Cumplida

I've finished book #52 this late afternoon! I've met my goal for the year and I'm feeling quite good about it.


My last selection of the year, suggested to me by my husband, was Mary Oliver's Red Bird. And on this evening of resolutions and looking forward to the New Year, Oliver's book of poems is very fitting for me. Through her observations of the fox, the river, the turtle, and many other gifts of this world - including her pet dog Percy - Oliver reminds us to pay attention to what is alive and around us, to be aware of nature and the way you feel, and the way it feels.

Beautiful.

Lessons at the beach

I didn’t know
the little bubbles and holes in the sand that
appeared as the waves pulled back
were tiny clams retreating deeper and
taking breaths.
I didn’t know that
the purple-edged seashells found
sprinkled across the sand
were once used as currency.
“Wampum,” he said.
And when the seagulls were all standing on the beach,
facing the same direction,
alert, as if receiving a message,
he told me
they were facing the wind so it wouldn’t
mess up their feathers,
and they were just
waiting for food to fall to the ground.

Gentle

She called out twice, no answer and
suddenly annoyed at the lack of consideration
wondered what
the gardener was up to as she
stomped over to the window,
which framed a sight
seen every year around this time...

the top of his silver streaked head
below her on the back step,
his tired back bent over
pots of purple pansies
delicate pink violets
and hearty geraniums
whispering, encouraging
them to grow lasting and lovely
so she'd not complain.

His little friends glanced up, seeing her
and perked up
for him.

Snow... Music to my Ears

There's a little excitement in my home today. The word is a "mega-snow" event is headed our way. The idea is uplifting to me, though I know it irks others.

Why, when I love teaching so much does the idea of a snow day make me giddy? Does my anticipation of a day off reflect on my work ethic? Or does it just mean I need a free day to LIVE, without the rushing around and stress of work?

I'll get to sleep an extra hour or so
and have time to slowly drink and savor the morning's hot cup of coffee.
I'll get to finish my book and do some writing.
My husband will make a hot lunch of soup,
served up with a sandwich he has invented.
I may sneak a nap in somewhere.
My son and I will watch an old movie favorite together,
covered up with warm blankets,
the cat purring between us.

Things will slow down a bit,
the mood will be peaceful,
as it always is on a snow day.

Friday after school, I lugged home an over-packed bookbag, filled with papers to grade, writing to edit, and lessons to plan. So, I'll do all of that today, Sunday, so I may enjoy tomorrow, Snow day.

It's nature's way of telling me to slow down, look around, live life.

Waiting by the window

The snow day was not meant to be. When I gathered the students in the morning, I asked "So, which one of you forgot to wear their pajamas inside out?"

Someone forgot to, I'm sure.

The storm didn't start until around 10 or so, when we were in the middle of math. The class was figuring out how to outfit 89 elves with new hats, coats, belts, pants, and boots, a multiplication and working-with-a-budget lesson. I looked up, and being a big kid myself, I announced "Hey! It's snowing!" and succeeded in distracting everyone for the rest of the lesson. It was my fault.

But we all went to the windows and looked out. It was beautiful. The kids were quiet, peaceful, taking in the view. I stood back, and took in the scene of my kids marveling at nature.

The school then took on a different feel, as it does during the holidays or when it snows. Parents started to stream in to pick up their children, phones began to ring, lessons were brought to closure a little sooner, with the promise of an arts & crafts activity. Some holiday music in the background, a handful of pretzels on every child's desk, glue and glitter... everyone was content.

It snowed all day, quite heavy at times, and we all went home at 3:00.

So, I love my kids and what I do every day. Teaching is my life. But I still want to know one thing:

What's the forecast for next week?

An afternoon swim

Rainy day weekends command naps
and she is more than willing to oblige
once the clock shows 2 or 3
or after lunch, when her insides are full and warm.
She bids farewell to the others, and calls up to her bed
“I’m on my way!”
gathering up her book as she climbs to her room,
her quiet heaven.
She slips off her daily clothes, folds them neatly and places them
on a nearby chair, for later,
then reaches under her pillow for the softest nightshirt,
stretching her arms as the comforting worn cotton falls around her shoulders.
Pulling the covers away, she wants to jump in,
but won’t disturb the cat, already blissfully asleep.
Carefully, precisely, she climbs in, and lays down,
opening her book to the part where the boy and his horse
ride into the ocean and swim with the dolphins.
While she reads
her feet rub against each other rhythmically
remnants of a child’s self-soothing habit
and after two or three pages
her eyes begin to grow heavy
and the rain calls her to sleep
the book falls away,
and the breeze lifts the curtains.
The rains sing and soothe
as she swims away.

Beyond the classroom, in the fall

My students come from diverse Hispanic countries and have only been in this country a year or more. Often, some of the lessons that most general program classroom teachers would present are out of reach for my students, as they have not lived the experiences that many native-born American children have enjoyed.

A writing activity that I love to do this time of year takes me a few extra periods than it would in the classrooms of my colleagues. I call the activity “My autumn eyes behold”. It can be done at any time of year, but I like to do it in the fall when the changes outside invite so much discussion and inspiration.

However, I work in an inner city school where most of my students live in apartment buildings or 2- and 3- family homes. Most of the trees near my school are scraggly and skinny, held up by string and stakes. The few leaves that manage to hold on, change colors, and fall to the ground are ignored, I think, and become just part of the litter that blows through the street. So, before I ask my students to “describe what you see on an autumn day,” I invite them to join me for a “walk”.

Imagine my students’ amusement when this morning, as it poured rain and thundered furiously outside our window, I announced we would go for a walk. “But we’ll get wet!” and “It’s too cold!” they complained. “We’re going to pretend” I said, as I turned on the LCD projector and shared a slide show (on Power Point) of the most beautiful fall images I could find on Google. I played Aaron Copland’s Rodeo – Four Dance Episodes while we toured golden mountains, trudged through leafy yellow forests, sailed on a crystalline blue river that wove through a toffee-colored canyon, and picked orange and (surprise!) white pumpkins in a field where a scare-crow stood guard.

Accessing prior knowledge is an important part of good teaching. In my case, I often have to create and simulate experiences so that my students may have a bank from which to retrieve information. I cannot assume that they’ve seen the glorious colors of autumn, that they’ve sipped a cup of hot chocolate after raking leaves, or that they’ve jumped in to a pile of leaves and stared up at the sky.

After our “walk”, I asked the students to make a list of all of the things they saw. After a few minutes, we brainstormed a list of the colors we saw. I expected they would say “red, orange, yellow, etc.” as other color words are not yet part of their vocabulary. Next, I provided a list of color words that would broaden their personal word banks, as well as more closely describe what they saw.

Then, I did one of my famous “mini-lessons”; I read Under, Over, by the Clover by Brian P. Cleary. This fun book is about prepositions, which my fourth grade students need exposure to in order to develop proficiency in English. After a shared reading, we created a list of prepositions, and posted those at the board as well.

Finally, I posted the following pattern:

(color) (object) (where you saw it)

I asked my students to develop several of these phrases, using the lists we created. Tomorrow we'll revise, rewrite, and edit as needed. I'll also conference individually with several of the students, and have them tell me about their writing.

This poetry-writing activity is a painless way to facilitate vocabulary and word-order skills.

Drinking it all in

Depleted, I walk out onto the back step
barefoot and t-shirt
stand, quietly
rediscovering whistles and chirps
remembering the scent of grass and tree bark
tilting my head back to
let the sun kiss my face, my arms
closing my eyes, feeling my chest tighten
with heartache
missing the way the sun would hold and feed me
when I had the time to sit with her
I miss this
I miss her
my eyes water from too much light
but my skin drinks it in
something is taking over me
bringing me to tears
the sting of loss
exhaustion
and just plain wanting to sit and be.

Dreaming of a lawn tractor

Finally! After waiting five months, someone wants to buy my house! ¡Por fin! A couple wants to move in to my house RIGHT AWAY!

So we went house-shopping during this very warm weekend. The houses we wanted to see were all in a development that I just had to live in because one of my siblings lives there and I really want to live near family. The realtor showed us several homes, and after he gave us a little background on some of them, I felt bad. You could tell some folks left in a hurry. But after all that, none of these houses suited us. They were either too big, too little, and most only had yards the size of a postage stamp. You need a little land to feel at one with nature now and then, you know? You could say we were just a bit frustrated. (And hot and thirsty! Did I mention how warm it was?)

During my Internet house-dreaming, I had seen one other property, not in the development, but just across the highway, still just a minute from my bro. It called to me; I thought it was exactly the kind of place I could see my pequeña familia in. But when I showed it to el jefe, he was not too keen on it, as it sits on two and a half acres, and all he could think of was how long it would take to cortar el pasto! He didn't even want to look at it. But after looking at several casas and not seeing anything, I asked the realtor to take us just across the highway anyway, just in case - no se pierde nada. There was nothing to lose.

Now el jefe is a quiet kind of guy, kind of serious, a pessimist, and reserved. As we drove up to this house, we saw the viejito, a little old man doing some yard work. He let us in, and ¡Qué cosa mas linda! We walked around the house, and the surrounding property. ¡Es todo un parque! I looked over at el jefe and he was wearing one of his very subtle, private smiles. I knew this place would grab him.

El niño liked everything about the house, especially the idea of being so close to his cousins. I loved the meticulous care the viejito had taken in the upkeep of the house, and I loved the kitchen. And what did el jefe like the best? Folks, he loved the land. All two and a half acres of it.

So, we cautiously made an offer. My very guarded jefe says "Don't get your hopes up, just in case." This latina optimista is already thinking "Where will we put the Christmas tree?"

Cross your fingers, enciendan las velitas. I wouldn't mind seeing el jefe smile like that again.

Pajarito negro

A glossy, black bird flew in to the door three weeks ago.
I heard the thump, imagined the cry
when its tiny neck broke
I discovered it on the front step by the screen door,
its small, curved chest heaving in and out
breathing fast breaths
poor thing was scared, in pain
I couldn’t do anything of course,
just scoop it up with a shovel and
gently slide him off and under a bush,
where I have been looking every day
to watch how Earth takes back
what is hers
the gradual disintegration of life, fascinating
the science of decomposition, intriguing
all that remains now are feathers
and delicate bones
of the bird
whose cousins still sing in the morning.