SOLSC 2022 #31 - Reaching for the sky

 

It is March 2022 and time for the

 15th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge  

Every single day, for all thirty-one days of March,

writers will share stories.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for creating this supportive community 

of teacher-writers!

Do you like my trees with leaves, Nana?

The trees are in the sky.

A rainbow cloud in the sky.

I made a square.

This drawing and description is from my three year old granddaughter "Frog," and it seemed the perfect closing for this magical month of blogging. 

Thank you 

Two Writing Teachers community 

for sharing stories 

reminding me 

there is a sky filled with 

trees 

rainbow clouds

surprising squares

there is a sky filled with 

writing 

bounteous topics 

many different perspectives 

incredible insight and imagination 

and caring comments, too

there is a sky filled with writing 

and it is endless

I hope to see you on Tuesdays, for weekly slicing!

SOLSC 2022 - #1 Depleted at the start

 

It is March 2022 and time for the

 15th Annual Slice of Life Story Challenge  

Every single day, for all thirty-one days of March,

writers will share stories.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for creating this supportive community 

of teacher-writers!

Hello, hello!

I have participated in this story challenge for many years...I believe this is my eleventh year of participation. This yearly tradition has helped me develop as a writer, introducing me to the joyful work of daily writing and the experience of writing alongside others. SOLSC is a beautiful habit. I look forward to the writing. During February, I usually do some advance planning. Although I have learned to trust that there is ALWAYS something to write about each day, I often brainstorm topics, think of themes, or some connecting thread. Last year, for example, I included a famous quote by a woman that somehow fit thematically with each slice of life. 

This year, I have no advance thinking, I simply tumble in. This year I begin 

depleted.

Ten days ago, my dear sister-in-law, my husband's younger sister, died unexpectedly. 

Tony and I were on vacation in Florida. It was February break in DC schools and our weekly babysitting of the grands was cancelled; we had pounced on this 'time off' for some fun together in the sun. We had been there exactly one day, when we received word of her death. 

The past days have been a sad, exhausting, mourning blur.

We got back home last night.

This is how the March writing challenge begins for me.

I cannot predict whether I will be able to write each day...but, it begins 

one word

one sentence 

one story

at a time. 

Here goes!

SOL21 Slice 31: Caffeinated musings

 

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL21).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2021.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

At the time, it seemed like a good idea to pilfer a few, several, and then a handful more, of my daughter-in-law's chocolate espresso beans; yes, it felt fanciful and decadent, a real indulgence, as the children were napping. She is always so welcoming of us partaking of any and all foods while babysitting; I no longer drink coffee, but continue to love the flavor, and a special exception this one time would not be so bad for the old blood pressure, right? Oh my, those espresso beans look very different when the bedside clock flashes !! 3:17 A.M. !! In the recesses of my head there is a chorus of little tiny hyper energized chocolate espresso bean voices jumping shrugging and cackling: how do you like me now? 

Do you hear them, too?

These wild, winding paths of thoughts . . . let me try to summarize this month of blogging. Woohoo! 31 days of blogging in March! Once again, I am amazed at how much I observe during this month of writing, how each day I am more present and attuned, gathering ideas for a post. 

Writing seems to take on a life of its own, as if fueled by espresso.

Of course, there are always so many extra things that never make it into the posts at all. 

What are some of those random thoughts that never went anywhere, yet still echo in my brain? Let me share them now, simply for the fun of it. Who knows, maybe one of these will be a kernel of some future writing . . .

• the growing list of all our phrases that just flow from her lips now, always catching us off-guard, a two year old mimic of all the adults in her life - "in my humble opinion," "keep the faith!" "cutey-batootie," "hit the road, jack," "keep your eyes peeled," "whoomp, there it is!," "well, that was unexpected." 

• the beautiful great blue heron that we see regularly down at the creek, how Tony and I were thrilled to see it in a lovely cove, up close and personal - we crept so softly towards it, so as not to disturb the heron sheltered by a tree, only to discover it was not the heron but simply a clever contortion of a plastic bag adorning a branch. Yes, plastics: the new nature.

• my daily angel cards, how one very busy day with so many things that I had to get done, I thought beforehand: what I really need to pick is the word "efficiency," and then I did, in fact, coincidentally, truly, choose the word "efficiency" and I thought - wow - I had the power to bring the future into the present, and this is how I used it? to choose a random card from a pile?

• she is always so tightly wound, and full of anxiety, the one who dominates our group conversations; listening to her detailed angry story this time, I was aware how much like an alarm her voice is, with every second syllable heavily accented - and THEN he SAID he WON'T, da Da, da Da, da DA. I am also aware that she has worn me down, the alarm is that of a distant car for which I am not responsible. How to keep friends with friends who don't fix their stuff? What do our very voices tell us about our emotional state?

• the reawakening experience of riding down a slide that was imperceptibly wet, with my two-year-old granddaughter on my lap - I had not anticipated the sensation of wet, and I felt so sopping cold "inside" my clothes, as the moisture instantaneously soaked through to my thighs, my underwear, my tush; not a sensation I have experienced in years and years, or ever hope to have again. I spent the morning with a wet and muddy tush, feeling so guilty about the many times I - as teacher - resisted taking a little tyke in from the playground, after they had slid down a wet slide, because I 'knew' it was no big deal. Oh my, I was wrong. 

Yes, those are some of the random places my writing brain has gone this month!

Thank you Two Writing Teachers!! Writing with the Two Writing Teachers community this March 2021 has been both a blessing and a delight! 

"don't write out of what I know; I write out of what I wonder."

- Lucille Clifton

SOL21 Slice 30: Gift of a day

 

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL21).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2021.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

I just spent an absolutely beautiful day babysitting my granddaughters (2 1/2 years old and 5 months old). It was a day that begged to be spent outside every possible moment. So fabulous! Here's a little ditty of a poem that I wrote as the two little ones were napping in the late afternoon, telling the story of our day.

Outside This Day Must Be

Tender breeze and bright soft sun

No jacket or sweaters to wear 

First day like this we've seen

Outside this day must be

Make a pile of pretty rocks

Pull weed flowers from the lawn 

Look closer at buds in the tree

Outside this day must be

Into the wheelbarrow you go

Around and around we run

Bumps and curves met with glee

Outside this day must be

Bring out the chalk and draw

How about we roll down the hill?

Now for some hide and seek

Outside this day must be

Spread the blanket on the lawn

Here's a snack for just us two

Lay here right next to me

Outside this day must be

Was there ever a sky so blue?

Have you seen two birds play chase?

Did you know ants can lift seeds?

Outside this day must be

"I don't remember who said this,

but there really are 

places in the heart you don't even know exist

until you love a child"

- Anne Lamott

SOL21 Slice 19: how dare you

 

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL21).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2021.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

"If my preschooler was in your class right now, I would take them out of this school immediately. Why aren't you teaching a "Pro Life, Right to Life" curriculum, too? You can't tell me that Black Lives Matter isn't political. AND WRONG. You have no right to teach young children about this. It is absolutely inappropriate." This colleague met me at the door of my classroom, as I was leaving for the day. I had just presented to the staff about our school becoming involved with the Black Lives Matter Week of Action in Schools, a program that was newly started in the D.C. area in 2018, and one that I had learned about through my social justice writing circle. They stood about a foot away from me, visibly upset and frustrated, pointing at me indignantly; I just stood there and listened? blanched? stammered? I didn't respond, I couldn't respond, there was no space for a response. I couldn't find the words. Both of us, our eyes watered. This was painful.

Do you ever replay conversations in your head? Especially, the ones that are tense, never got completely resolved, got away? 

We were a diverse and progressive school, believing strongly in anti-bias, determined to meet the needs of each individual student. Throughout the school, we taught students to share their voice, advocate for themselves and others, and make positive change in the world. I had naively assumed the Black Lives Matter in Schools initiative would be welcomed by all. 

I still feel tremors in my gut when I think about the reaction I received from my colleagues that first year.  Oh my, seriously, my colleagues came at me from all directions. There was so much fear, hurt, hesitation. There was a sense that this was one more thing on already very full plates. I was told by some that I was trivializing the Black Lives Matter movement, watering it down, teaching 'kumbaya, let's get along together.' Others assured me I was adding to the polarization of the world, increasing divisiveness in the school. I regret the ask I made of my Black colleagues in particular - I had no real understanding of the difficult position I was putting them in, having to discuss these issues with White students and families. 

I hadn't thought through how politicized the movement had become. (I still argue with this though, I mean - who made it political and why? When I read through the 13 guiding principles, I see nothing with which to disagree. ) 

Thankfully, I had the support of my principal and my head of school, throughout this turmoil. The school did participate in the Week of Action, and has done so every year hence. I am proud of this, and it is hard, hard, hard. We did so despite not having all the right answers, despite not being able to always find the right words. 

Truth be told, I never singled out politics, or police incidents, or the killing of Black citizens, with my three year olds. I emphasized Black authors in the classroom, shared about Black leaders in science, engineering, music, art, and, yes, celebrated Black lives. To me, the week of celebration seemed like a no-brainer, something that I could easily weave into my curriculum. I simply wanted to lay the foundation for respecting Black lives. 

More importantly, I wanted to share these resources with the whole school, a school that was preschool-8th grade; I was (and am) convinced it was important to have these HARD conversations with our elementary and middle school students. It was essential for our Black students to see themselves reflected in our curriculum, to share their voice and have their voices heard, to feel agency. Along the way, our white students would learn what it means to be an ally, to learn more about Black history, and, yes, to begin to grapple with the concept of white supremacy. Our older students might begin to understand about the systemic roots of racism, to consider other perspectives, and to dare to be voices of positive change.

I believe: these are ESSENTIAL conversations for the health of our democracy. 

Sadly, this week, more hate, more violence, more pain. 

A hate-filled murderous rampage, this time against Asian women. 

One angry white man murders eight people.  

Look at how widespread this hate and this pain. 

This idea of hating someone simply because of their skin, their gender, their culture, what they were born into - it is inexplicably wrong.

Yes, today I have been reflecting on fear. 

fear.

blinds us.

stops us.

locks us up.

I want to say to my colleague quoted at the outset of this post: I think anti-bias is pro-life.

I am thinking about how hard anti-bias teaching is, and how necessary. How much work we have to do. We must, each and every one of us, grab onto a piece of the issue and hold on, do it, just go, go, go, spread love not hate, open eyes, provide perspective, do right by all of us.

What part of anti-bias teaching feels right to you? How might you do just a little bit more? Where do you think you should begin? What might give you courage? 

Do it, do it, do it. 

"No matter how big a nation is, it is no stronger than its weakest people, 

and as long as you keep a person down, 

some part of you has to be down there to hold him down, 

so it means you cannot soar as you might otherwise."

- Marian Anderson

SOL21 Slice 17: Mystery of the mind

 

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL21).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2021.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

Perhaps the most elaborate part of my school's preparation for students returning to in-person learning is their new, sleek wall system of horizontal elevators. It is masterful! These connect every classroom in the school and move students just one at a time, in an efficient, clean, sterile, COVID-free way. Every staff member has been given access to the iGOTTAgo app. Here's a quick description of how it works: the teacher selects the location that they need for the student to be taken to next (for example, bathroom, art class, principal's office, even to the entrance of the school for parent pickup; all destinations are pre-programmed, to meet the unique needs of each individual classroom). With the press of a button, the sliding doors along the back wall of the classroom open almost instantaneously. The student climbs into the horizontal elevator, and they are whisked to where they need to be next. While onboard, there is special hand sanitizer and a new clean mask, ensuring COVID-free safety at their destination, as well. iGOTTAgo eliminates the need for additional staff members to help with transitions of students, and ensures that teacher and students remain at safe distance throughout the school day. 

Seeing this system with my own eyes has triggered all sorts of anxious questions and concerns. I don't like that the individual elevator 'buckets' don't have any doors or enclosures, the students are each expected to sit down and still throughout the move. How will this work with preschoolers? Goodness, how will this work with a wily seventh grader? iGOTTAgo has assured my school that the sheer speed of transport fixes every student in their place, not one student got out of their seat during the program's testing of the horizontal elevators. I'm sorry, but I'm not convinced. Have they ever met [insert name of follows-different-drumbeat-child]? I'm imagining children being squished between the wall and the elevator bucket, I'm imagining the severing of limbs. You can't possibly add these concerns to a teacher's worries!

This is when I woke up.

I dream about being in the classroom all the time. I had anxiety dreams when I was teaching, and they continue now into this first year of retirement. Last night, there I was setting up a preschool classroom for in-person learning. It was time for the children to return to school, the pandemic was subsiding, we were allowing half the children to return for two days each week. I'm sure I gleaned this plan from all the news articles I read about this process, not to mention all the SOLSC blogs other teachers have written about this very transition. 

What a time of stress, for everyone.

Unlike many of my dreams, in this one I was aware I was retired, I knew I wasn't the teacher. I was there to help my former colleagues. I wonder if on some subliminal level, I want to be needed like this? (I am reminded of Glenda Funk's post yesterday, about how when you ask a retired teacher for help, you are almost performing a service!)

What fascinates me about these school dreams, I am ALWAYS with a challenging student. Yes, when I was teaching this was true, and now in retirement, it continues. It is as if my mind is still trying to solve the puzzle: how to help them? what is the best approach? what are their triggers? what have I noticed to date? what is working well and I can do more of? 

Throughout it all is this enormous weight of RESPONSIBILITY.

One child, one teacher, one book, and one pen can change the world.

- Malala Yousafzei

SOL21 Slice 5: Distilling advice

 

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL21).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2021.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

My two-year-old granddaughter ("Frog") was fascinated that I was making a new cup of tea for myself and pouring out the old, because the tea bag had broken. 

"Show me the cup broke," she said. 

I chuckled, "It's not the cup that broke, it's the tea bag." 

"Show me broke."

"Yes, yes, of course," I said, and I showed her the remnants of my drink, pointing out the tea leaves that were swirling in the cup. I absolutely adore preschoolers' curiosity and questions, I love their 'whys,' I love how there is nothing too small to learn more about. I'm always game to explore alongside. 

I continued, "Do you see those little bits in the tea, floating and swirling? Those are the tea leaves. I don't like to drink the leaves, I like to drink just the liquid. The tea bag is supposed to stayed closed, keeping the tea leaves within, while the tea is . . . while the tea is . . . while the tea is . . ." 

I just kept stammering. Frog looked at me with expectancy. She was sure I had more to say. 

I was sure I had more to say, I just couldn't quite get my brain around it. 

I got out the scissors and cut open the old tea bag, to show her its insides, pouring more water over it. We watched the tea leaves float all about. (Frog was delighted by this, and I made a mental note to put my tea bags up on a higher shelf and make sure the scissors are not accessible.) I explained the process again, explaining how the tea bag had broken open, and, for a second time, I was slammed back into my mental jam, trying to continue, 

"...straining, while the tea is straining"

Frog watched the swirling tea leaves in the cup and echoed, as if imbibing my wisdom, "straining"

"Well, no, that's not the word really, it's like filtering"

Frog looked at me, and questioned-echoed "filtering?"  

Oh my, two-year-old parroting is illuminating!! That's not the dang word.

I tried again, "Well, distilling..."

When she echoed "distilling," I realized I had to stop talking. I just smiled at her, weakly. This mini-lesson was going down the drain. Yikes. Maybe she wouldn't tell her folks we were distilling today. 

Word salad.

Word scramble.

Word scurry. 

Frog went back to playing at the sink of faux-dirty dishes and bubbles. There I stood, perfectly still, stuck, holding an empty mug with remnants of tea leaves, thinking through various synonyms, no longer saying them out loud, walking myself through the process of making tea, searching for the illusive word,

residue

percolating

like with coffee grounds

this is tea leaves

It wasn't as easy for me to move on. I simply could not find the word. Wait, how is tea made? What is the word for making tea? I couldn't speak, the word or words escaped me, my tongue was tied. 

decant

pour off

pour away

let sit for awhile

Goodness! It was like I was playing charades with myself.  

This situation was the inverse of one of my regular writing problems, where I find the ordinary word and cannot think of any better words. I've turned into a very contrary thesaurus, one with giant, gaping holes. Can you imagine if I were teaching this right now (wait, why would I be teaching about tea?) . . . imagine, if I were being observed, what the heck would the assessor think of me? 

Nothing.

Got nothing.

So frustrating!!

Later, I shared the story of Frog and "the cup broke" with my husband, asking "What's the word for making tea?"

He looked at me, incredulous - "What? Are you talking about brewing? steeping?" 

Oh, I was so excited to hear this! "Yes! Yes! I am! Oh, thank you! Both of those words are AWESOME. That was driving me nuts."

He laughed, and added - "Welcome to old age! It has a way of sneaking up on you."

Oh, geez.

Unexpectedly, I have continued a theme from yesterday - fearful signs of aging! Ha! It was never my intention for this to be the focus of my blogging this month, but when a parallel weird experience happens, how can I not write into it? Clearly, these are slices of my life this March! 

A woman is like a tea bag - you can't tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water.

- Eleanor Roosevelt

SOL21 Slice 2: To what end?

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL21).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2021.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

I started another journaling notebook yesterday. I use simple five-subject, wire-bound, "college" notebooks for my daily, early morning writing; I have used these for years. I have been flying through notebooks this past year of pandemic and retirement. I have the time and the space. I write every day.

To what end? Why do I write?

During this year of pandemic, I have become more organized and focused about my writing - I actually carved out a space for it. I created a 'studio' space for myself in my basement, a warm and happy nook with many favorite treasures near at hand as muses. I like being in this space. Truth be told, I write in lots of other parts of my house, too. I just sort of flop into the coziest spot, often near a window, near light. Sometimes, if I have trouble writing, that's all I do - I move to a different spot in my house.

To what end? Why do I write?

I decided to gather all my writing notebooks and have them in one place, in my writing nook. My goodness, I have been so disorganized - these journals were in closets, my bedside table, everywhere. Yes, I found all my journals and put them in order by date. Looking at this collection of journals, I could see that my journaling practice began very slowly, with scattered, infrequent entries during the early years of raising children. Back in these early days, I used a variety of sizes of 'proper' journals - I would buy a new journal as a treat for myself, hoping to capture thoughts on a regular basis. It didn't really work - I wrote inconsistently, with many months between entries. These early years, I didn't really have a 'writing practice' but a 'writing sometimes.'

At some point, I transitioned to the common notebooks. Oddly, I started writing more. Somehow, it freed me, writing became release. With an ordinary notebook, I find, I can pick up and put down as I wish, when I wish. I can even tear out pages, which is a nice feature. Funny, when I was teaching, I would take one-two years to complete one of these five-subject spiral notebooks; now, during this pandemic, I am filling one every few months. This is what time offers to writing.

Again, to what end? Why do I write?

Yes, I found all my journals and it is quite a stack! I put them in my magic cabinet. Magic cabinet, you ask? Oh, see, it's a leftover from my preschool teaching days. Back in the day, for my first classroom, I painted an old cabinet (and decoupaged - that alone tells you how many years ago this was, ha!). I kept it right next to my teaching chair, at our whole group gathering space. Every morning, as I set up for the day, I 'hid' special extras within, to unveil at the perfect time - a special book or puppet, an activity . . . you know, magic!

I don't know why I held onto this old cabinet. I should have tossed it, when I cleared out my classroom. Even here at home, I have been culling things left and right, throughout the pandemic, and I just can't bring myself to toss the magic cabinet. Yet.

It is a little weird to have it here at home.

It was even weirder to have it empty! So, that's where the journals are now. One day, I'll get rid of it. One day, one day, one day . . . .

Journals and cabinets - I can't live with them, I can't get rid of them. What am I supposed to do with this stuff? Anyone re-approach their writing notebooks? What do you recommend?

Again, to what end? Why do I write?

I don't know. I'm still writing! Ha!! Maybe I'll figure out why when I'm done. Maybe I'll throw everything away!

"Thank God I found the GOOD in goodbye."

- Beyonce Knowles

SOL 20 Slice #31: The end?

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2020.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

It seems appropriate to end this Slice of Life Story Challenge of 2020 with a focus on my favorite book: Roget's International Thesaurus, Third Edition (1962). This was a gift from my father, when I went away to college - though, to clarify, is it called a gift when you have borrowed it for so long, that it just gets caught up in your belongings and no one is really the wiser? 

Dad showed me how the thesaurus worked when I was about ten years old...and perhaps that's why I fell in love with this book: it needed directions! You didn't just pick it up and start reading; no, you went right to the back, found the word you were thinking about, looked for its unique numeric code, and then flipped back to the front part of the book until you found that number in the sequence. Why would you do this? To find a whole other world of additional words that were similar in meaning...to find synonyms! 

It still strikes me as such a fanciful and whimsical idea for a book: think of a word, follow a trail to other words that are nearly the same, and get ready to go on numerous other tangents, along the way. 

I loved everything about this tome. As a young girl, my favorite feature was the fore edge [FYI - I just now looked up this term] of the pages...these had hollowed semicircle indentations, to make it easier to turn to the section you needed. I had never seen these on any other book. They seemed elegant, special, stylish, refined, sophisticated, ingenious - ah, you get the idea.

My writing nook, with Roget's.

I liked that Roget's had a special place on Dad's desk, right next to the dictionary. I like that he signed his name in the front of the book, in black marker. I like to think about my father writing, that he was fascinated enough about words that he bought himself a thesaurus. Wow. I have no memories of him writing for anything other than work (he was a naval officer), though, I remember he did enjoy writing letters to family. I liked that he had this book to expand his word choice; I thought that conveyed a certain respect for writing itself - to seek help and information, to make your writing better.

Even though I can look up synonyms on Google, I still enjoy looking them up in my Roget's. There is something very grounding about this.

There's something very grounding about this Slice of Life Challenge every March, and, particularly, this March, 2020. We have held each other up, we have shared our stories, and we have documented our personal history of this pandemic. I am so appreciative of this writing community, and I thought I'd let Roget's explain. The Slice of Life Story Challenge provided me with:

community
oasis
connection
friendship
circle
people
exchange
reflection
travel
escape
inspiration
conversation
dialogue
sharing
provocation
insight
wisdom
wit
solace
caring
compassion
humor
concern
comfort
treasure
a very special place

Thank you, one and all, for your writing and your comments. You have made me a better writer! I hope we meet up again on Tuesdays, for weekly slicing.

My favorite page from Eric Carle's "Slowly, Slowly, Slowly" Said the Sloth; clearly Mr. Carle had a thesaurus!

SOL20 Slice #1: Lenten rose

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

March always makes me think of my Mom, whose birthday is this month. After her death in October 2018, I decided to look for a perennial that bloomed in March, to plant in my garden in her honor. This past fall, I planted three lenten roses ("Helleborus"), thinking these would be ideal flowers to commemorate my devout Catholic mother. 

Lo and behold, they began to emerge from the ground in mid-February, and here at the beginning of March, there are a few blossoms! I am confident that these plants will be covered with blooms by mid-month, for Mom's birthday on the 18th. I have been checking on them every day, noticing their growth and smiling with delight; I have fallen in love with these little dear plants. They are one of the first signs of spring in my yard, flowering even before the yellow-blossomed forsythia.

Such a little thing, such a sweet thing - I figured this called for a poem.




Little Lenten Rose

Slowly, slowly, through ground,

Though it be cold and hard,

The little lenten rose,

Sweet magic in my yard.

Slowly, slowly, pushing up,

Stem and leaves appear,

Small buds are softly folded

Holding something dear.

Slowly, slowly, they unfold,

Blossoms opening wide,

Purple, red, with yellow core,

Speckled and bright inside.

Slowly, slowly, winter fades,

Springtime starts to shine.

The little lenten rose,

Harbinger of time.

SOL19 Slice #31 Falling asleep

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL19)
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day for the month of March 2019.

A BIG, BIG THANK YOU!! to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity
for teacher-writers to share and reflect!!

I did it, we did it - 31 days of SOLSC! Yay, us! 

What should be the topic of my final blogpost of the month? I decided it has to be my granddaughter, Frog.* She gives me such joy and inspiration, why not end the month with a little more sharing about her?

Today, I had the precious joy of watching Frog fall asleep in her bassinet, through the baby monitor. (Oh my, how technology has changed since I had babies...having a camera in the room, to see with your own eyes what is going on...this is amazing.) I had prepped the room for her nap, drawing the blinds so that the bright sunny day wouldn't peek in too much, and turning on the noise machine so that she could listen to the soft sound of waves rather than our voices in the next room. Then I laid her down in her bassinet, slipping her into her sleep suit, and popping her pacifier in her mouth. I tapped the pacifier a few times with my index finger, while stroking her hair with my other hand, and whispering sweet wishes, "Have a good nap, my sleepy one." 

Then I slipped out of the room, and over to the monitor. I was curious - how does she settle in? I watched her touch the pacifier, pull it out of her mouth, put it back into her mouth a couple times. So sweet. At five months, she is just figuring out all the possibilities that hands can do. Then she seemed to get a bit bored with this and took the pacifier out of her mouth, and held it straight out at the side of her body, up in the air, studying it pensively, and singing a sweet song...oooooh, oooooh, eeeeoooooh. Her sweet coos lasted only a minute or so, when she simply let it go, dropping the pacifier into the bassinet, and immediately closing her eyes. Frog was asleep. Yes, really. Just like that!

What's funny is - I was purposefully watching through the monitor, with my notebook out, thinking, oh, this will be a good slice. I thought I'd have all these baby antics to describe. I thought she might fret and that I'd have to go in and check on her. I definitely thought there'd be more to it than two minutes of pacifier adoration followed by sleep. Ha! 

I told my son that I have no memory of him or his brothers being that easy about taking a nap. May it always be so!

I also think, wow - this little one instinctively takes good care of herself. I have a lot to learn from her.




Again, thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for this amazing month of writing and sharing. It has been very special to read and get to know other teacher-writers. It has definitely been a way for me to take care of myself. I have loved participating!!

*FYI - I've decided to write fictitious names for my loved ones - however clunky that may seem - in the interest of preserving whatever shreds of anonymity one really has in this world. I'm going to call my grandchild 'Frog' - I love frogs...as a spirit animal, they exemplify renewal, transformation, metamorphosis, and so much more. 

SOL19 Slice #30 Going far

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL19)
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day for the month of March 2019.

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity
for teacher-writers to share and reflect.


"If you want to go fast, go alone.
If you want to go far,
go together."
African Proverb

Yesterday I attended a workshop that provided an overview of restorative practice in schools - what these might look like, what they include, and why they are important. This morning, as I reflect on what I heard, and muse about how to share my experience with my colleagues, I am thinking about how truly complicated schools are. There are so many voices that should and must be included, and each of these voices is on their own developmental trajectory regarding progressive practices like restorative justice. Where to begin? Is it not unlike nailing down jello? 

We have students from age three to fourteen - preschool through eighth grade. We have families from diverse backgrounds, from all different wards of the city. We have middle class, poor, wealthy, black, white, brown, immigrant, special needs, homeless, LGBTQ, on and on and on and on. Each of these students has a family and these are so varied, too: children raised by single parents, two parents same sex, grandparents, foster families, mixed-race parents, older parents, young parents.... Every family has its own unique culture, their own beliefs about how their children should behave, how they should treat and interact with adults, and what discipline looks like.

We all come together in one school.

We have a diverse teaching staff, and each of us brings our own preset beliefs on how students should behave and be disciplined, on what learning should look like. Some of us are open to new ideas, some of us are so overwhelmed and busy that we resist new approaches and withdraw to the same old, same old, predictable world of our classroom, doing the things we know how to do already. Of course, teachers and administrators all have different levels of experience, too, which can lead to differences in the way a student's behavior is even perceived.

We all come together in one school.

Each of these individuals - students and adults - is on their own time-line at school - some spending only a year or a matter of months, some staying for many years. How to form a restorative community in the midst of all these moving parts?

We all come together in one school.

Let's think, too, about how we interact with one another as colleagues - are we restorative with one another? Are we open-minded and trying to listen to other perspectives, or do we avoid certain colleagues, because the divide, the differences between us, are simply too vast?

How can we adults, ill-equipped and human as we are, lead restorative practices? How does that even work?

We all come together in one school.

The reality is - there can be no other kind of community if you expect to have a successful learning experience with such diverse people. I can imagine no other way. Restorative practices provide a forum to hear from everyone, to hear the diverse voices. We have to teach children and adults about the responsibility each of us has to listen, actively listen, to one another. This is going to be a journey, a long process, one which everyone needs to be committed to learning and doing, despite preset beliefs.

We all deserve respect.
We all deserve restorative practices.
We all come together in one school.

SOL19 Slice #29 Restorative sliver

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL19)
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day for the month of March 2019.

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity
for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

Centerpiece with "talking pieces"

I find myself without a minute to spare today, and a panicky feeling that I cannot make a blogpost. Oh, but I must!!! It’s day 29 and I haven’t missed a day. I’ll spare you my jam-packed schedule and share notes from an excellent workshop I am attending about Restorative Practices in Schools. Here are snippets, almost a poem:

Circles let us see one another 

Everyone on the same level

Proactive approaches to build community 

Paradigm shift

Strongest human drive is compassion

Let’s have safety, belonging, and community 

Truth and reconciliation 

Listening from the heart 

Works best on the front end, preventing 

What do I want for my own children?

SOL19 Slice#28 Early morning jog

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL19)
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day for the month of March 2019.

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity
for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

" 'I wish I hadn't done that workout.' - said no one ever!"

[Quote on the wall of my local Y.]

Gotta do this.
Come on!
Starting new habit.
Everything aches.

It is cold outside.

I can't find my warm jacket,

the one I wear for exercise.

My heel hurts.

These shoes feel tight.

My shoulders ache.

What if I make myself sick?

Can you get sick from running in cold air?

Maybe this actually hurts me?

Maybe I'm too old for this.

Out the door.

Ugh. Hmph. Bleck. 

I have no breath.

I feel stiff.

Geez, my run is a glorified walk.

Glad I wore my gloves and headband.

It is dang cold out here.

Why did I think I could do this?
I used to always do this.
That was then.
This is now.

Oh, look at the stars!

The moon!

It's a good thing I am so slow,

I can actually look at these

while I jog.

I'll go slow,

try to clear my mind.

Can I think about nothing while I jog?

Ha! That is an elusive goal,

but fun to try, right?

Emptying one's mind.

How to do that?

Studying my feet.

Run correctly,

paying attention.

Losing myself in the motion.

Repetitive.

Motion.

Back inside.

Wow.

30 minutes.

That's the best yet!

It didn't feel like 30 minutes.

I could have gone longer!

Could'a, should'a!

That was fun!
When can I call this a habit?

SOL19 Slice #27 Coming home

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL19)
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, every day for the month of March 2019.

A big thank you to Two Writing Teachers for providing this unique opportunity
for teacher-writers to share and reflect.

I walk into Frog's* room and peer into her bassinet...she looks right back at me, and gives me a big welcoming smile. I lift her up and carry her to the changing table, talking and chattering with her. "Yes! I am here! Nana has come to see you! You had such a good nap." My husband (Papa) babysits Frog each week, and I hurry over their way after my teaching day. Lately, her nap schedule means that I arrive at her house to find her fully asleep, and I must be patient and good, and leave her be. This is so hard to do! What a gift, this time, to peek in at her and have her look right back at me. Honestly, I didn't wake her up!

Frog delights in the changing table - it is one of her favorite hangouts in the house, which we think is the funniest thing. Truly, there are nicer places to be! Perhaps she loves to be up high, nearer to the adults in her life, while simultaneously free to wriggle and stretch? Maybe she likes to feel the air on her skin, as we shed her clothing? She always gives us many smiles while we change her diaper. Then, she goes into a free-form exercise routine. She kicks her legs out long and stiff, then loosens and lifts them up and around. She loves to press her feet against the container of wipes and listen to it crackle, back and forth - crackle, quiet, crackle, quiet. Her hands are busy, too - searching for something to grab and hold onto (Nana's hair?), and trying to get her fingers into her mouth. She coos and cackles, hums and shrieks. She's a talker! We banter back and forth, me making silly noises and Frog imitating.

Then, a surprise: there is a loud HRRRUNG of the garage door, as it opens...the garage is just below her bedroom. Frog looks at me with WIDE EYES and gives a loud squeal of delight, and she kicks her legs wildly in excitement!! This squeal was so distinct, and her smile so big, I feel certain it was associated with the noise.

To me, this is magical: she KNOWS!

Frog knows that if the garage door sound happens, someone she loves is coming home. Mama's coming home? Daddy's coming home? She knows.

Just a moment or so later, she is proven right - Mama comes in and gives her a big kiss.

Frog is five months old and the joy of our lives. It is so extraordinary to see her begin to know routines. 

*FYI - As I begin to share stories from my heart, I've decided to write fictitious names for my loved ones - however clunky that may seem - in the interest of preserving whatever shreds of anonymity one really has in this world. I'm going to call my grandchild 'Frog' - I love frogs...as a spirit animal, they exemplify renewal, transformation, metamorphosis, and so much more.