This post is dedicated to my cousin, Jeanne, who is like a sister to me. This past year, she had taken care of her husband who lost his battle with cancer last week. It has been a long painful journey and though I tried to provide comfort, I knew there was little I could do to truly help her, so I did the only thing left to do – I listened. My mother would always tell me how kind and considerate Jeanne was. She appreciated Jeanne’s cards and visits. My mother made me promise to watch over her. I would have done so anyway. Jeanne has the most compassionate heart. She is one of those people who are earthly angels. Jeanne encourages me with my writing, lifts me up when I am feeling almost hopeless, and tells me stories to make me laugh. She is the best friend-cousin-sister anyone could ever have! The best offering, I can give her now are my words and my pictures. I hope this small offering brings her peace and makes her know that she is greatly loved.
Walking up the steep,
Through the cathedral
I breathe in
their vivid color
And let out a slow
I am present
To God’s glorious
Here in the garden
Spring has arisen
All is right with the world:
Squirrels feast on seeds
In the undergrowth,
Birds on the branches sing,
My soul takes flight.
The following poems are in a form I hadn’t known about until last week. Fellow blogger, Ramona, had written a recent post containing a lovely golden shovel poem, which spurred me to try this form. It is a very comforting form because the writer takes a short quote that is meaningful to her and then use it as the base of her poem. It is a seed from which the poem grows. It also takes brain power to puzzle out how to combine one’s ideas with that of the original writer’s words. The last word in each line of the poem reveals the original quote from top to bottom. I think this is a form that I will continue to play with and have my students play with.
Three Golden Shovel Poems
The Earth Laughs in Flowers. – Ralph Waldo Emerson
Daffodils, hyacinths, and the
Tulips brightly bloom upon the Earth
All the green garden laughs
Exuberantly, right out loud in
A brilliance of flowers.Where Flower Bloom so Does Hope. – Lady Bird Johnson
April turns to May where
raindrops become flowers
pink, yellow, orange, purple bloom
up through the green so
quietly, so spontaneously does
this garden restore my hope.With the Coming of Spring, I am Calm Again. - Gustav Mahler
Dark clouds fill the sky with
An abundance of rain, the
Drops fall to the ground, coming
Faster and faster, all of
A sudden it’s spring -
Green and glimmering, I
Turn my face to the rain, I am
Suddenly peaceful and calm
Spring is within me again.
There are many things I love and enjoy about teaching – presenting concepts, sharing ideas, being witness to creativity and discovery, but the one thing that is most important to me is connection. I know that connection is key to student understanding. Without connection there are just untethered ideas. And that is why I absolutely love the time I get to sit down with student writers and talk about their work. Many teachers are not comfortable with this part of writing workshop. They are tentative. They are not sure what to say. They focus on errors in grammar or spelling to guide them, instead of homing in on the content and meaning. In Writing Workshop: The Essential Guide, Ralph Fletcher and Jo Ann Portalupi note that, “We should expect plenty of failure: false starts, blank pages, misspellings, and so on. Failure is an integral part of how people learn. But we also need to build on their strengths – take notice of and celebrate a great work, sudden twist, surprising image…” Teachers might, indeed, start by asking students to create an “I can be” list. In this way, the children can explore and ponder all the possibilities that lay ahead of them.
Fletcher and Portalupi suggest that these questions might help you “read” the student you’re working with:
What can I learn from her body language? Does she seem “up” and engaged, or listless and bored?
What kind of writing is she attempting? Is it a poem? Fiction story? Personal narrative? Information piece? Notebook entry?
Where is she in the process? Has she just begun, or is she almost finished?
Is this a genre she has never before tried?
What are her strengths as a writer?
What is she ready to learn?
What surprises me about the student?
In order to promote reflection and make conference time more productive, teachers might ask a student to re-read her writing before the conference. Ask the student to put an asterisk next to the place in her writing where the writing worked well. Then ask her to put a circle in the margin next to the place where the writing needs more work. This will help to shorten and focus conference time, and build the scaffolding needed for the student to become an independent and confident writer.
The most important job of the teacher during writing conferences is to listen intently to the student-writer. Try to put everything out of your mind and be present as a listener. Think about how the student’s writing is affecting you, and then let her know how her words have moved you. Do not focus on errors and weaknesses. Rather, give specific, concrete praise: colorful details, a funny moment, a surprise ending. As Lucy Calkins says: “Teach the writer, not the writing.” Give the student one strategy to add to her repertoire of writing skills. In this way, she’s not just fixing this one piece; she now has an extra tool to use on all her writing!
A number of years ago, I read Katherine Bomer’s book, Hidden Gems: Naming and Teaching from the Brilliance in Every Student’s Writing. Bomer urges teachers to search for hidden gems in student writing by focusing on author style, purpose, and language, rather than concentrating on mistakes. She encourages teachers to make conferences celebrations of student writing: “My hope is that as teachers we can respond to all students’ writing with astonished, appreciative, awe-struck eyes.”
As a Curriculum Coordinator, I no longer have my own band of fearless writers, as I did when I was a classroom teacher. Now, I have to invite myself into classrooms and talk to students about their work. Teachers are happy to share their conferring time and I get to see students in all stages of writing development: from the Kindergartener who diligently labels her drawing, to a 2nd grader who is learning to add dialogue within a complicated fairy tale variant, to a 3rd grader who is constructing a speech using biographical information, to a 5th grader experimenting with forms of poetry. I wonder at the complexity that writing entails, and I am now beginning to fully understand why writing takes time and patience and presence.
This week I was once again reminded of the importance of being present – of stopping what I was doing – and listen. I was reading through the students’ submissions to our literary magazine, Spark. I nodded, I smiled, and I laughed out loud. The children boldly put their thoughts and feelings on paper in the form of poems, letters, stories and articles. They chose pieces that were important to them. They chose pieces that whirled them away into fantasy and pieces that sunk them back down into COVID reality. As I was reading, I gasped as I came across this gem from a 5th grade writer. This skinny little, brave poem stood up and demanded to be recognized. I read it again to myself. Then, I read it aloud and said, “Wow! Now there’s a poet!”
This poem stands up straight and speaks for itself. I couldn’t wait to talk to the student-poet. I couldn’t wait to tell her how much I connected with the poem – how important it was. The next day, I came into school early, hoping to catch Chelsea before classes started. I found her in her classroom organizing her desk, and I motioned for her to meet me in the hall. She looked a little surprised and I added, “You are not in trouble. I have something wonderful to share with you.” She came out into the hall, and I told her how much her poem meant to me and how powerful it was. I told her that I was putting it at the very end of the magazine because it was so very powerful that I wanted to end the magazine on a strong note. I could see her smiling behind her mask, and I was so glad I took a few minutes to connect with her face to face. Then we went on with our separate days until I got home later that night and found this waiting in my email inbox.
There is no doubt that Chelsea is a writer – no doubt that her strong opinions and emotions will enlighten the world. And there is no doubt that connecting with student writers is of the utmost importance. Writing is so much more that spelling, grammar, and punctuation – those skills will come in time. But the students’ lives and how they express their experiences help them better understand and cope with this swirling world around us. Take a moment. Sit down. Listen.
Books About Teaching Writing
A Fresh Look at Writing by Donald Graves
After the End: Teaching Learning Creative Revision by Barry Lane
A Time for Wonder: Reading and Writing in the Primary Grades by Georgia Heard
Awakening the Heart: Exploring Poetry in Elementary and Middle School by Georgia Heard
Craft Lessons by Fletcher and Portalupi
Day by Day: Refining Writing Workshop Through 180 Days of Reflective Practice by Ruth Ayres and Stacey Shubitz
For the Good of the Earth and the Sun by Georgia Heard
Hidden Gems: Naming and Teaching from the Brilliance in Every Student’s Writing by Katherine Bomer
How’s it Going? A Practical Guide to Conferring with Student Writers by Carl Anderson
In Pictures and In Words: Teaching the Qualities of Good Writing Through Illustration Study by Katie Wood Ray
Inside Writing: How to Teach the Details of Craft by Donald Graves and Penny Kittle
Revision Toolbox by Georgia Heard
Study Driven: A Framework for Planning Units of Study in the Writing Workshop by Katie Wood Ray
Teaching the Qualities of Writing by JoAnn Portalupi and Ralph Fletcher
The Art of Teaching Writing by Lucy Calkins
The Journey is Everything by Katherine Bomer
Writing: Teachers and Children at Work by Donald Graves
Writing Workshop: The Essential Guide by Fletcher and Portalupi
I have long believed that play is the heart of learning. In play, we create, take risks, fail, recreate, and grow. In my teaching, I offer children experiences in play with numbers, scientific principles, philosophical concepts, art, and language. These forays into learning always result in new and deeper understanding, and surprising discoveries. This week, I continued to think about poetry as play and encouraged 4th grade students to play with using Spanish words to enhance their poetry.
The students recently completed reading the mystery, Me, Frida, and the Secret of the PeacockRing by Angela Cervantes. The story centers around the theft of artist Frida Kahlo’s priceless peacock ring. The author added some Spanish words throughout the story to give her readers a connection to Spanish language and Mexican culture. Frida Kahlo often added words to her paintings such as “Viva la Vida.” Frida was a master at creating vivid images with paint to express her feelings.
After looking at many of Kahlo’s paintings, I asked the students to create vivid images with words by writing a poem using both English and Spanish words. I supplied them with a list of Spanish words and phrases used in the book and encouraged them to also add their own Spanish words to their poems. The students could write poems about something from the book or from Frida’s paintings that they had seen. I told them not to be afraid to play with words and ideas. I suggested that they should write a few poems and decide which ones they liked best.
Here is the way I explained how to build a poem with Spanish words:
Here are examples of poems I created to use as mentor texts:
Una Buena Amiga
Viva la Vida
Free Bird, Pájaro Libre
Take flight like the wings
of a wild bird
Pero con una gran imaginación
She flies free
High over Casa Azul
High over Ciudad de México
Sailing through the air calling,
I’m am here!”
Here are two student examples of playing with this concept:
I want to explore this concept of using multi-languages to express feelings and ideas. I realize that many students who are English Language Learners could excel at this activity and be class leaders in integrating two or more languages. How wonderful it would be to weave a student’s first language into their English poems and stories. I plan to play with this idea, build upon it, and see where it leads.
After walking in the park recently and witnessing a loving moment, I wrote this poem. I wanted to combine my experience with the words of Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda. I use my own poetry practice to help me formulate how to present these same ideas to children.
Picture Books about Frida Kahlo
Frida by Jonah Winter
Frida Kahlo and her Animalitos by Yamilet Maldonado
Frida Kahlo: The Artist Who Painted Herself by Margaret Frith
This week I am celebrating. I am celebrating 52 and 65. I have blogged for 52 weeks straight – one whole year of weekly writing! As of this week, I will have been living on this small blue planet for 65 years. My personal philosophy is that there are people on this planet who are candles – placed on Earth to light the way for others. All my life, it is teachers and writers who have lit my way to new and better understanding; opened my mind to possibilities and promise.
Writer and educator, Ruth Ayres, is one of these people. I have read all of Ruth’s books and have followed her blog for years. I was attracted to the honest way she talked about teaching and raising her family. She is an advocate for children who come from dark places. And as a former child who survived a dark place and thrived, Ruth’s children’s lives were of great interest to me. I worried about their troubles and cheered when they overcame obstacles. Healing from trauma is no easy matter. It is a lifelong process. Ruth’s stories helped me to heal.
A year ago, she invited me to come write with her community of bloggers at SOS: Sharing Our Stories – Magic in a Blog. I was hoping that Ruth’s kind invitation would help me write more successfully, come out of the shadows, and share the poems and stories I had been storing up for years. And indeed, it did work. I have been writing consistently this year, and I have met a group of insightful, affirming, and inspiring writers and teachers. They have lifted me up and given me ideas to ponder, books to read, and their stories have brought me equal parts of tears and laughter.
When I was ten-years-old, I was deeply affected by the lives of Helen Keller and her teacher Anne Sullivan Macy. The story of the young deaf and blind girl who, with the careful guidance of her teacher, learned to speak and write, becoming an international lecturer and advocate for the deaf and blind. If Helen could learn to speak and light world up with her ideas, then who could I become? What could I accomplish? It was Helen’s young teacher who served as a candle lighting her way, giving her language. Helen describes the moment she began to understand that Anne’s finger signings were words:
I stood still; my whole attention fixed upon the motions of her fingers. Suddenly I felt a misty consciousness as of something forgotten — a thrill of returning thought; and somehow the mystery of language was revealed to me. I knew then that w-a-t-e-r meant the wonderful cool something that was flowing over my hand. The living word awakened my soul, gave it light, hope, set it free! (The Story of My Life)
Anne Sullivan regarded that same moment this way:
My heart is singing for joy this morning! A miracle has happened! The light of understanding has shone upon my little pupil’s mind, and behold all things are changed!
William Gibson made Helen’s autobiography into a play, The Miracle Worker. In the first act, Anne explains to Mrs. Keller that “Language is to the mind more than light is to the eye.” The 1962 film of The Miracle Worker was one of my favorites and made me want to become a teacher like Anne Sullivan when I grew up. I wanted to teach children, connect with them, and show them what words can do to free them to learning.
I have been teaching for over four decades. I am proud of my work and immensely proud of all the children I was so fortunate to get to know. Over these years, I have met children who have faced immense obstacles: abuse, poverty, abandonment, death of a beloved one, illness, and difficulty learning. I hope that the books I read and the stories I told were of comfort to them. I hope I provided them with a candle in the darkness. Some days, I think back and wonder how they all are doing and hope they are having happy lives. Some students I have been fortunate enough to still have contact with and who still reach out to me to tell of their triumphs and tribulations as young adults – grown up people. I am very grateful.
This week, I happened to see an article on the Internet about a former student and his important research. He now has a doctorate in some very complicated and technical field of statistics that I cannot even try to fathom. I marveled at the list of his publications. But the simple line that made me smile was this one: “I love to paint.” When I read that, I knew that Marco was safe and sound. Over twenty-five years ago, when Marco was in my 3rd grade class, we studied a new artist every month, and we would take trips to the Metropolitan Museum of art (it was only nine blocks away). The children would sit, wonder, and sketch in front of some of the world’s greatest paintings. Back in the classroom, they would experiment with paint, torn paper, and glue. All things were possible. In that school, with those children, I was able to teach freely. It was a wonderful time. And then, as life would have it, something terrible happened in Marco’s life that made our world tilt upside down. His grown brother, the brother he loved and wanted to emulate, was killed. We mourned. We gathered around Marco and his family. We did and said all the things one is supposed to do and say. It did not take away the pain. We knew that. One day, I noticed that some Lego pieces were missing. More and more – more and more rapidly. And it wasn’t the blocks that were missing, it was the people. Soon we had no more Lego people. I brought this problem up to the class. I waited for someone to confess and give back the people. No one did for weeks. My co-teacher and I searched the classroom and school looking for Lego people. No luck.
Then one day, as I was walking a back staircase, I saw a little glimmer of yellow high up on a ledge – a Lego person! What was it doing there? Who put it all the way up there? I took the Lego person and went back to my class with the evidence. I asked them what they thought happened. No one said a word. Then later in the day, Marco came to me and quietly said, “I put him there. He is resting forever, but he is still with me.” I tried to stop my sudden tears. Now I understood. The Lego people were Marco’s brother, and he was hiding them all around the school so he would never be alone. I went with Marco back to the stairway ledge and put the Lego person back in place. I told him that he could keep the Lego people where he had placed them, and I would just get some new ones. Months went by, Marco and his family slowly healed. One spring day, we were writing fractured fairy tales. Marco asked if he could write a play and have his friends be the actors. I encouraged him to write. As he wrote, he shared his work with his friends, who erupted into gales of laughter. I wondered what he was writing, but he told me it was a surprise. Finally, the day had come, and he unveiled his play, The Three Little Wolfies and the Big Bad Pig. Marco and his friends acted out the silly scenes and the rest of the class clapped. It was so wonderful that I decided to invite all the parents to hear their children’s work. When it was time to present the play, Marco’s parents sat in the front row. They laughed, they held each other’s hands, they hugged Marco when he took his final bow. There was a little light in the darkness. A small glimmer of hope.
And now this week, to know that Marco is an accomplished scholar who loves to paint, this is the best 65th birthday gift I could have ever wish for. Marco is happy and healthy and safe.
We have traveled the long dark cold tunnel of winter and made it into the light! This year that journey is especially sweet. My confirmation of spring came this week at school where first and second graders have been busy writing poetry. After reading Kenard Pak’s book, Goodbye Winter, Hello Spring, the first graders tried their hand at writing poems. The neat and concise form is comforting to beginning writers. All students, no matter their level, felt successful creating images of winter and spring. Here are two examples.
One of my private students, who is in 5th grade, tried here had at this poem format and created this:
The second graders focused on sound mixed with imagery. They explored including onomatopoeia in their poems. First, they brainstormed as a group what they see as winter turns to spring. Then they made a list of the sounds that could be heard in the springtime. Second graders, in particular, love to play with sound. They like to get silly. They take risks and there is a wonderful spontaneity to their poems.
The students’ poems inspired me to take a good look at the world transforming from winter to spring. I decided to take a long deep breath. I made myself pause, look around, and notice. I wanted to collect images that I could arrange into a collage of sorts or more aptly, a spring mosaic. Here is what I played with this week.
The moon appears
Like a pearl in the morning sky,
In the woods, beneath the brown
Undergrowth, skunk cabbage
Pokes its green ears
Out of the soggy ground.
Spring peepers croak out
A morning song,
Yellow buds pop from
Tender tangles of forsythia,
White and lavender crocuses
In their small way.
Bare branches are laced
With pink, white, yellow-green,
Cherry, pear, and dogwoods bloom.
Birds gather and scatter
Swooping here and there
Looping through the blue sky
Up toward the pastel clouds
Then landing lightly,
Visiting feeders and garden gates.
As turtles lounge on logs
Sitting end to end in the pond
Following the sun.
On the fertile surface,
Another spring is reborn.
The Earth is renewed.
A soft rain lightly falls
Slowly forming puddles,
In their reflection,
My spirit is restored.
Five Spring Picture Book Choices
and then it’s spring by Julie Foliano
Spring is Hear: A Bear and Mole Story by Will Hillenbrand
It’s March and among other things it means that it is time to reflect on the accomplishments of women. For me, this means creating another Women’s History Challenge for my school’s 3rd, 4th, and 5th grade students. I started this event almost ten years ago as a way for our school, a private girls school – the oldest in New Jersey, to honor women. It is an enrichment opportunity and is optional, though every year at least twenty to twenty-five students eagerly participate. The Challenge consists of researching ten women plus another of their choice. The girls have six weeks to complete their research. In mid-February, I present the list of women for that year. Then the students who decide to participate work independently completing their research by the end of March. While the students are busy researching and writing, I create a Women’s History Challenge quiz show in the form of a slideshow. There are ten questions focusing on the lives of each women. Also, I gather pictures of the women who the students have chosen for their independent projects. In early April, we all gather to share information and celebrate the girls’ hard work researching. The celebration is in the form of an elegant tea party. I got this idea from feminist artist Judy Chicago’s installation – The Dinner Party, which honors the lives of 39 women.
We prepare a large classroom in the style of high tea: lace table cloths, colorful tea pots, vases of flowers, and table settings in springtime colors. There is the traditional tea menu: tea sandwiches, tea breads, shortbread, sugar cookies, fruit salad, and an assortment of flavored teas. As the participants enter the room, you can feel the energy and see the excitement on their faces. The girls are ready to share what they’ve learned and also eager to taste the treats and plop one or two sugar cubes in their teacups. I learned that sugar cubes are a much favored treat with eight to eleven year old girls!
During the tea we have the quiz show and girls take turns answering questions about the featured women. The emphasis is on the knowledge they uncovered. There are no losers here. They are all winners because they have learned how to conduct research and found out about women they had not previously known. After the quiz show, each girl presents information the women they individually research. We ask questions and marvel about the lives of the women we had honored that year. It is one of my favorite school celebrations.
Last year, we had to create a virtual tea part due to COVID-19. I was worried that it would not be as special because I could not set up the high tea finery or prepare the luscious treats. But I was wrong. Even virtually, the girls happily celebrated and their individual presentations were even more spectacular. This year, I’m in the midst of planning our second virtual tea. Since we are lucky to have a hybrid/in-person schedule, the girls will be taking home a treat bag and then zooming into our virtual tea when then return home in the afternoon.
When preparing for the Women’s History Challenge, I have learned so much about all different women in all different walks of life. I try to gather a diverse list every year. Some years, I focus on women in the arts or women in science. This year, I chose women, most of whom I had not heard of before but who had picture books written about them. Every year I learn something new, and the students learn to be curious and are inspired by so many women role models. I wouldn’t be surprised that one day they may have a book written about them that other children will read and be inspired by.
Staring at the big (30″ x 30″), white canvas is often the most stressful part of my process. How do I start? Where do I start? That very first mark is so important to me that I find myself in a battle against my fears and insecurities. A multitude of voices clamour for dominance in my head… It’s the same every time! I hear the light-speed and intensely elaborate debate between overthought and instinct, then my hand rises to the canvas and the first mark is there. When I let my mind go, the entire image starts to come into view in my imaginations and muscle-memory does the rest for guiding my hands.
This got me thinking of my own process of creating. I think a blank anything whether it is a canvas, paper, or piece of cloth – gives the artist a moment to ponder and stress. Something about the purity of the whiteness maybe. We don’t want to put something down that is wrong, ugly, or unintended. We want the marks, whether words, a painted image, or a quilted line, to be beautiful and meaningful and what we envisioned in our minds in the first place. With writing, the blank page is not so daunting to me. I create ideas in my head for a good long time, I let them percolate, and then I start placing them on the page. I’ve been doing this for about sixty years, so with practice comes familiarity and a kind of easy flow. With canvas or cloth, I am more hesitant. These I’ve done sporadically over the years; these hold more anxiety for me. It’s harder to undo a stitch or a painted line. Typing can be easily deleted, no one will ever know those awkward, ugly, simplistic words were ever there. But the painted or stitched line is harder to remove. There is evidence of my lack of ability permanently cast. So I wonder how to get beyond that. Abstraction and collage help. Making abstract images helps free my mind and in doing so it frees my hand. I don’t worry as much about perfection. I can just flow with the rhythm of what I’m feeling in that moment.
Abstraction helps me get in touch with the child inside. The young child, who hasn’t yet been touched by judgement. Peter Reynold’s picture book, The Dot, addresses this idea of self-judgement. In the story a young girl faces desire, hesitation, and ultimate success in making her artistic mark on the world. It’s a wonderful book about creativity and being brave making your mark. When I do creativity exercises with children, I change the blank paper into a paper with a dot or mark or hole in it. The paper already has an “imperfection.” Now they don’t have to worry about the first mark, it is already there. I challenge them to take that mark and use their imagination to create a design, image, or story. Young children don’t hesitate – they take up the challenge and just draw. Another activity I’ve done with students after reading Reynold’s book is to have them work together to create a mural using colorful self-sticking dots and. It is wonderful to see that there was a time we didn’t self-edit.
I often take an art mistake and incorporate it into a collage. A couple of months ago, I began dabbling again with watercolors. What was in my mind did not translate to the page. I was disappointed. I looked at the work again and decided I loved the colors, but not the image, so I cut the image into strips and woven them together into two squares. I liked how the watercolor was transformed and put it a way to use in a collage. This week, I took a twelve-inch square canvas, painted an undercoat of lemon yellow, yellow ochre, and vermillion. After that layer dried, I added a coat of green (a mixture of white, sap green and viridian). While that coat was still wet, I drew on top of that layer with rubber shaping tools creating a design of swirls and dots. I let my hand move freely and added bits of flourish as I saw fit. I let that layer dry and then placed my collage objects: the two woven watercolor squares and six wooden hand-painted buttons. I spent some time assembling and dissembling until I like the composition. Then I will permanently attach the pieces by sewing the into place of the canvas.
Instead of focusing on purity, I focus on possibility. It’s not important to me if the strips are the same width or that the weaving is not perfectly straight. To me, these imperfections make the work more interesting. What is beyond the canvas, page, cloth that I can imagine into being? How can I express what I’m thinking and feeling? How can I connect?
Picture Books That Stimulate the Imagination
Twenty Books and More that Join Crockett Johnson’s Harold and the Purple Crayon Creative Tradition:
A Little Bit of Oomph! by Barney Saltzberg
Also an Octopus by Maggie Tokuda-Hall
Art by Patrick Mc Donnell
Beautiful Oops! by Barney Saltzberg
David Wiesner Books: Art & Max, Flotsam, Free Fall, June 29, 199, Tuesday…
Du Iz Tak? by Carson Ellis
How to by Julie Morstad
Hum & Swish by Matt Myers
Journey by Aaron Becker
Lift by Minh Le and Dan Santat
Max’s Castle by Kate Banks and Boris Kulikov
Niko Draws a Feeling by Bob Raczka
Not a Box by Antoinette Portis
Not a Stick by Antoinette Portis
Perfect Square by Michael Hall
Peter H. Reynolds Books: The Dot, Ish, Skycolor, Happy Dreamer…
Spring approaches. It seems to be coming from underground this year. I look out on to the field behind my home, and I can see the warmth spreading: the green tenderly returning… slowly, ever so slowly as to be almost imperceptible. But it is there. It is no doubt there. This week, I have some respite from work, a spring break of sorts: a little time to reflect, relax, do some spring cleaning. It started with my heavy woolen winter clothes, but then I read fellow blogger Stuart M. Perkins’ post, “One Man’s Trash,” and I turned my attention to my junk drawers. Stuart recalled his mother keeping a junk drawer in the kitchen full of things, which she left intact for years. He vowed not to have one himself but to no avail. After reading his post, I went into my kitchen and realized I had not one, but two junk drawers full of things I have not used in months and in some cases years. Why do I keep these bits of things. Apparently, I have a thing for collecting plastic bottle tops. I think I’m going to use them with the kids on some school project, but that never happens, or hasn’t to date. Then there are the pens, the pens that are out of ink, or whose springs are lost. Why am I keeping those? And at some point my husband bought a gross (144 packs!) of rubber bands. Some of those are shoved at the back of the drawer threatening to make it stick shut forever.
The kitchen is only the half of it. I have two more junk drawers in my art table in my bedroom. I pulled them open tentatively to survey the damage. There, I found more pens, dried up markers, dusty finger splints, a little rubber ball, a book of prayers and affirmations among the assorted bric-a-brac. How can I transform this junk into something artful? How can I make it something not to leave and forget, but something I want to return to? I want to make it more than spring cleaning, more than an executive function organization project. Seven years ago, when Marie Kondo’s first book was published, I read The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up cover to cover and back again. I went to my closet lifted each item and asked myself “Does it bring me joy?” I ended up giving away at least half of my clothing. Then I attacked my sock drawer. Truth be told, I am obsessed with socks. Somehow I always lose one of them, and I do not have the gumption to toss it out because somewhere in my heart I hold out hope that the other sock will return. Ever the optimist. I even bought a sock drawer organizer, so that it is the only drawer in my house that is neat and perfectly aligned. My socks are mostly black, maybe navy, with some simple gray and as Marie Kondo teaches, folded tightly. It is beautiful. It is a little boring.
What if I took my junky art drawer and treated it as a piece of art? What could I make? How could it become a pleasing aesthetic part of my art space? All my life, I have loved to make collages and assemblages, to build something or make sense of the pieces. I could now do this with my art drawer. I took some of my favorite small bowls and baskets and started to play with the arrangement. I tried many different variations. I had fun thinking about color and shape and placement within that three-inch deep rectangle. I chose blues and green because those are my favorite calming colors: the colors of the woods and fields around my house, the color of the sky and the sea. I mixed squares, rectangles, and circles. There was suddenly possibility instead of mess.
With the superficial things in order, it was time to think about my mind. What clutter was I carrying that I could let go? Usually, I push away not clear out. Push all the doubt and anxiety to the edges and make a simple clearing. Lately, the doubt, anxiety has been creeping in more and more quickly with a ferocious tenacity. I remembered Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried, a powerful testament to memory and the Vietnam War. I’ve read it a few times over the years with high school students. The power in the listing of items at the beginning of O’Brien’s tale is evident:
The things they carried were largely determined by necessity. Among the necessities or near-necessities were P-38 can openers, pocket knives, heat tabs, wristwatches, dog tags, mosquito repellent, chewing gum, candy, cigarettes, salt tablets, packets of Kool-Aid, lighters, matches, sewing kits, Military Payment Certificates, C rations, and two or three canteens of water. Together, these items weighed between 15 and 20 pounds, depending upon a man’s habits or rate of metabolism. Henry Dobbins, who was a big man, carried extra rations; he was especially fond of canned peaches in heavy syrup over pound cake.
I can see all these items clearly. I can imagine those young soldiers’ faces. I can smell the jungle and hear the mosquitoes whining. I can begin to grasp their pain. Though I have not experienced the unbearable cruelty of war, I think all humans carry things deep inside of us: joyful things and things that bring untold despair. I’m especially thinking of some of my students who are trying to wrap their minds around this pandemic. They smile, they laugh, they play, they keep their desks in order. But I know inside they are struggling to understand all the death and restrictions. They move less and stress more. We all do. I do. And so in coming to terms with the state of our world, I think about how to reframe the things I carry into creativity and play. How can I take those things, both good and bad, both seen and unseen, and shape them so they live together harmoniously? Is it possible to re-organize and transform an assortment of objects and words, and in the process transform yourself? I believe so.
Old rusted key
To something I’ve
Forgotten how to open,
I cannot remember.
It is locked in my memory
And I know it was terrible,
I can feel it
And I want to run,
I want to
Hide my eyes,
I want to forget.
I collect things:
Keys, bottle tops, bits
Of paper, broken pens,
Little boxes of
I can store away,
Safe and protected,
Safe and unnoticed,
Safe and forgotten
Until I open the drawer
And see those things
With new eyes.
Those old things
And rusted things
Useless to everyone,
When I put a pen in my hand
I have the power
To transform things.
I can rewrite the tragedy,
I can illuminate the dark places
With bright colors,
I can make things whole.
When I put a brush in my hand
I have the power
To transform things.
Sweep cobalt into the blue harbor,
Place a line of crimson at the horizon
Of a glorious sunset,
I can create beauty.
When I move through a space
I have the power
To transform things.
Reach up confidently,
Twist and sway,
Breath in and out,
Be in this single moment -
Heart open, mind free.
This past month, I have learned that inspiration for teaching and life can come from many places: a photograph of a curled up Dachshund, a simple quote from Shakespeare, a 2nd grader’s writing assessment, or an educational email with the subject line: Are we preparing students to be chefs or cooks?
This email came from A.J. Juliani, who has written many books about student empowerment, technology, and innovation. He is the Director of Learning and Innovation at Centennial School District in Pennsylvania and also teaches at the University of Pennsylvania Graduate School of Education. Juliani believes that teachers and students should approach their work life chefs. He explains it this way:
When my brother passed away a few years ago, my thoughts turned to my own children. How could I help raise them to be chefs? How could I raise them to not follow the recipes of life, but instead make their own recipes for their life? But, it is not just my kids, it is all of our kids.
This is one thing I know for sure: every single one of us is not getting off this planet alive. And since this is the case, I believe we should be kind to ourselves and each other, and always put ourselves in the other person’s shoes. Most importantly, we should follow our dreams and play. This is why I’m so glad that my work and my play are the same thing. Maybe I have always approached life like a chef: creating, improvising, putting things together that aren’t normally supposed to go together. To me, it makes life fun and interesting. And it’s worth it, even when I encounter mistakes. Or maybe especially when I encounter my mistakes. The mistakes make me grow and learn and try on new adventures.
This week, I was tasked with reading our students’ writing assessments. Wednesday night after dinner, tired with a cup of tea in my hand, I read this little gem from one of our 2nd graders:
I smiled when I read this passage. This student didn’t want to be pigeon-holed at the tender age of seven about what she would like to be when she grew up, so she created her own role. Nobody told her she couldn’t do that. She invented her own path. I was so pleased to see this, so happy that we were encouraging kids to think outside the box, to go beyond what lies behind them.
Reading about chef-scientists made think about all the times I’ve spent in the kitchen with children creating holiday foods, foods inspired by children’s books, and foods for the fun of it like the time I made hand-cranked watermelon ice with a rambunctious group of four-year-olds that required six cups of sugar. That recipe was the definition of SWEET!
My favorite times in the kitchen with kids were the times we created cakes using no recipes. The students had to create the recipe as we went along. I called this activity Monster Cake. I would put out a bunch of different ingredients and the children would decide which ingredients to use and how much to put in. A number of years ago, one little boy was adamant about putting a ¼ cup of salt into the cake batter. I allowed him to do that because we were making two batches and this way the children could all learn what happens to a cake with ¼ cup of salt in it. It actually was a beautiful cake, but it didn’t taste good. We crumbled it up and put it out for the birds, but even the birds and squirrels didn’t eat it! The other cake had 2 cups of chocolate chips in it and the chips sank to the bottom making a fudge layer. That cake we all ate with gusto!
While searching the web, I found that actually creating food without a recipe is now a cool and trendy thing. Some call it free-style baking. I love this idea. We should make our one trip on this beautiful planet sweet, spicy, comforting, and sometimes a bit surprising! I’m about to enter my kitchen now to make some Blustery Day Oatmeal cookies, a recipe I invented. Try them, if you dare!
February is a hard month for me. It is the middle of winter: the snow is no longer a novelty, and the cold and gray gets to be too much for my spirit at times. I try to lighten up the days literally with candles and sunny yellow tulips from the local supermarket. I’ve grown fond of eating tart lemon curd pudding. I’ve grown too fond in fact!
This past Thursday, February 25th would have been my mother’s 99th birthday. She died almost eight years ago at the age of 91. She had a nice long life, but not long enough for me. I miss her every day. I miss her smile, her shining eyes, her chats about books and kids and recipes. She was my first teacher, and she was also many children’s teacher for over twenty years. She loved her 2nd graders and would regale our family with story upon story of their triumphs and tribulations. Later, I would regale her with stories of my own students.
It was one February day when my dad called to say that my mom had had a heart attack. She was seventy-one at the time. I remember rushing to the hospital where she had to undergo a quadruple bypass operation. I was terrified but tried to hide it. She looked at me, grabbed my hands, and looked me in the eye, “Don’t worry. I am no ready to go. I am going to make it through. I’m not going anywhere.” And I believed her. And she was right. She had an incredibly long and difficult recovery, but in May that year on Mother’s Day, she was finally released from the hospital and began a slow and steady healing process.
February brings with it a bunch of conflicting emotions for me. Time to celebrate my mom’s birth, time to remember and honor her, but also time to miss her and long for her soothing voice and calm reassurance. She would tell me everything was going to be okay, and I would believe her. This February, her 99th year, I wanted to find a way to celebrate her life.
When I read those words and suddenly a sad, icy facial image came to mind. I smiled to myself. I immediately knew what I was going to do to honor my mom and her love of books and children. I would have my 4th grade students draw and write about February Faces. During class, I explained that I was reading Julie’s blog and came across Shakespeare’s quote. I wanted students to understand that inspiration for writing can come in many different ways and to always be on the lookout for writing ideas. I read the quote and asked the children what they thought a February face might look like. A multitude of adjectives came flying towards me: sad, grumpy, depressed, icicle hair, hard beady eyes, pale blue skin, happy, wrapped in wool, loving February 14th. I loved that I received both positive and negative images of February. After I read the quote, the students said that they wanted to read it aloud. It wasn’t something I planned for but something they all added to the lesson. It was an important way for them to connect to Shakespeare’s words. Many students volunteered, some donning English accents and projecting their dramatic best. This naturally added to their engagement. Before I set them out to write their own poems, I modeled what I thought a February face looked like, drawing a simple sketch on the board. Then I asked the children to help build a poem together. These are two examples of the group poems we created.
After we created the group poems, the girls set to work drawing their February faces and composing their poems. They worked diligently and I cannot wait to see what they finally create. One student called me over to her desk and asked if the February face had to human and gave me a mischievous smile. When I looked at her paper, she was in the process of drawing an Ice Dragon. “Brilliant idea,” I whispered. “Keep working. I want to see what you create!”
More than concentrating purely on the product, I think it is essential for kids to experience the process of generating and idea, brainstorming possibilities, and thinking outside the box to create one’s own images, whether they are visual or written. At first, when I said my writing idea this week was from Shakespeare, they all squirmed in their seats a bit. They thought Shakespeare was going to be too hard for them. But in the end, they realized that they could understand Shakespeare and respond to his words with unique and well-thought out ideas.
This week, I will give them plenty of time to share and respond to each other’s work. I hope Shakespeare will be a source of inspiration for them for years to come.
Shakespeare for Children
A Stage Full of Shakespeare Stories by Angela McAllister