don't remember the details, and there's nothing particularly significant about that experience, so I don't want to write about that moment. Figuring out the recipe has a bit more significance for me because I'm no cook. That's the moment I choose to write about. Students pick one memory and take ten minutes to write as much of it as they can.
We add one more strand to the exercise: sensory details. Students pick that moments and try to generate as many details related to sight, smell, taste, touch, and sound as possible. Then they rewrite the memory to include those details.
Often, this exercise leads to a text for them. We read a text that was generated several years ago by a student who is now a teacher. The text is called "Late Night Flapjacks." It overflows with wonderful details about a moment the child woke up her grandmother at 3:00 a.m. because she was hungry and the grandmother made the child flapjacks.
The writing exercise actually came from "Late Night Flapjacks." Now that exercise has helped several students create texts, especially female students who write about spending time in the kitchen with mothers or grandmothers. It has also led to texts about good food gone bad. Those stories usually make me laugh. A student wrote one last semester about making red velvet cake and leaving out two sticks of butter. She read that text for her final exam and read it very well. The text used the story of the failed recipe to underscore the value of her relationship with her boyfriend.
Perhaps that's why food can be such a powerful prompt. It pulls people together; it helps create community. I think the Summer Institute would be radically different without the shared meal. Other SIs keep people together for lunch as well, asking people to bring their lunch every day and work through lunch. That may be a little too much togetherness. I like the relationships that form through breaking off into smaller subsets to eat lunch together.
Okay, I'm drifting again, so I'll call it quits.
posted by Donna Sewell at
9:14 AM
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0 comments
June 14, 2006
Tomorrow's demo
Just an idea...some of you are pretty connected with the blogging thing. You may want to bring in (or just email to yourself) some electronic pictures if you want to snaz up your blog we'll create tomorrow. Perhaps a teacher-like photo of yourself? Hopefully, you'll read before leaving tomorrow and get the message. You don't need one...it's not part of the demo in truth. Just an idea.
posted by Anonymous at
11:29 PM
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1 comments
My Family
In the first picture you see Robert, he is almost 14. My husband Gary is shown with our eldest son Phillip (21) in Gulfport before Katrina. Last is a picture that includes (from front left and around), my dad, Gary, my mum, Sean, and Robert.
posted by Diana Chartier at
9:46 PM
|
3 comments
2006 Theme?
Lindsi noticed at lunch today that Southern culture and sayings had come up often during this Institute, so one possibility is "Writing: It's a Southern thing" or "thang" if you prefer. Any other ideas? We probably need to hurry on the t-shirts. By the way, any volunteers to take on that task?
posted by Donna Sewell at
5:47 PM
|
6 comments
Recess June 14, 2006
A break, does this mean we will get one? HA! It is not a really heavy load, there is a lot to do but it is spread out over time.
I took a few minutes to actually watch tv last night. It was late and Robert was up just sitting with me. The show we watched was Little Britain on BBCA. It is definitely from the other side of somewhere. Guys dressed as women, homosexuals who are outrageous in the form of attire they choose, and then of course the language. There were obvious cuss words, but surprisingly few except for one scene. Rent boys was a ______________ (can’t think of a word) used, and of course I had to explain that small detail. Good thing I don’t mind talking to my kids and being real and up front. These are my teacher moments at home, in the car, or wherever we might be. Keep in mind that Robert makes these cute faces when he says EWWWW! His mouth twists around the letters and his face scrunches up into itself. So we are sitting there giggling at the screen and what is happening when the scene shifts. A group of girls is in this park area and another group, the big girls, the toughs, comes sauntering along. They strut and ask the requisite questions, “What are you doing here?” responses are typical, “Its our place now.” “Oh yeah?” The fight is on. Not a typical girl fight though. This includes the dance moves to see who outdoes who. You know the toughs have to win, this is their show, but the other group is definitely better at the dancing. What will happen? Whatever it is must occur soon, the time is almost up. Rushing over to the girl the tough reaches out and before you can blink the nipple is tweaked. Away runs the group. Robert ewww’ed and ow’ed and laughed hysterically. Now sitting here all I can think of, for a moment anyway, is how much fun it was to sit and laugh with my son over something so silly yet so real and find a moment to impart what I believe to be open mindedness and acceptance.
Recesses are also corners of my mind where I go to hide away. I did that yesterday after my demo. I was terrified that I over preached or didn’t explain enough. Time will tell. I will look at the evals later and using the information find ways to improve. As a tool and its usefulness in the classroom I definitely want to use the exercise. It has great potential. Sorry Gary, I need to buy more books. It’s a good thing he is used to me doing that. Course when I mention this tonight I will get a response such as, “Like you need a reason.” Or “Sure you do.” You can almost see the wink wink at the end to emphasize his disbelief.
Nooks and crannies
Hidden in shadow
Hiding truths and
Treasures
How do we discover
Where to explore
Finding the secrets
Buried.
There are times I want to bury myself in a place no one can get to. These times are few and far between. I am glad because I don’t enjoy being alone for too long. I really want to laugh and smile and be with people I can talk to. I hid for to long as a child and have a lot to make up for. Perhaps this explains why I speak so much. It is amazing to me when I reflect back to see how I have changed. I am the same person, same beliefs and values, but there are radical differences. Like a virus that causes havoc ___ forgot where that was going, before it got to my fingertips. It wondered of the edges of my consciousness and is lost to the realms of darkness and recesses of my mind.
I like that sentence, will have to highlight it so I can go back and see where it leads. Perhaps I will find those recesses lost to the darkness and shadowy world where the real me hides.
I think recess is over, it is almost time to get back to class and address those serious issues such as the daily log, and and exciting demo. Can't wait to see what we get today. Its rather like a pot luck lunch.
Happy days everyone. Smile lots, laugh loud, and stay young.
A break, does this mean we will get one? HA! It is not a really heavy load, there is a lot to do but it is spread out over time.
I took a few minutes to actually watch tv last night. It was late and Robert was up just sitting with me. The show we watched was Little Britain on BBCA. It is definitely from the other side of somewhere. Guys dressed as women, homosexuals who are outrageous in the form of attire they choose, and then of course the language. There were obvious cuss words, but surprisingly few except for one scene. Rent boys was a ______________ (can’t think of a word) used, and of course I had to explain that small detail. Good thing I don’t mind talking to my kids and being real and up front. These are my teacher moments at home, in the car, or wherever we might be. Keep in mind that Robert makes these cute faces when he says EWWWW! His mouth twists around the letters and his face scrunches up into itself. So we are sitting there giggling at the screen and what is happening when the scene shifts. A group of girls is in this park area and another group, the big girls, the toughs, comes sauntering along. They strut and ask the requisite questions, “What are you doing here?” responses are typical, “Its our place now.” “Oh yeah?” The fight is on. Not a typical girl fight though. This includes the dance moves to see who outdoes who. You know the toughs have to win, this is their show, but the other group is definitely better at the dancing. What will happen? Whatever it is must occur soon, the time is almost up. Rushing over to the girl the tough reaches out and before you can blink the nipple is tweaked. Away runs the group. Robert ewww’ed and ow’ed and laughed hysterically. Now sitting here all I can think of, for a moment anyway, is how much fun it was to sit and laugh with my son over something so silly yet so real and find a moment to impart what I believe to be open mindedness and acceptance.
Recesses are also corners of my mind where I go to hide away. I did that yesterday after my demo. I was terrified that I over preached or didn’t explain enough. Time will tell. I will look at the evals later and using the information find ways to improve. As a tool and its usefulness in the classroom I definitely want to use the exercise. It has great potential. Sorry Gary, I need to buy more books. It’s a good thing he is used to me doing that. Course when I mention this tonight I will get a response such as, “Like you need a reason.” Or “Sure you do.” You can almost see the wink wink at the end to emphasize his disbelief.
Nooks and crannies
Hidden in shadow
Hiding truths and
Treasures
How do we discover
Where to explore
Finding the secrets
Buried.
There are times I want to bury myself in a place no one can get to. These times are few and far between. I am glad because I don’t enjoy being alone for too long. I really want to laugh and smile and be with people I can talk to. I hid for to long as a child and have a lot to make up for. Perhaps this explains why I speak so much. It is amazing to me when I reflect back to see how I have changed. I am the same person, same beliefs and values, but there are radical differences. Like a virus that causes havoc ___ forgot where that was going, before it got to my fingertips. It wondered of the edges of my consciousness and is lost to the realms of darkness and recesses of my mind.
I like that sentence, will have to highlight it so I can go back and see where it leads. Perhaps I will find those recesses lost to the darkness and shadowy world where the real me hides.
I think recess is over, it is almost time to get back to class and address those serious issues such as the daily log, and and exciting demo. Can't wait to see what we get today. Its rather like a pot luck lunch.
Happy days everyone. Smile lots, laugh loud, and stay young.
posted by Diana Chartier at
9:34 AM
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0 comments
Recess
Every day is recess when you're a one year-old boy, especially when you have a twin. When I look at the boys, the lack of worry in their eyes is striking. Daddy worries; he worries about paying the bills; he worries about doing well in school; he worries that the twins will lose their sense of security; he worries that he worries too much. Colin and Seth don't worry. They want; they want their mama; they want some water; they want the toy bus that their brother has; they don't worry. They spend their days with building blocks, books, and toy buses. They have balls that they push around our small apartment, and they have a small pool that they enjoy pushing the water out of. If they are not playing, their either eating or sleeping, but during the day sleep interferes with play so they tend to avoid it. "Mama, Mama!" they scream as they present some familiar toy that they have magically rediscovered and want their mother to see with the same genuine surprise they do. Mama goes along as much as she can, but she has become a worrier, and cannot see the world as freshly as the boys. She worries that she is not rested enough; she worries that the boys are not napping long enough; she worries.
I remember recess as a child in school. We would play tag or four-square or kickball. There was no worry; worrying came later. By later I mean after school, when I would worry that my parents didn't love each other. I would worry that one day we would leave again, like we had so many times, and Daddy would be alone. I worried that he felt like I didn't love him because I had to go with Mother, but that wasn't true. When Dad would take us to the soccer field, it felt like an all-day recess. There were no worries except winning and losing. Fun was abundant, and Dad was there to see it all. He had fun, too; the smile on his face let me know that.
Sundays are my recess now. I do my best to put all my worries aside, and the boys take center stage. Recess starts early, with the twins coming to wake me up, asking to get up on the bed. Once there, they bounce around with glee, trying to ambush me with body splashes. Their giggles fill the air as they crawl onto my chest, waiting for me to grab them, wanting me to grab them, and flip them back onto the bed. Their crystal blue eyes look down on me with joy and anticipation, their smiles spreading across their small faces. After breakfast, we get ready for church, which is their favorite recess of all. In the nursery they have more toys and more room, and other children to play with. As attached as they may be Monday-Saturday, on Sunday they don't notice when we leave. They just play, secure in the fact that we'll return when it's time to go home. For those two hours, they run and play and scream and laugh; they "cook," they "drive," and they play ball. I go to try and give my worries over to God, but then I worry that He doesn't want them, or that I have them b/c He wants me to have them. Sometimes I leave feeling better; sometimes I leave worried, it just depends. Regardless, when we get home I put my worries away and focus on the imaginations of my two boys, trying to inhabit their world so that they won't know mine. They shouldn't worry now; they should just be boys.
I remember recess as a child in school. We would play tag or four-square or kickball. There was no worry; worrying came later. By later I mean after school, when I would worry that my parents didn't love each other. I would worry that one day we would leave again, like we had so many times, and Daddy would be alone. I worried that he felt like I didn't love him because I had to go with Mother, but that wasn't true. When Dad would take us to the soccer field, it felt like an all-day recess. There were no worries except winning and losing. Fun was abundant, and Dad was there to see it all. He had fun, too; the smile on his face let me know that.
Sundays are my recess now. I do my best to put all my worries aside, and the boys take center stage. Recess starts early, with the twins coming to wake me up, asking to get up on the bed. Once there, they bounce around with glee, trying to ambush me with body splashes. Their giggles fill the air as they crawl onto my chest, waiting for me to grab them, wanting me to grab them, and flip them back onto the bed. Their crystal blue eyes look down on me with joy and anticipation, their smiles spreading across their small faces. After breakfast, we get ready for church, which is their favorite recess of all. In the nursery they have more toys and more room, and other children to play with. As attached as they may be Monday-Saturday, on Sunday they don't notice when we leave. They just play, secure in the fact that we'll return when it's time to go home. For those two hours, they run and play and scream and laugh; they "cook," they "drive," and they play ball. I go to try and give my worries over to God, but then I worry that He doesn't want them, or that I have them b/c He wants me to have them. Sometimes I leave feeling better; sometimes I leave worried, it just depends. Regardless, when we get home I put my worries away and focus on the imaginations of my two boys, trying to inhabit their world so that they won't know mine. They shouldn't worry now; they should just be boys.
posted by Fisher at
9:08 AM
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0 comments
Recess
Recess rocks. Um, I use the word "rocks" way too much, but oh well. We need play places and spaces, places to experiment with new identities. We need to make choices: swings or dodgeball, poem or memoir. I don't want to romanticize recess because there were generally some bad moments each year: falling out with friends, dealing with tattletales, missing recess because a teacher didn't approve of my in-class behavior. Still, the concept of recess . . . I want it back.
Nowadays, I don't always spend an hour outside every day, chasing people around, swinging, kicking balls. The past few years my family has been playing kickball after eating Thanksgiving lunch. I have a big family; my grandmother's descendants and some of Grandmother's siblings and their family gather at Aunt Carolyn's house around lunch--probably around fifty people. We gorge ourselves on turkey, fried chicken, okra, brown rice, pole beans, butterbeans, hoecakes, broccoli casserole, Aunt Carolyn's eighteen-layer cake--the counters nearly sag under the weight of all that food. So do we. Being good Southerners, though, we make a healthy dent into the provisions.
Eventually, we head outside, pick teams, and organize a game for the kids. Wes usually takes pictures because there are too many good photo ops to miss, but he longs to play. Often, I watch and laugh, but last year Izzy, my cousin's daughter, wanted to play and picked me to help her. So I stood beside her while she kicked the ball, then grabbed her hand and ran the bases with her. Our huge, loud family probably overwhelmed her a bit.
Last year, my nephew Levi kicked the ball, first pitch, first kick of the game. It soared into the air and banged into a five-year-old's face. It was a good kick, but she didn't think so. The game paused for medical care, and she retreated inside. Bless her heart. (I couldn't resist since we hard that phrase in the hallway, and I called it a "true Southern moment.") After that, we assigned an adult to each wee one. We blocked balls for the kids, sacrificing our bodies for their sakes.
My brother heads up the game every year despite wrenching his knee a few years ago during a game. The kickball games remind me of summers spent at Grandmother's house. My cousins would come over, and we would play outside for hours. We jumped off barn roofs, played in the barn loft, mowed her grass using her riding Snapper (the ultimate luxury, it seemed to me), played Fruitbasket Turnover in the living room, and raked leaves into blueprints of houses. I loved those summers.
I want recess back. Maybe SGWP/BWP should host a picnic one day?
Okay, maybe not, but how do we extend the community? How do we create a community that plays together as well as works together? We have the working together part down. We've been working hard this summer. I can't imagine how the people do it who are taking a class in addition to the Summer Institute. I have maybe two hours of free time a day. Other than that, I'm checking email, reading articles, drafting texts, working on invitations, fretting about something, checking the blog and the e-anthology, and worrying about not working on my article for publication. Stress drips from me most days. Whine, whine, whine. That's not where I wanted to go with this topic.
Here's the real question: How do we get the community formed this summer to meet up with other "classes" of SGWP/BWP? How do we form a larger community of Fellows? Is that a plausible goal? I don't know how to make that happen. Perhaps through the blog. Another way is through having past participants coach new fellows for their teaching demo. I wonder how that went this year. But I'd like to form new communities, based upon mutual areas of interest.
Perhaps we can support a writing group after the Summer Institute ends and open it to all past participants? Or perhaps we can form a teacher research group? I'd like to start with one goal, one group, something that will support teacher development in tangible ways. I'm open to ideas. Let me hear from you about what you think might work. This is your place. Let's make good things happen in it.
Nowadays, I don't always spend an hour outside every day, chasing people around, swinging, kicking balls. The past few years my family has been playing kickball after eating Thanksgiving lunch. I have a big family; my grandmother's descendants and some of Grandmother's siblings and their family gather at Aunt Carolyn's house around lunch--probably around fifty people. We gorge ourselves on turkey, fried chicken, okra, brown rice, pole beans, butterbeans, hoecakes, broccoli casserole, Aunt Carolyn's eighteen-layer cake--the counters nearly sag under the weight of all that food. So do we. Being good Southerners, though, we make a healthy dent into the provisions.
Eventually, we head outside, pick teams, and organize a game for the kids. Wes usually takes pictures because there are too many good photo ops to miss, but he longs to play. Often, I watch and laugh, but last year Izzy, my cousin's daughter, wanted to play and picked me to help her. So I stood beside her while she kicked the ball, then grabbed her hand and ran the bases with her. Our huge, loud family probably overwhelmed her a bit.
Last year, my nephew Levi kicked the ball, first pitch, first kick of the game. It soared into the air and banged into a five-year-old's face. It was a good kick, but she didn't think so. The game paused for medical care, and she retreated inside. Bless her heart. (I couldn't resist since we hard that phrase in the hallway, and I called it a "true Southern moment.") After that, we assigned an adult to each wee one. We blocked balls for the kids, sacrificing our bodies for their sakes.
My brother heads up the game every year despite wrenching his knee a few years ago during a game. The kickball games remind me of summers spent at Grandmother's house. My cousins would come over, and we would play outside for hours. We jumped off barn roofs, played in the barn loft, mowed her grass using her riding Snapper (the ultimate luxury, it seemed to me), played Fruitbasket Turnover in the living room, and raked leaves into blueprints of houses. I loved those summers.
I want recess back. Maybe SGWP/BWP should host a picnic one day?
Okay, maybe not, but how do we extend the community? How do we create a community that plays together as well as works together? We have the working together part down. We've been working hard this summer. I can't imagine how the people do it who are taking a class in addition to the Summer Institute. I have maybe two hours of free time a day. Other than that, I'm checking email, reading articles, drafting texts, working on invitations, fretting about something, checking the blog and the e-anthology, and worrying about not working on my article for publication. Stress drips from me most days. Whine, whine, whine. That's not where I wanted to go with this topic.
Here's the real question: How do we get the community formed this summer to meet up with other "classes" of SGWP/BWP? How do we form a larger community of Fellows? Is that a plausible goal? I don't know how to make that happen. Perhaps through the blog. Another way is through having past participants coach new fellows for their teaching demo. I wonder how that went this year. But I'd like to form new communities, based upon mutual areas of interest.
Perhaps we can support a writing group after the Summer Institute ends and open it to all past participants? Or perhaps we can form a teacher research group? I'd like to start with one goal, one group, something that will support teacher development in tangible ways. I'm open to ideas. Let me hear from you about what you think might work. This is your place. Let's make good things happen in it.
posted by Donna Sewell at
9:06 AM
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0 comments
I figure you all are going to hear a lot about the twins, so this way you'll have some mental reference to attach the stories to. And yes, they do get their looks from their mother!
posted by Fisher at
12:57 AM
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2 comments
June 13, 2006
Reminders
Hi folks,
Just a reminder that we need to know who you plan to invite to the Closing Ceremonies, and we'll need addresses for those people. If you have a colleague who might be a good candidate for next summer's Institute, you'll need to get a home address for that person since he or she probably won't be hanging out around the school. Also, we need volunteers to read their memoirs and poems, perhaps bringing in pictures to illustrate them. Latahshia (of course) is the point person for all cool digital storytelling projects--our cool, scary version of Glynda Hull, who presented awesome digital storytelling pieces at the Spring Meeting in Washington. You can thank Latahshia for knocking some sense into me. I came home from Washington thinking everyone should put together a digital storytelling piece as part of the Summer Institute. I tend to be a tad too ambitious sometimes. I'm sure we all would have time to add one more project to our busy summer. Finally, you may want to start searching for grant possibilities and for articles, book chapters, resources for your administrative letter. Okay, enough boring administrivia--back to blogging fun.
Donna
Just a reminder that we need to know who you plan to invite to the Closing Ceremonies, and we'll need addresses for those people. If you have a colleague who might be a good candidate for next summer's Institute, you'll need to get a home address for that person since he or she probably won't be hanging out around the school. Also, we need volunteers to read their memoirs and poems, perhaps bringing in pictures to illustrate them. Latahshia (of course) is the point person for all cool digital storytelling projects--our cool, scary version of Glynda Hull, who presented awesome digital storytelling pieces at the Spring Meeting in Washington. You can thank Latahshia for knocking some sense into me. I came home from Washington thinking everyone should put together a digital storytelling piece as part of the Summer Institute. I tend to be a tad too ambitious sometimes. I'm sure we all would have time to add one more project to our busy summer. Finally, you may want to start searching for grant possibilities and for articles, book chapters, resources for your administrative letter. Okay, enough boring administrivia--back to blogging fun.
Donna
posted by Donna Sewell at
9:02 PM
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0 comments
Blogging virgin
Never to be regained...You all have been a cool group of folks to work with. I hope that I can learn your names soon. Typing the minutes required some linguistic acrobatics to disguise--cleverly--my ignorance. WG: I am looking forward to reading your draft-poems tomorrow. You have been marvelously patient and attentive. Thanks for your help. I am going to need it tomorrow with a few of the lines. Off to read a chapter or two. Hopefully two.
posted by Anonymous at
7:43 PM
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1 comments
South Georgia Writing Project
Monkey Bread
Ingredients:
4 cans of country biscuits (NOT FLAKEY)
Cup and a half of regular sugar
3 teaspoons of cinnamon
2 sticks of butter
Quarter each biscuit and place into a bowl that has a lid. Mix cinnamon and sugar together in a separate container. When thoroughly mixed, pour over biscuits. Shake the biscuit bowl vigorously ensuring that you coat each piece completely. (This can sit over night if you need it to, but be sure to re-shake in the morning). Melt both sticks of butter and pour half in the bottom of your pan. (I’ve seen these done in muffins (my favorite), loafs, or the more popular bundt pan, adjust your butter accordingly). Layer half the biscuits in the pan. Pour the rest of the butter and any residual cinnamon/sugar over the biscuits. Then place the remaining biscuits in the pan. Bake at 350 until done. Cooking time will be determined by what type of pan you’re using. A bundt pan will take about 45 minutes. Muffins will only take about 10-15 minutes. I use the ol’ tooth pick method. You’ll smell ‘em when their about ready! When I did the three loaf pans I only had one layer so there was more “crunchy” which I like the most. Enjoy.
Ingredients:
4 cans of country biscuits (NOT FLAKEY)
Cup and a half of regular sugar
3 teaspoons of cinnamon
2 sticks of butter
Quarter each biscuit and place into a bowl that has a lid. Mix cinnamon and sugar together in a separate container. When thoroughly mixed, pour over biscuits. Shake the biscuit bowl vigorously ensuring that you coat each piece completely. (This can sit over night if you need it to, but be sure to re-shake in the morning). Melt both sticks of butter and pour half in the bottom of your pan. (I’ve seen these done in muffins (my favorite), loafs, or the more popular bundt pan, adjust your butter accordingly). Layer half the biscuits in the pan. Pour the rest of the butter and any residual cinnamon/sugar over the biscuits. Then place the remaining biscuits in the pan. Bake at 350 until done. Cooking time will be determined by what type of pan you’re using. A bundt pan will take about 45 minutes. Muffins will only take about 10-15 minutes. I use the ol’ tooth pick method. You’ll smell ‘em when their about ready! When I did the three loaf pans I only had one layer so there was more “crunchy” which I like the most. Enjoy.
posted by Adam at
7:42 PM
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3 comments
South Georgia Writing Project
I am sitting here looking at the weather…woe. I am so glad to see it raining that I never thought twice about standing in it for two hours this morning- from 8 to 10. I never even complained about it being cold as hell when we finally went into the air conditioned weight room at 10 and worked out till 11. My rain shoes were good and muddy by the time we were finished. I never even thought about how nice it must have been to be sitting in a classroom listening to a presentation and eating a good b-fast. Nope, not once did I even contemplate if there was something better. Giving a kid a good forearm shiver makes it all worth while. Rain is good when it comes to practice. It always helps motivate. I would take rain over heat any day. My wife, my lovely wife (at the moment anyway), gave me a great present. She cleaned up the office so I could write. She knows how much of a distraction clutter is to me. She has even left me only to write. Of course when I got home last Thursday she showed me the room that was completely filled with boxes from our move last summer, and said in her sweet way, “Now you don’t have an excuse.” How right she is! I have spent my afternoons for the last two days writing and watching world cup. I’ve also had time to catch up on my White Stripes addiction. Man they rock! I never thought the rain would come though. I threatened to wash my cars three times and nothing. I even tried to go golfing yesterday just to antagonize the rain warlords. I don’t know how the rain is down in Valdosta, but here it is perfect; Light and constant, like a good relationship. (Insert your own rain simile here). I hear it is suppose to rain tomorrow as well. I can’t wait. I mainly like watching some of our prima donnas when they have to roll around on the wet ground first thing in the morning. You can certainly test a man’s fortitude when you ask him to slide in mud first thing in the morning. That’s an afternoon activity for most. I miss you guys. I have to get back to a piece I’ve been working on for the last three days. I think this free write gave me an idea.
posted by Adam at
7:19 PM
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3 comments
Sorry to Offend
Hey guys! So first, I've really enjoyed the project so far. (The blogging, I'm just picking up on, sorry!) When I received my comments today from yesterday's presentation I found out that I had offended someone by asking you to close your laptops. Thinking I was using teacher humor and all of you would understand, I thought the comment was okay. Apparently, I'm not quite as funny as I'd like to believe. I apologize if anyone was truly offended by my remark or felt I was being rude. That was NOT my intention. I would apologize to you personally and leave this off of our otherwise insightful blog if I knew who made the comment. So please, accept my apology. For everyone else, umm, sorry for blog spam? And now I'm off to do the sociolinguistic assignment that Jason has already completed, and I have, once again, procrastinated!
posted by blindsi at
7:00 PM
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4 comments
Thanks
WOW! Why is it so hard to present to our peers? We all do the same things and once we open our mouth and move our lips around the sound that issues forth it is all over. Time to get it over with. The time passed quickly, much quicker than I had anticipated. You were all generous with comments and contributed greatly to the ideas I hope came across.
Thank you for having fun with the books. I really look forward to doing this in a class. The interaction in this group is amazing anyway, but the teamwork involved today showed how important it will be to let my students talk and experiment with ideas. Something I knew, but it is always enlightening to see it happen, especially to adults.
I forgot to list the books I used and decided this would be a good place to put them.
Anno. (1977). Anno's journey. NY: Putnam.
Bang, M. (1996). The grey lady and the strawberry snatcher. NY: Aladdin.
Banyai, I. (1995). Re-zoom. NY: Puffin.
Blake, Q. (1996). Clown. NY: Henry Holt.
Day, A. (1985). Good dog, Carl. NY. Simon & Schuster.
Rohmann, E. (1994). Time flies. NY: Dell.
Thank you for having fun with the books. I really look forward to doing this in a class. The interaction in this group is amazing anyway, but the teamwork involved today showed how important it will be to let my students talk and experiment with ideas. Something I knew, but it is always enlightening to see it happen, especially to adults.
I forgot to list the books I used and decided this would be a good place to put them.
Anno. (1977). Anno's journey. NY: Putnam.
Bang, M. (1996). The grey lady and the strawberry snatcher. NY: Aladdin.
Banyai, I. (1995). Re-zoom. NY: Puffin.
Blake, Q. (1996). Clown. NY: Henry Holt.
Day, A. (1985). Good dog, Carl. NY. Simon & Schuster.
Rohmann, E. (1994). Time flies. NY: Dell.
posted by Diana Chartier at
3:36 PM
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0 comments
Short Session
I did not see what today's topic is, so I'm going to wing it. The past two days have been more stressful than I would like because my wife has brought me to school. First, I hate that because it makes me feel like a little kid getting dropped off in the morning. I always hated having my mom take me to school. I preferred to ride the bus. Reason #1 for choosing the bus: it got me to school on time. And now it is the same with Valerie. She is incapable of leaving the house on time. Sure, she has two boys to get fed and dressed and out the door, but hey, I put their shoes on them. The problem is she feels like she needs makeup to drive to and from the house, even though she does not exit the vehicle at any point in between. Why spend 15 minutes doing your hair if you're not going to get out of the car?? Can't you drive to campus and back in your gym shorts and t-shirt? Who cares if the shirt has a hole in it?? Are they going to see it? NO!! I think my wife has been victimized by the old-fashioned admonitions like having clean underwear on in case of an accident. Just on the chance that something might happen, Valerie has to be made up so that an EMT won't be scared away by her natural look, which is beautiful by the way. It makes me think of the grandmother in "A Good Man is Hard to Find" by Flannery O'Connor. She gets all done up to ride in the car from Metro Atlanta to Florida so that if she's lying on the road dead passersby will know she's a lady. Only females think such thoughts.
Speaking of, I'm taking sociolinguistics online, and last night I read a section on genderlects. I believe in them for sure. Valerie and I will sometimes fight for half an hour only to realize that we agree!! How can you do that if both people are speaking English??? I think she speaks some sort of Femlish. It's all based on signifying and never really saying anything straightforward. And anytime she tells a story it has to include references to the characters' appearances, which I suppose explains her need for facial masks and biweekly haircuts.
Well, that's about it for now. Damn glad to be hear, and thanks for reading....
Speaking of, I'm taking sociolinguistics online, and last night I read a section on genderlects. I believe in them for sure. Valerie and I will sometimes fight for half an hour only to realize that we agree!! How can you do that if both people are speaking English??? I think she speaks some sort of Femlish. It's all based on signifying and never really saying anything straightforward. And anytime she tells a story it has to include references to the characters' appearances, which I suppose explains her need for facial masks and biweekly haircuts.
Well, that's about it for now. Damn glad to be hear, and thanks for reading....
posted by Fisher at
9:29 AM
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2 comments
June 12, 2006
Trying Out Blog
This is the first time I have ever used blog. I'm not even sure of the correct terminology, so please excuse me if I mistype some information. This is causing me to do some stretching out of my comfort zone. I am enjoying our workshop and getting to know everyone.
Thank you, Hayden, for the recipe. I have printed it and added it to my recipe book. Now all I need is Adam's recipe. (That is my subtle reminder to you, Adam.)
Thank you, Hayden, for the recipe. I have printed it and added it to my recipe book. Now all I need is Adam's recipe. (That is my subtle reminder to you, Adam.)
posted by Anonymous at
10:32 PM
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1 comments
Animal Encounters
Okay, Adam, the freewrite topic is Animal Encounters. Write away.
Animal Encounters:
Animal Encounters:
- possum in the house
- Mom and the flying squirrel
- Wes and the rabid possum
- the shark at St. George Island
- snorkeling with sharks in Belize (right off Temptation Island)
- the frog story
- Seminole and the falling tree--poor, scared baby
- Levi and the big dog next door, who drooled as he looked at Levi
This summer, I hope to draft lots of potential texts, even if I don't finish any, though I think "Leaving Home" is near completion, much nearer than I expected. The frog story is probably the funniest, but it's also the most embarrassing, so I'm not sure I'll ever write it. Wes knows he isn't allowed to tell that story, so I'll have to decide if I'm willing.
Wes and I camped at St. George Island, using my parents' Winnebago because I'm not a sleep in a tent in March kind a chick. Every spring break, we borrowed the Winnebago for a week and headed to the state park, the only kind of vacation we could afford while I was in graduate school. We hit the beach early, stayed until lunch, returned to the camper for the required afternoon nap, and returned to the beach in late afternoon, walking the beach, playing in the water, snoozing on the sand. Those days rocked. Occasionally, I read articles for school or for conference presentations during Wes's naptime, but usually I goofed off.
Late afternoon one day we drove to the easternmost point of the island, at least the easternmost that could be reached by car. We parked and strolled to the east end, walking along the beach. I wanted to see it because I remembered visiting the easternmost as a kid before the state park existed. We walked a ways and finally got there, enjoying the view, trying to see a bit of Dog Island, rounding the corner to the bay side. (Hmm, I'm really way too fond of participial phrases, I see.)
After we rested, we headed back towards our car, a long hike, perhaps forty-five minutes. Shortly into the walk, we noticed a shark swimming beside us. We disagree about how big the shark was. Wes says three to four feet. I thought it was closer to five, but that's because it was close to me and because water makes things look bigger anyway.
The shark glided through the shallow water, right where the waves were breaking near shore. By this point, it was close to 6:30 or 7:00 p.m. The sun threatened to sink, but lingered.
The shark fascinated me, but sharks always have. As a girl I wanted to be a marine biologist, mostly so that I could work at Sea World and play with the dolphins and killer whales. Then, I learned that I needed to be much better at science, and that dream eventually faded.
I watched every shark special on television--movies and documentaries. I've probably seen Jaws more than a dozen times. "We're gonna need a bigger boat"--one of my favorite movie lines. I dreamed of learning to scuba dive and going into a shark cage to see great whites. I still want to do that one day. I have gone snorkeling with big nurse sharks in Belize, sharks bigger than I am.
There's no big story here; we just walked beside the shark all the way back to the parking lot, speeding up as he did, slowing down to match his pace. We assumed he was feeding, but we never saw the fish. Perhaps they sensed his presence and fled. It felt like a spiritual moment to me; it reminded me of that famous quotation from The Color Purple, where Shug says, "I think it pisses God off if you don't notice the color purple in the field" (very rough guess). I noticed the shark. I felt privileged to witness its movement in its natural environment.
I'm reaching to describe that moment. It teases me by moving slightly out of my range; someday I'll return to this moment and try to capture it, but I'm not sure what genre: essay, memoir, poem? No matter. I have the moment, the experience. Eventually, I'll have the text.
posted by Donna Sewell at
9:12 AM
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