Moving Down South....to Iowa

Update Your Feed

2011-08-08T20:37:00.000-05:00

I'm moving.

Well sort of. I'm moving this blog from Blogger to Wordpress. Nothing major.

The new location is http://carrielynnfinn.wordpress.com/. Yes, I realize I'm using my real name - full name, at that - but I think I'm okay with it.

So if you want to keep tabs on me, please update your feeds, your links, or whatever it is you use to stay in touch.

-Carrie

And just like that...

2011-05-04T18:23:00.000-05:00

...the semester is over. Well, almost. I'll give a final at 8 tomorrow morning, grade what's left to be graded, submit grades, and run far far away. Literally. First stop Minneapolis, second stop California, third stop Colorado. And I don't think I've ever been this happy to be done.

This semester has been working its way to a close for a while. I started the term with 4 sections (about 85 students). One class was an 8 week class, so that one finished mercifully early. Two other sections finished the week before Easter. And what's left is the one section that has been killing me slowly with its apathy.

I started this last section with 21 students, which means I gave one student permission to add the class. It goes without saying that she attended a grand total of 7 class periods and turned in nothing. She never dropped. Other students stopped attending and either dropped the class or kept their sad little names on my roster. I now have 15 students on the roster, which isn't bad for a spring semester, but depending upon what happens tomorrow in the final and who submits (and doesn't submit the final paper), I will most likely award 7 Fs. Nearly 50% of my students will fail the class. And the average attendance for those 7 Fs?

**hold on while I do some math**

36%. Those students attended 1/3 of the class periods. Out of 16 weeks of classes - 32 class periods - they attended, on average, 11 times.

What. The. Hell?

1. This class is not difficult. It's Comp I. It's easy if you actually show up to class and do the work. And, believe me, I had a couple students who loved showing up but didn't do any of the work.

2. This class isn't at 8am. It's at 9:30am. You should be able to drag yourself out of bed and come to class.

3. I have received no communication from these students. None. No emails, no voicemails, no office hour drop-ins. I have no idea where they have gone to or what their problems might be. I just know that there is one student on my roster I would not recognize if I saw him in the hallway. He attended 3 times.

The simple fact is that most of these students just don't care. They haven't thought about what the F will mean or what paying back the money will look like. The others have been consumed by life and the problems that fill it. They chose to focus on their lives and forget about school, which was probably a smart choice, but.....they didn't drop the class and will, therefore, earn an F.

It's just plain depressing.

-C

SOLSC Day 31+1: Reflection

2011-04-01T20:34:00.000-05:00

This marks the end of my third year participating in the Slice of Life Story Challenge. And once again I must reflect. In preparation for composing this post, I checked out my final posts from the previous two years. And I must say, I feel the same way I felt at that time. There were some days when it was hard to post, some days when I felt like all I had to say were negatives, but I do think I made an extra attempt this March to talk about teaching and to write longer, more detailed posts. That makes me happy.

It also makes me happy to see one consistent type of comment on my posts from fellow slicers about voice. If there's one thing I strive to do in all my writing is create a clear voice that expresses my sarcasm or my amazement or my horror or my regret. I've had to give a couple speeches this year at local elementary schools and middle schools and as I reread those speeches or anything else I've written, I hear that voice. I realize that I write everything as if I were going to read it aloud.

And, as I reread my posts from this month, I think that's one thing that I need to carry with me into the end of the semester and into the future: the importance of reading aloud. I've been doing that more in my classroom this term (even though I tend to say, "Oh, I should really read aloud and have them read aloud more," but then never do it as much as I should), and I like it.

I also appreciate each and every comment I received. They were so insightful, kind, and friendly. It's so wonderful to hear from fellow slicers wherever they might me. Those comments and reading the posts of others stay with me longer than anything I could ever hope to write.

Thank you. Thank you. And thank you.

I have you all listed on my Google reader, and I plan to continue reading your writing whether you post regularly or irregularly (as I am sure to do).

-C

SOLSC Day 31: Case Studies and Plagiarism

2011-03-31T18:59:00.000-05:00

Today the 7 students who showed up for class received nothing less than my best. And aside from learning something (and doing the reading to prepare for class - gasp!) they enjoyed it. Yes, they did. Today we talked all things plagiarism.

I love this day of each term. I use case studies to illustrate different forms of plagiarism, and all are examples of things that students have done in my classroom, which basically means that I get to blow their minds with stories of plagiarizing students, examples of their plagiarized work, and my methods for figuring out the plagiarism. We begin with a brief survey. I ask the students to answer the following questions to gauge their understanding of plagiarism.

How would you define plagiarism?
Why do students plagiarize?
What are the consequences of plagiarism in college and in the real world?
Are there any situations in which the consequences of plagiarism are too harsh or too severe?

After they complete the survey, I ask them to read a rough draft and a final draft of an essay from a student. Then we discuss the differences between the two drafts.

Today, one student joked, "I think it's plagiarized." 5 minutes later she asked, "What grade did he get on this paper?"

"A zero," I quickly replied.

All of the students in the room gasped, and the girl who had correctly identified it as plagiarism said, "But I was only joking around!"

Then we worked on finding his source for the paper, talked about how much work it was for him to plagiarize when he could have just turned in the really bad rough draft and still received some points, and figured out how they would recognize the plagiarism in the essay. They couldn't stop talking! They felt like detectives searching to find the clues for a crime.

Then I opened up the case studies and read aloud each one to them. They were asked to identify where on the scale of "Atrocious to Could Be Worse" they would put each type of plagiarism, and we talked about the different types of plagiarism - copy paste from a paper mill, copy paste from a source without citation, thesaurus paraphrasing, self-plagiarism. We talked about the ethics of plagiarism - if you don't get caught, is it still plagiarism and how does that affect the other students in the class or at the institution?

Our parting conversation had to do with their ideas for avoiding plagiarism. I told them that we would be talking about ways to avoid plagiarism on Tuesday. I successfully made them all super paranoid about what they are citing. Felt like a perfect day to me!

-C

SOLSC Day 30: Book Club Confession

2011-03-30T22:10:00.000-05:00

Today when I got home from school, I immediately went to the deck and sat in the warm afternoon sun reading my book club book. I did not log on to my computer, did not open up my lesson plan book for tomorrow, did not make a single phone call, did not do laundry, did not do dishes, and did not turn on the television. In other words, I did not do the things I would normally do on a Wednesday afternoon. It was quite nice.

I needed to sit and read partly because book club meets on Friday and partly because I just didn't want to deal with anything more than reading. But I was not good. When I picked up the book, I was probably only 50 pages into the 300 I would need to finish. The book was fine, it had a plot, it had description, but....

After reading another 50 pages, I realized I just didn't care about the development of that plot. And knowing that I had read/listened to a book by the same author last month, I could see where this book was going to end up. So I did something I don't normally do - I skipped to the end and read the final 25 pages. I found out who the murderer was, why the sister had moved to Denver, what happened to the brother, and who killed the murderer. And then I still had the rest of the afternoon in the sun. I am as bad as my students are.

Now I just have to decide if I will confess this indiscretion to my book club on Friday. Tough call.

-C

SOLSC Day 29: Piles, Raisins, and Full Cups of Water

2011-03-29T11:28:00.001-05:00

I'm usually the only one up in my house in the morning, and I actually prefer it that way. I can go about my morning, take my time, and focus on doing the things that make me happy. It helps that every night before I go to bed I pick out my clothes (thanks, mom!), hang them up to remove some wrinkles or iron if needed, set up my coffee pot to brew, put my bag of school stuff together (folders, papers, lesson plan book, office keys). Therefore, my mornings aren't rushed. I can take time to sit, drink coffee, and check my email if I want to. I can stand in the kitchen and watch the cardinals eat out of my birdfeeder. I really like the morning.

This morning, my husband for some insane reason decided he wasn't tired anymore and got up. If I was him, I would have stayed in bed for hours. So while he was in the shower, I got ready.

I love him..I really do....but.....

I had to navigate his pile of clothes just to get to the kitchen. For some reason, he loves to pile his clothes up along side of the bed, at the foot of the bed, and in the hallway (which is what I encountered this morning). Yes, when he came to bed he simply dropped all of his clothes off in the hallway 15 feet from the bedroom. Literally dropped them. His belt was still on his pants and that belt was still tight. It almost looks as if he simply disappeared and all that was left was a pile of clothes. I'm convinced that if he could he would live in a home without closets - all the clothes would instead be kept on the floor. And he, according to some divine wisdom only he has been given by the patron saint of all things clothing, would be the one who can determine whether that item in that pile in that area of the room is clean, too dirty, or wearable.

He also thinks that raisin bran or rather the Post company is conspiring against him to give him too much fiber in his diet. Therefore, when he eats his Raisin Bran in the morning he plucks out the extra raisins - seriously, he thinks that "2 Scoops of raisins" is a horrible thing. He would prefer 1 scoop or if he's feeling particularly racy 1 1/2 scoops. So he keeps those extra raisins in a tupperware on the counter for me. And that's why I was able to make raisin bread this weekend.

And the latest thing that makes me crazy are the full cups of water he leaves around the house. Now I no longer just have to dodge piles of clothing on the floor, but I have to be careful where and how wide I swing my arms, legs, and bag because I just might hit a full glass of water and send it sloshing all over the carpet. I've said it before, but sometimes I feel like we're preparing for alien invasion. If you haven't seen the movie Signs, one of the characters leaves full cups of water all over the house because (spoiler alert) apparently the aliens are allergic to water. While I am happy he gets so much water in his diet - he gave up alcohol for water - the full cups make me quite insane.

I suppose it's a good thing he doesn't blog - I would hate to see what he would say about me.

-C

SOLSC Day 28: Teeth

2011-03-28T19:47:00.000-05:00

I'm kind of neurotic about my teeth. While I prefer to think of it as perceptive or "in-touch with how my teeth are doing," my husband thinks I'm just crazy. I'm always worrying that I have cavities or that I need major work. I don't know why I think this, but I've learned that when I go to the dentist, if I think something is wrong with them, they'll always be fine.

Last spring, I went to the dentist because my teeth hurt, well actually my jaw hurt. The dentist x-rayed them and then tapped every tooth with some kind of sadistic metal tool. Yes, then they hurt. She then told me that there was nothing wrong with my teeth and that my allergies were affecting my sinuses which were, in turn, triggering a nerve that runs very close to my teeth. Yet another reason why I should always take my allergy pills.

So today when I had my 6 month cleaning, I thought, "Hey, my teeth feel fine!" I should have known.

The hygienist, who after hours moonlights as a masochist complete with her own set of torture devises, cleaned my teeth and actually complimented me on how well I was taking care of my teeth. "It's because I just love my toothpaste," I replied. "It's just so minty!" And I was being honest; I actually enjoy brushing my teeth with this stuff. It is the best toothpaste on the planet. I'm sure of it. I was prepared for the quick visit from my dentist for a once over and then I could put my coat back on and walk back up the hill home.

But when the dentist came in she said, "So.....do you have a toothache?"

"Uh, no. I mean, nothing out of the ordinary allergy ache. Why? Should I have a toothache?" but as I asked the question I knew I should have a toothache if she, the expert who had already looked at my x-rays, was asking.

"Are you sure you don't? Upper right?" she asked.

"Oh crap," I said. "What's wrong?"

"Well, it looks like one of your fillings slipped which left a gap and stuff has worked its way up there and now you have a cavity there. I think it's on the root. I'm sorry."

Ugh. So after some discussion, I now have another appointment scheduled for next week to take care of the cavity, which I am quite positive will entail a root canal. Of course.

I should know better than to assume that things are okay. It works out better for me if I anticipate the worst.

-C

SOLSC Day 27: Night and Day

2011-03-27T21:50:00.000-05:00

At least once a week, I remark to two of my classes that they are like night and day. One class has great attendance, always does the work assigned to the best of their ability, participates, asks good questions, and writes with maturity. The other class has spotty attendance, is oftentimes hard to rein in, doesn't generally do the work assigned or stops after the introductory paragraph because (they claim) they weren't sure how to proceed, and writes, well, like the remedial students they are. While the course titles are the same and the content is the same and my expectations are the same, there is at least a 15% difference in the grades the students are receiving.

I just finished reading rough drafts for class #1. They were almost all complete drafts, and I had little to say regarding structure or content. It's obvious to me that these students spent the time they needed to spend while writing. Class #2 is a completely different story. Most wrote only the first page and then stopped. And I can't even bring myself to tackle the remaining drafts. I'm tempted to put them off and read them tomorrow morning....never a good thing.

But instead I will spend the next 30 minutes writing my lesson plan for tomorrow and then go back to those stubborn "rough rough rough drafts." At least I can be excited about tomorrow's lesson: the Re-Definition Essay. I'm going to start with this video, this video, and this video, but I'm going to have to give them fair warning that the videos they will be watching are not suitable for all audiences. Should prove to be very interesting.

-C

SOLSC Day 26: Things I'm doing instead of grading

2011-03-26T14:56:00.000-05:00

Elizabeth just emailed me and told me she was practicing Grading Avoidance a bit today, and I realized that I was as well. I'm really doing many things other than grading, but then again I don't know a single teacher (except for this one sociology prof I work with who gets everything done right away - I think it's because he used to work for the CIA in Morocco - true story) who is always on the ball and doesn't procrastinate. I can always seem to find a million other things to do instead of tackling that real or virtual stack of papers, journals, and participation assignments.

Today, this is what my Grading Avoidance looks like:

one load of whites (oh, crap, I'm out of bleach)
dishes
kitchen dancing to Bob Dylan, The Script, Linda Ronstadt, Mika, and All-American Rejects
one load of darks
futzing with the coffee pot
email checking and responding
Googled the PBS Ferret thing I watched last night to make sure I wasn't dreaming - seriously, if it's on your PBS station you must watch it
more kitchen dancing to VHS or Beta, Dashboard Confessional, Alan Semerdijan (one of my fellow AP readers), Carbon Leaf, The Smiths, The Walkmen, Angels & Airwaves, and Caroline Smith and the Goodnight Sleeps
wandering around in circles around the house
making a loaf of raisin bread to use up all of the raisins my husband takes out of his raisin bran because "there are too many raisins in two-scoops of raisins"
updating my computer software
one more bit of kitchen dancing to U2, Joey Ryan, and The Decemberists
staring at the wall, ceiling, counters, and out the window
looking at pictures from my trips to Scotland, Israel, and Ukraine
searching for plane tickets to CA in May
checking the bread dough to see if it's rising
more email checking
posting this
thinking I just might open those essays now....

-C

SOLSC Day 25: Excused Absence

2011-03-25T21:49:00.000-05:00

I seem to spend quite a bit of time talking with my colleagues about attendance policies. And everyone has his or her own way of approaching attendance at the college level, that is unless the institution has adopted an official policy. I've had the same attendance policy for nearly 11 years and it reads as follows: In this course there is no such thing as an excused or unexcused absence, for whatever reason. If you are not in class, you are simply not in class, and you will not receive participation points. If you are absent, you are responsible for asking for any handouts you missed when you come back to class.

I have this policy because, frankly, I really don't want to know why a student isn't in class (the gory details - real or fake - are just unnecessary) and I do not want to keep track of different types of absences or how many excused and unexcused absences a student has. I treat all absences the same because who am I to judge what is and isn't a valid excuse?

I give the example in class about animals or pets. I do not have animals in my home; I have never had animals in my home. In fact, I don't care for animals much. But, perhaps, you like animals and you treat them as if they were members of your family. If you had to miss class because your dog needed to be taken to the vet, that might be equal to someone having to take a child or family member to the doctor. And because I don't want to determine what is and isn't a valid excuse, absences will all be treated the same.

This "you're either in class and participating or you're absent and unable to participate" works for me. And I give participation points every day for valid participation in class - if a student decides to sleep in class, they may be "attending" but he or she will not receive full participation points. And, really, if a student had to skip class because of illness (real flu or bottle flu), in the grand scheme of things loss of those points isn't going to hurt a student. Now if a student skips 6 weeks of class, that's another story but one I address on my syllabus as well.

Despite this "policy," students still want to tell me why they will be gone or why they were gone or why they couldn't finish a paper. I still hear stories about the flu, the hospital, death, state wrestling tournaments, 21st birthday parties gone wrong, and break-ups. And students always try to hand me doctor's notes that they assume I want to put in some magic file somewhere. But the last thing I need is more paper, so I nod and tell each student, "I don't need to see that."

Generally, this policy cuts down on the lying. My colleagues, however, still share with me some of the more interesting excuses they receive. One the other day involved a break-in at a student's apartment. The thief, apparently, stole the student's computer, flash drive, assignment sheets, handwritten rough drafts, textbook, but managed to leave the rubric behind.

Legitimate or not, I was reminded of my own "excuse story" from graduate school. It must have been my second or third semester in grad school because I was taking a horrible horrible class on the Religious Poets or something like that. We had been asked to write a 15-20 page seminar paper about one of the poets, and, of course, all of the sources I would need could only be found in books that no one in their right mind had opened in years. So I dragged myself to the library in a timely fashion and checked out the books I needed. It amounted to 8 or 10 heavy texts. And I carried them around with me for a while, taking notes and drafting my essay.

Then one night after a writer's bloc, I headed over to a fellow grad student's apartment. I ended up staying there for the night, but because I wasn't anticipating staying over, I left my bag in my car.

When I woke up the next morning, ready to head back to my own apartment to shower and get ready for school, I discovered that my car windows had been smashed and my backpack which contained all of my library books and wallet had been stolen. I then checked my cell phone and discovered that I had been receiving phone calls from my roommate and the police wondering if I had been kidnapped and left in a ditch.

Everyone was concerned because a) the police had stopped some very drunk guys in a van who were in possession of my backpack and wallet, b) the police had then called my apartment looking for me and my roommate told them where I was, c) the police then went to that location and discovered my vehicle with its windows smashed, d) the police tried calling the apartment I was "supposedly" in and received no answer, e) the police came to the door but no one woke up to answer the door, and f) the police, therefore, assumed that these drunk guys had kidnapped me and killed me. I should mention that these are the same police who years later pointed their guns at my husband, put him in handcuffs, and then threw him in the back of a police vehicle while he was at a pastor's convention.

So I had to tell my professor that my library books had been taken hostage by the local police and wouldn't be released for a week. It was probably the best excuse I had ever given, and it was entirely true.

-C

SOLSC Day 24: Anger or Best Not to Post While Angry

2011-03-24T20:22:00.000-05:00

Yesterday was not a good day in my second class. In fact, it was downright ugly. I'd love to blame it on a grey, rainy day. I'd love to blame it on a southern wind. I'd love to blame it on the lack of sunshine. I'd love to blame it on the fact that spring semester just generally sucks. But, in reality, the blame has to fall on a select group of students in my class and on me for letting my anger overflow.

Yesterday a small group of students decided to talk throughout the class - while others were working, while I was talking, while others were answering and asking questions. I had tried standing by them to force them to be quiet, but as soon as I walked back to the front of the room to open a new document on the screen or show them a different website, they would start again. So I would head back there and hover and ask them if they understood what they were supposed to be doing.

And then when one student was answering a question (after raising his hand, no less) and then asking me a follow-up question, they started talking again. And I began answering his question, but I stopped mid sentence, and I stared (if you ask the people in class, they would probably say I glared) at them.

Then I asked the question I had been not wanting to ask: "Is there a problem? There must be a problem or you must want to ask me something because you have been talking. throughout. the. entire. class. And I'm sick of this crap."

One of the group smiled, and my response was not good. I said, "If you think I am only talking to the other two people sitting there, you are gravely mistaken. I am talking to you, too." And she stopped smiling.

And then I apologized: "I am sorry. I am sorry that it has taken me this many weeks to stop this nonsense. It has gotten to the point where you are making me angry, and you are affecting the learning of others in the class. I hate this. I hate getting angry. But I refuse to put up with this any more. Enough texting, enough talking. If you don't want to pass this class, that's your choice."

And then I turned around. The first thought that ran through my head was, "I am done. I am done teaching. I am sick and tired of this. This is college, for pete's sake!"

But I didn't. I gathered the handout I had been saving for the end of class, and I handed it out. Then I said, "Please read this handout carefully. There is more information here than you can handle right now."

And of course all of the other students who I was not angry at asked me questions about their own writing issues as I walked around the room - they wanted to make sure that I wasn't angry at them, too, I guess.

But I was still angry. And I hated it because I was still so angry that I was shaking.

And when I got home, I was no longer angry. Instead, I was filled with remorse that I had let that anger loose, but I couldn't post about it yesterday. It was still too fresh.

But now today I'm over it. And, perhaps, the reason I am okay about it has to do with the fact that I received a couple very sincere emails from those students apologizing for their disrespect. I replied to them, thanked them, and reminded them that I still want to help them succeed. That is, after all, my job.

SOLSC Day 23: What is up with all the burping?

2011-03-23T20:43:00.000-05:00

Seriously. Why is it that I seem to encounter all of these people (men, women, young, old) who seem to think that burping is quite appropriate for formal and informal settings? I have a student who consistently sits at the back of the classroom burping his way through an hour and 15 minute class period. And if he's not burping, he's making other strange sound effects with his mouth and throat. And when he's not making noises, he will sit and pick his ears. I'll be standing at the front of the room pointing at the screen or waving my arms enthusiastically while talking about how to structure a thesis or avoid a comma splice and I'll glance back at his row and there he will be, finger deep in his ear. He'll pick and squish and then, of course, inspect his latest find. And here's another thing I do not get: the poor girl who sits next to him does. not. react. She doesn't grimace or squirm or express her disapproval. In fact, her silence on this matter communicates, "You go, dude. Dig deeper! Burp louder! Heck, why not fart while you're at it." And it's all I can do not to puke right there at the front of the room when I see he's found another clump of earwax, which, I'm sure, is immediately wiped on his oh-so-hip skinny jeans or on the desk.

And it's not just this kid. When I play volleyball in the summer, I am treated to a variety of sounds coming from my teammates and from the opposing teams. And these are women, for pete's sake. Why is it completely acceptable to do this? Manners anyone?

I'm beginning to sound like my grandfather.....hey there, you kids, get off my lawn!

-C

SOLSC Day 22: Red Plastic Cups

2011-03-22T20:35:00.000-05:00

Three days a week I get in my car in the morning and drive 22 miles to school. This route takes me through the city, onto the highway, and into the small town where the college is located. It's an easy drive, and, if I leave home at just the right time, I can hit every green light before I get on the highway.

In those 22 miles, I go over a number of bridges. These bridges span the Cedar River or other small rivers that branch off of it and are typical highway bridges - nothing special. There is one bridge, however, that has gotten my attention. This bridge is near a state park. On one side are woods and ponds, and on the other is a large lake or just a wide part of the river and a chain link fence separating the bridge from a slight hill. This part had ice houses on it during the winter, and pretty soon I imagine I will see small boats out in the morning navigated by fishermen.

For months I had been driving over that bridge and I always took my eyes off the road in front of me to look at the ice, snow, and snowmobile tracks. There was nothing else to see.

But on Valentine's Day the bridge changed.

As I approached the bridge that morning something else caught my eye. In the chain link fence someone had filled in the gaps with red plastic cups (the ones my students use to play beer pong on the weekends). The cups spelled something. It read: ♥ U TY. At first I thought, "Oh, how nice, someone decided to litter in order to celebrate Valentine's Day. Well, happy Valentine's Day to you, too, Ty."

And that's when I saw the second thing on the side of the road.

A roadside cross.

And now every morning I drive to school, I check to see if the red plastic cup "love note" is still there along side the white cross with its faded plastic flowers.

-C

SOLSC Day 21: Student Tears or Why I should wait until the end of class to hand back papers

2011-03-21T16:15:00.001-05:00

I don't see much crying in my classrooms, but in the last 2 weeks I've had a couple students cry or sit in class on the verge of tears.

Two weeks ago I had a student I hadn't seen for weeks appear and then insist that she could catch up on everything she missed. I wasn't overly confident, and I told her that I was more concerned about how she was going to finish my class along with the three other classes she had been absent from. She explained what had been happening; none of it was pleasant. I told her that she needed to meet with her adviser to see if financial aid would even be awarded if she passed all of her classes - yes, the hole she was in was pretty deep. She again reminded me of all of the horrible things that had happened to her, and I told her that the federal government doesn't care what has happened to a student when their appeals have run out. That led to tears and hysterics. I apologized and said that I was just being realistic.

Let's just say that I don't do well with those things. Perhaps I'm jaded. While I understand the need to cry and I will comfort a student if I can, I tend to remain focused on what I need from the student in that situation. I will provide options, but I will not cave in.

This morning, however, I watched another student crumble at the beginning of class. I had just handed back graded essays, essays that had been submitted on Friday, essays they weren't expecting back from me this soon. Usually I take a week to get papers done, but this time I decided I would get a jump on it. This. Never. Happens. I was only handing back a dozen of the 40 or so I am planning to get, and they weren't spectacular. So at the beginning of class, I handed back the few I had for one section. The average score was an 82%, but this student received a 72%, which is a C-. The paper wasn't horrible - it had good bones - but there was no works cited page, the research wasn't explained or properly integrated into the essay, and, as a result, the paragraphs were underdeveloped. It could probably have used another round of proofreading, as well.

And as I moved around the room providing instruction for the first activity, this student looked up at me and said, "I am going to cry. Carrie can I go to the bathroom? I am crying." I didn't think he was serious at first, but then as I got closer to him I could see that he was indeed dabbing his eyes with his sweatshirt. But I still wasn't sure. I asked him, "What's wrong?" A student sitting next to him said, reassuringly, "Don't worry. A C- isn't bad." And after 2 more minutes of him fanning his face, rubbing his eyes, and focusing a bit more on the task at hand, he was done crying.

This is why I usually wait to hand back papers until the end of class - sometimes they need time to process and during class isn't the best time to deal with the grade and comments I've written on the essay.

-C

SOLSC Day 20: The only thing

2011-03-20T21:26:00.000-05:00

Yesterday evening I went back and read blog posts I had made during the first two or three years that I started this blog, and I was reminded again why I am not a regular writer. I don't particularly enjoy rereading my past. This is why every journal or diary I ever kept no longer exists. Posting here is much easier than writing something down on paper. Paper seems more permanent, and, for some reason, it's easier to dispose of the evidence when I write on paper even though the reality of disposing of my writing here would be as easy as hitting delete. But I don't delete here. I keep it up and out there as a reminder.

Perhaps the reason I do not delete my posts has to do with the idea that it's not private - there's always a chance that someone else will read or has read it. And, therefore, it stays.

But really there are some things that should be written on paper instead.

And so yesterday I opened up a notebook and wrote one sentence: The only thing stopping you from writing is the starting.

And that was enough.

-C

SOLSC Day 19: Use a person's name. Repeat.

2011-03-19T19:52:00.000-05:00

Aside from The New Yorker, The Sun, and Everyday Food, I also subscribe to Real Simple magazine. And today, now that I have a functioning mailbox - it may look ridiculous, but it works - I actually received mail. This mail included the most recent Real Simple. I tend to read it in bits and pieces. I'll start it, get up and do something productive like do the dishes, fold some laundry, go to the grocery, grade some papers, and then pick it up again a couple hours later. This afternoon when I picked it back up again I opened to an article entitled, "5 Ways to Make a Great First Impression," and stopped when I read number 3. It reads:

Use a person's name. Repeat.

People love to hear their own names. It makes them feel special, like you're attuned to them.

And my first thought was, "Yuck. I hate it when people do that."

I have been a part of conversations with people who constantly use my name. The person seems to start every sentence with my name, and while that might be a great way to make a first impression and actually learn the person's name, after a while it just plain creeps me out. Especially when I know the person and have known that person for a while. but I get creeped out even when it's someone I've just met. To hear my name repeated over and over again seems so strange and awkward. It almost loses meaning - in the same way that typing or writing the same word over and over again begins to look wrong.

In reality, I don't hear my name that often in a day. My students call me by my first name (some seem to enjoy singing my name in place of Sherry from the song "Sherry, Baby"), but most don't use it that often...maybe once or twice a class period I'll hear my name. My husband rarely calls me by my name, and if he does it's just weird, but I know he wants my attention when he says it. My mother never calls me by name; she prefers to call me by a nickname that is not really a word in English. And other friends either call me by my first and last name all at once as if it were one word, or they call me by my last name only. It's just that kind of last name, I suppose.

I can go along with some of the other information in this section of the article. It says, "Learn the names of other folks' spouses, children, and pets, too, then mention them in a follow-up email or conversation. Asking, say, 'Did Madison choose a college yet?' or 'Is Hal's tennis elbow still acting up?' will go a long way toward solidifying an initial positive impression."

While I get the gist of what's being said here, I do have to draw the line at Hal's tennis elbow. I mean, really, who is writing/reading this stuff?

-C

SOLSC Day 18: Alzheimer's

2011-03-18T20:07:00.000-05:00

Things do not sneak up on me - appointments, meetings, due dates, tasks - I do not keep a schedule on paper or online. I always remember. I remember word-for-word most of what I read in student essays, and if I say or hear something once, I can usually repeat it hours or even days later. I remember the mundane as much as I remember the important.

But memory is a tricky thing, a mysterious thing.

I do not recall most of my childhood, almost all of high school, and much of college. There is much I choose to forget not because it was traumatic or terrible, but because it was the same day in and day out.

I do, however, remember sitting on my grandparents' back porch reading through my grandfather's genealogy book, tracing the lines, discovering names and dates. And I remember the simple fact that the majority of my grandfather's relatives, aunts and uncles and cousins, had Alzheimer's or dementia before they died. I also remember visiting my great-grandmother in a not-so-pleasant nursing home where she, too, was living with Alzheimer's. She did not know me, she did not entirely know my grandfather, nor did she know my mother.

Months ago my book club selected Still Alice for our monthly book. I picked it up at Barnes and Noble not knowing what it was even about, which is pretty typical. After I got the book home, I sat down to read. After a few chapters I had to put it down and walk away for a bit. It's a hard book, but what complicated my reading was the knowledge that my grandfather had recently been exhibiting signs of Alzheimer's. The first person account of Alice's experience with early onset Alzheimer's terrified me. Scenes where she would go to her classroom to teach and end up re-teaching material or where she would sit in the classroom like a student because she didn't know she was the teacher terrified me. I picked the book up again, but couldn't finish. I knew how it would end or perhaps I didn't want to know how it would end for her. Or for my grandfather. Or for me.

Last semester in my Literature class I assigned the following poem entitled "Alzheimer's" by Bob Hicok to begin a class period for their "First 10" writing prompt that they would do for the first 10 minutes of each class period. And it was a struggle for me to even talk about the poem after they were done writing. Rarely does that happen. But I was so tied to the topic, to the description, to the feeling of the poem.

And today, for some reason, this was what I could not help but think of. One memory tied to the next, tied to the next, forming a circle, and stopping here for the time being.

-C

SOLSC Day 17: Post-Its

2011-03-17T18:30:00.000-05:00

I oftentimes joke with my students that the only true perk of being a teacher is access to all of the paper clips and post-its I would ever need or want in my life. After all, school supplies are near and dear to most teachers' hearts. I don't know a single teacher who doesn't get a little excited about a trip to Staples or wherever to look at pens, pencils, and paper. And even though I teach college writing, I always have crayons, construction paper, sets of markers, and glue on hand for some kind of project. It seems that when I break out markers and paper for students, they all oooh and aaaahhh just a bit whether the student is 18 or 65. It's new, it's different, and it's a comforting sight that causes them to take a trip back to 1st grade. And it's a million times more interesting than opening up a Word document on the computer to type another enthymeme or introduction.

Last spring on a trip to Wal-Mart I discovered small whiteboards with markers and erasers attached to the marker cap. I thought, "This would be perfect for class!" and so I bought 7 of them. They were about $2 a piece. I used them in my Intro to Lit class last semester to gather brainstorming, to show answers kind of like a game show for the review session they did in small groups in preparation for their second exam, and to generate tentative thesis statements for their literary analysis papers. I love those things. All 7 fit perfectly in a reusable grocery bag. And I always find it fun to see what they doodled on the surface when I collect them at the end of the period. One group seemed to like to draw cartoon people, another liked to draw helicopters and tanks shooting things (they were high school boys, of course), and another group always drew hearts and flowers with an "I love Carrie" somewhere. Funny stuff.

Post-Its are, by far, the most useful school supply I have, however. Each semester, I stock up on the most brightly colored Post-Its I can find. Some days when students arrive in class, they find a Post-It at their spot so I can gather immediate feedback or give them a short quiz. Other times I will hand a Post-It to a small group and have them write a thesis on it. I use them for peer review and workshop, as well. When we workshop, they will pass around a peer's work and then when they are done writing a comment on a Post-It, they will stick the Post-It on the whiteboard at the front of the room under the person's name. It's a great visual so I know how many comments each person has so far. At midterm, I use it for a midterm assessment. I will hand each student a red, a green, and a blue or yellow Post-It. Then I ask them to write a concern or a critique of the course on the red one, a positive or a piece of praise on the green one, and a question that they want me to answer on the blue or yellow one. As they leave for the day, they stick the Post-It on the board. Post-Its are perfect for me because they can only write so much (I'm forcing them to be concise), and when I gather them up at the end of the class period, I can just stick them on my folder or whatever for the course. I rarely lose them because they are so sticky.

Yesterday at the beginning of class I handed out a Post-It to each student. Then on the board I wrote: "What do you need?" I prompted them to address the things they still need to know in order to complete the paper they are currently working on. We've reached a point where I need to know what they don't know and what they need more help with. I felt that what I had on the schedule for Friday wasn't going to be what they needed; we'd already covered it enough. And for one class, I knew that their answer would be "Time." They just need the time to work, so that's what I planned to give them. I just needed to hear them ask for it.

And since they are currently working on a proposal (problem/solution) argument, at the end of class I asked them to make an oral proposal and support their argument with valid reasons. I said, "You guys think I should cancel your class on Friday. Let's hear your argument." And you wouldn't believe the number of hands that shot up with pretty decent rationale. So, I said, "Okay. We will not have a formal class on Friday. I will be in the classroom during our class time if you want to stop by and conference or chat about your writing. But I want you to know that I'm not canceling the other class. I'd rather you don't tell them I canceled your section, but if you must tell them, I can't stop you. I know that you guys are on the right track for this paper. The other class....well...not so much. So, I guess I'll see you guys on Monday."

And there was much cheering and clapping.

-C

SOLSC Day 16: Criminal Behavior

2011-03-16T22:39:00.000-05:00

My aunt sent me a text message today that included a picture of my mother reclining on a beach chair in the Arizona sun. And I was a bit jealous. I miss those spring breaks with my mom and aunt and grandparents. I never participated in one of those "Spriiiing Breeeeaaaak!" spring breaks. Instead I would spend one lovely week a year with my mom and aunt in Arizona. We would hike, swim, fall asleep by the pool, play golf or bocce, cook dinner, and walk or bike in endless circles through the neighborhood. It was perfect.

And this year I'm missing it yet again. But that's okay because I know that the two of them are wreaking havoc on their own. They've become criminals in their 50s, which is not to say that they weren't criminals in their teens or 20s, but for some reason it's all the more interesting now that they are in their 50s.

They have decided to make it their mission to sneak into a hotel swimming pool in every state in the US. So far I know they have North Carolina (some hotel at the Biltmore) and Missouri (some pool at a hotel that's a castle in Branson), but those are just the ones I know about. They go to these places, sometimes they sneak onto the property and other times they are eating dinner in the restaurant, and they will either change into their swimsuits in the car or if they are feeling really adventurous they will wear their swimsuits underneath their dinner dresses. I find it hilarious, but my grandmother (their mother) is horrified. Really, though, I'm surprised my grandmother hasn't caved in and joined them in their rebellion. I do hope that at some point I get a call from the police asking me to come and pick up my mother from jail.

I guess I should be happy they are wearing swimsuits at all....but you never know.

-C

SOLSC Day 15: Things My Students Say

2011-03-15T19:31:00.000-05:00

Oftentimes when my students say funny or odd or random things in class, I tell them, "You do realize that when you say funny things to me, I will go home and tell my husband, right?" or "That sounds like it would be the perfect status update for my Facebook page." Most of the time when they say something funny, I will immediately grab my pen and write it down so I don't forget. My lesson plan notebooks have scribbled in little tidbits throughout. And sometimes those funny things end up here. And sometimes those funny things get repeated and repeated and repeated.

Here is a sampling of a couple random bits from class so far:

Now that it's tournament time, can we watch basketball in class?
You're acting awfully salty today, Carrie.
Hey, did you hear about the professor who had his students watch a live sex show?
How old do you have to be a sperm donor? Is it based on your IQ score or do you have to have a college degree?
Your haircut is really short. Did you mean to get it cut that short?
Hey, I learned another new way to fist-bump....do you want to see?
Ah, you're killing me, Smalls.
Did you know I'm partly deaf? You didn't? Well, I am.
I wasn't in class last week because I was really sick. Believe me, you don't want to know the details....let's just say that it was really good that I got sick while I was in the shower....if you know what I mean.
Did you hear that so-and-so got in a fight this weekend? Yeah, she had that big cut on her head because she punched some other girl in the parking lot.
I GOT A 94 ON MY TEST!!!!! (accompanied by a little dance)

And the most random thing one of my students said to me lately confused me a bit partly because of the way it was worded and partly because it came out of left field.

J said, "You do know that you're a black teacher, right?"

I replied, "Um, what? I have never heard that, and I have no idea what you mean."

"You like black people," J explained. "That's why you have so many black kids in your class. That's why I'm here now and that's why I was in your class last semester. The adviser who helps the black kids tells them which teachers like us the most."

"Okay. So you're telling me that I have so many African-American students because I like teaching African-American students?" I asked.

"Haven't you been told that before?" interjected C.

"Uh, no. No one has ever told me that before. Or at least not like that," I said.

"Yeah," agreed J and C, "you're a black teacher."

And I guess it makes sense now that they tell me this. Last semester over 50% of my students were non-white students. And now this semester I have some of those same students plus other new students, and nearly 50% of my students come from diverse backgrounds.

But when she first told me I was "a black teacher," I immediately was reminded of a strange interaction I had in college as a student employee. I was working for the computer science department and had been put in charge of coordinating the arrival of 3 exchange students from Sweden. At that time, the only conversations I had with the 3 students was over email (we did have email then), but no pictures were sent. I secured classes, an apartment, and furniture for them, and on the day of their arrival I took a school vehicle up to the Minneapolis airport to pick them up. I had told them I would be waiting in international arrivals for them, and I told them I was short, had dark curly hair, and would be wearing a red winter coat. And I waited. For the longest time, no one came up to me, but then I realized that these 3 guys were kind of milling about. I thought, "Those must be my guys." So I approached them and asked them if they we were waiting for me. They were shocked. They expected to be greeted by a short, African-American girl in a red coat.

I suppose I should be glad that my students think of me as "a black teacher," but I'd rather be known as a teacher who likes working with all students.

-C

SOLSC Day 14: Two Spring Breaks

2011-03-14T20:47:00.000-05:00

This week I am starting my second spring break. Because I teach at two schools and those schools are on completely different schedules, I end up with one week where I have three days off and then two weeks later I have a week with two days off. At first it's a little annoying. I can't plan to be gone on a real spring break where sun and sand are on heavy rotation. I can't join my mom and aunt in Arizona. I can't disappear. But the more I think about it, the more I like it. Two weeks ago I loved having three days off. I could sleep a little bit later, go out to lunch with friends, or not leave the house at all.

And now this week I have two days off. As soon as class was done today, I was excited just knowing that tonight I could do whatever I wanted (why, oh, why, am I watching The Bachelor right now??) and tomorrow I can get up, drink coffee, go out to lunch, relax, and look forward to having Thursday off to do the same thing all over again.

-C

SOLSC Day 13: On Napping

2011-03-13T20:15:00.001-05:00

After I finished grading a stack of annotated bibliographies today (finally), I took a nap. While I was napping, my husband was watching television. And I've discovered recently that it's generally not a good idea to take a nap while certain things are on television in the background.

A couple weeks ago I fell asleep during the pre-Oscar red carpet. And as a result I had a dream about Ryan Seacrest. Because he was interviewing various celebrities during the red carpet portion of the show, he entered my dream. In that dream, he and I had a conversation about how it feels to be him. In the dream I asked him if he enjoyed his job. His reply, which he whispered, was "I'm lonely." I had to ask for him to repeat what he had said. He said it a little louder the second time. And then, well, I will not tell you what happened next because it's much too embarrassing. Let's just say that I do not have a crush on Ryan Seacrest despite what an analysis of this dream might tell me.

Today, however, Ryan Seacrest was not on television. Instead my dreams were infiltrated by James T. Kirk and The Search for Spock. Yes, my dream turned into a Star Trek movie. For some reason there was snow and lots of flying - the type of flying that involves flapping your arms.

I think I prefer falling asleep to football. For some reason that never enters my dreams.

-C

SOLSC Day 12: Sorry, Mom

2011-03-12T21:20:00.000-06:00

Saturday is the only day of the week that I try not to work. Last weekend was different; I spent all Saturday grading because I had just finished an 8 week class and needed to submit grades on Tuesday. But usually I don't grade, I don't check my school email (for the most part), I don't prep, and I try my best to avoid even thinking about school. I spend Saturdays in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and NPR. Or I do a load or two of laundry. Or I clean something. I might bake or cook. I might sort through the piles of mail and other papers that find their way to the dining room table. Sometimes I sleep until 11 and sometimes I get up at 8:30. If the weather was nice, I would sit on my deck and read. I usually don't leave the house unless I absolutely have to. I figure that this is the only day I have in the week that is mine to waste. And that's pretty much the case throughout most of the year.

I bring this up because my mother said something to me two weeks ago that has been bothering me every since. My mother lives in Madison, Wisconsin. She used to live on the east side, but when she remarried she moved downtown near Willy Street. She's not far from work, can bike every day, and can walk to the co-op or great restaurants. It's a great and extremely interesting neighborhood. Had I grown up in that neighborhood, I would be an altogether different person.

I had called my mother two weekends ago to ask her if she was enjoying all the press the city had been getting. She told me that she had gone down to see the protests. She went alone and left after an hour or so because it was making her uncomfortable - she didn't like being surrounded by people and was afraid something bad was going to happen because of the intensity of the situation. I get it. I would have wanted to check it out, too, but knowing my general aversion to large groups of people (yet another reason why I never really wanted to teach high school), I would have had to leave, too.

And then, after we talked about the politics of the protests, she said something I wasn't expecting. She spouted back some of the same words that I've heard on the news and read in the papers: teachers get summers off, so why do they deserve all these benefits?

And I wanted to remind her that

a) last summer was the first summer I didn't teach summer school and, yet, I still worked scoring AP exams in Kentucky and volunteered for 3 weeks in the Ukraine, which also means that I didn't get paid that summer,

b) most teachers I know don't get 3 months of summer off, don't get nights off, and don't get weekends off,

c) on any given day I just might put in 15 hours of work between grading, prepping, responding to emails, dealing with office stuff, and teaching, and

d) your daughter is a teacher or did you forget?

Yes, mom, I know this was the profession I chose. I know that the pay I get per hour sounds ridiculously high, but the reality is that I am only paid for the hours I am in the classroom and not the hours I put in outside of that classroom. If I did the math, mom, you would be horrified to discover how little I am actually paid.

Sorry, mom, but I think you might be misinformed.

-C

SOLSC Day 11: This is another picture I did not take

2011-03-11T18:28:00.001-06:00

For last year's SOLSC, my first post was entitled, "This is a picture I did not take." The inspiration came from the site Unphotographable. I've used this site as part of a prompt in my classes for narrative writing. After viewing the site, I'll ask them to choose the story they want to tell and begin the story as if it is a photo they didn't have the opportunity to take; instead they must recreate this photo with their words.

That sentence starter is one that sticks in my mind. I thought of it this morning while driving to school. An eagle passed overhead, and I strained to watch it make its wide arc over the highway. On the way home this afternoon another eagle passed overhead. In my mind, it was the same eagle and had just moved further downstream. That was a picture I did not take.

But here is a photo, an actual photo, I did not take. I assume my grandmother took this photo because the three people in the picture are my grandfather with his ginormous yawn, my mother on the left, and my aunt on the right. I wish I had taken this photo.

Instead, I have this poem.

----------------------

This Is A Picture I Did Not Take

You are the off-centered picture

of what it means to be a father.

The shutter closes when you aren’t looking,

mid-yawn. Two girls on your lap

crowding the frame.

The one with the dark hair leans

arms at her side, smile just about ready to burst.

The other, blonde, round cheeks

reaches up smoothing a stray curl.

The phrase “brand spanking new”

brings you to the conclusion that

the world is shocking light, a slap, a cry,

evenings spent gasping breaths

of freshly washed hair, warm pajamas with feet,

books read aloud with the

sing-song voice of mothers everywhere.

You are the tucking in

the flick of the light switch

the softly closing door.

You are the one who stands,

just beyond the doorframe,

listening to the childish noises of the night.

-C

SOLSC Day 10: My mail carrier probably hates me

2011-03-10T16:33:00.000-06:00

The day before Christmas, someone hit our mailbox and sent it flying into the middle of our yard. I didn't see it happen. In fact, I didn't realize out mailbox was missing until later that afternoon when I looked out at the yard and wondered, "What's that 4x4 doing in the middle of the yard?" Before that, I recall looking out at the yard and thinking, "Wow, that snowdrift is so high that I can no longer see the mailbox." I just wasn't looking in the right place.

We live on a busy street. It's busy because people tend to use it as a short cut to get to the store and avoid the "main road" that runs parallel to it. And people love to speed on the street. The city put speed bumps in two different spots to keep people from speeding, but now they just speed up to the bump, slow down for the bump, speed to the next bump, slow down for the second bump, and then speed up again. The road is quite curvy, which is why I have seen tire tracks in people's yards in the winter.

I'd like to assume that the person who hit my mailbox wasn't someone driving drunk at 11am and, instead, didn't realize just how slippery the snow and ice happened to be at the time. I'd like to assume the person his a slippery spot and then slid (probably going 40) into the mailbox and then up into my yard. The person, of course, drove away. I imagine, however, that the 4x4 did some pretty good damage to the right front bumper and the hood.

This means that since Christmas, we have been wedging our mailbox in a snowdrift. Over the last weeks, that drift has gotten smaller. And the poor mail carrier probably had to learn further and further out of her mail truck to put the mail in the box.

And now that snowbank is completely gone. I had to stop the mail for the week in the hopes that at some point my husband will be able to go out there, dig a new hole, and put a new mailbox in. I do have my doubts, however. And I'm not sure what we're going to do when the mail starts delivery again on Saturday.

-C

SOLSC Day 9: Post-Game Press Conference

2011-03-09T14:22:00.000-06:00

I just can't talk about teaching today. I don't want to talk about teaching today. Instead, I think I need to talk about what happens when I'm not talking about teaching.

Football season is my favorite season of the year, and, therefore, we watch quite a bit of ESPN in our house. I find it's the most comforting thing to fall asleep to, and most of the time I find so much of the commentary hilarious.

Yesterday, for example, I was sorting laundry in the laundry room and my husband yelled to me, "Tiki Barber announced he's going to play again!"

I put down the laundry and ran into the room. "What?? You've got to be kidding me! How long has he been retired?"

"Just watch this," he said as he reversed the DVR to the beginning of PTI.

We sat and watched as Tony Kornheiser and Michael Wilbon called Tiki and Ronde Barber "The Winklevi" and then speculated on his abilities as a 36 year old (gasp) returning to the sport after 4 years in retirement.

We spend quite a bit of time talking about sports. We listen to Bill Simmon's podcast over breakfast. But sometimes it bleeds over into our interactions more than necessary.

Case in point: the other day after folding his laundry that had been accumulating for a month, my husband asked me if I wanted to interview him in a post-laundry folding conference. He was talking about those post-game press conferences where quarterbacks and coaches answer questions from the press. I, of course, obliged.

As the only member of the press, I sat on my chair in the kitchen and obediently waited for him to call on me so I might ask my questions. I think I managed to cover all of the important questions that the press might usually ask - "How did it feel when you realized that you had, in fact, folded all of the laundry?" "What was your training like as you prepared for this momentous event?" "What do you say to all the haters out there who didn't think that you could finish folding the laundry successfully?"

And after he was done fielding questions, I appropriately shouted his name as he exited the kitchen in an attempt to get him to answer one more question from the press.

-C

SOLSC Day 8 part 2

2011-03-08T23:12:00.000-06:00

Well, the response was finally sent. But it was sent after I received yet another email from the student asking if I had received the first email. That's just how it goes.

My reply was much longer than the version on the previous post.

The email I sent included the following:

a) Notification that I had received the first email and had called the adviser to see if a plan had been put in place and he indicated that he hadn't spoken with the student,
b) a list of all the missing work,
c) my concern about an attempt to come back and join a group that already had a solid rapport,
d) my concern about the fact that most assignments cannot be made up because they occur in class or have set due dates that have long passed, and
e) my concern that it wouldn't be realistic for the student to attempt to finish my class and the other 3 that the student is probably failing.

I ended with a request that the student meet with an adviser before attempting to meet with me to explore the reality of these choices. And now I will have to wait for the morning to see if there's a reply.

The more I think about this entire thing, the more I reflect, the more annoyed I get. And not at the student. I am annoyed with myself. Annoyed that I have yet again let this take over my day. As C. Rush noted in the comments on the previous post "I was taught by a wise education professor to ask myself "Who owns this problem?" when dealing with students. To be sure, YOU do not own this problem!" You and your wise education professor are exactly right. This is not my problem to own - this is a chance for a student to stand up and claim ownership.

I used to sit down with students who were failing, students who had disappeared or performed poorly, and were coming to try to plead their case or make excuses or ask for an incomplete. In our conversation I would show them all of the work that they didn't do, work they did with little effort or thought, and all of the information they missed. And I would tell that that they would be earning an F for the course. The student would earn an F. And I would ask the student to say it, to admit it to himself or herself, to acknowledge that he or she was the one who "worked" for that grade. I was not giving the grade to them; the grade had nothing to do with me.

I do not own this problem.

-C

SOLSC Day 8: Sometimes I just don't know how to respond

2011-03-08T18:23:00.000-06:00

Last week I sent out emails to all of the students who were failing one of my classes. And let me just say that it's a ridiculous number - nearly 50% of the class. Why are they failing? Is it because the material is too difficult? Is it because I'm so demanding? Is it because my expectations are unreasonable? Is it because the class starts at 9:30am? Maybe.

The real reason they are failing is because I haven't seen those students in weeks. They don't come to class. I often use the Woody Allen line with my students: "80% of success is showing up." But I usually explain that when you do show up, you also have to be engaged in what we are doing. I can't, however, make them show up.

The email I sent to them last week was as much notification as it was a warning. I told them they were currently failing the course because they hadn't been turning in assignments and/or they hadn't been attending. I suggested they withdraw from the course to avoid the F and, possibly, loss of their financial aid. And if they were hoping to still continue in the class, I told them they needed to contact me to set up a time to meet.

And I received one reply today. This email informed me of one student's current situation involving sickness, a death, and various other problems. The student also indicated that the adviser had told the student to email each teacher to explain the situation and ask for make-up work. The student also mentioned that he/she "had to complete the course and could not withdraw." Hmmmm. Something about it didn't sound right to me. An adviser probably wouldn't encourage a student to "just try to pass the class" especially when I know that the student is trying to get into a very competitive program at the school and a D or a C just won't cut it.

So I called the adviser.

He hadn't spoken to the student in quite a while.....like months.

I've spent the last 5 hours trying to decide how to respond to this email, and I think I've decided to simply say: I prefer to discuss this in person instead of over email. Please let me know when you might be able to meet. After I contacted your adviser, I would also suggest that you get in touch with him as soon as possible to discuss your academic situation.

But I'm still not happy with my response.

-C

SOLSC Day 7: Reading Aloud

2011-03-07T15:01:00.000-06:00

As a third grader, I can vividly remember my teacher reading aloud to the class from chapter books. While I can't remember any of the books we heard, I do remember loving every minute of it. It seemed like such a treat to listen to her voice as she shared each story.

I still love listening to books read aloud. Because I spend so much time in the car driving to school, I check out books on cd from the public library or download them to my iPod and listen to a chapter or two each morning and afternoon.

I know my students enjoy it when I read aloud to them, too. Even though they range in age from 18 to 65, they will sit with rapt attention whenever I read an article, short story, poem, or piece of their own writing to them. I like to think they appreciate the tone that is expressed; they seem to understand the writing much better if they can hear it. And I'll admit that sometimes I read aloud instead of wasting money photocopying information, but I also choose to read aloud to them when I know that I have a class with students who read at different paces.

However, the worst thing I can do to them, in their opinion, is to make them read aloud to each other. And that's what I did this morning. In two of my classes we are starting the Proposal Argument, and to begin I selected 3 pieces of writing to illustrate a problem, solutions to that problem, reasons the solution might have been implemented, and possible counterarguments to the solution. I've used these 3 pieces before, but I continue to use them because they give them something to talk about.

Piece #1: Are Your Jeans Sagging? Go Directly to Jail.
Piece #2: Class Dismissed
Piece #3: A Modest Proposal and accompanying video (beware: the video has some profanity)

In the first class, I had them read silently in pairs pieces #1 and #2 and then, because the Swift piece has challenging language, I had them read it aloud with their partners. In the second class, a group of very slow readers, I had them read pieces #1 and #2 aloud in pairs, and then silently read #3. And I have to say that the students who read #1 and #2 aloud really understood them. They could articulate the problems, solutions, reasons, and counterarguments much better than the class that had only read #3 aloud.

The other thing that truly surprises me is their reaction to me asking them to read aloud. Aside from comments like, "Oh, man! Why do you always choose such long articles??" they always do what I tell them to do. And as I stand in the classroom, I sometimes look around at them reading or writing or whatever, and I am shocked that they actually do what I ask them to do.

They never question it; they always figure that it will all make sense eventually. For example, on Valentine's Day we were focusing on causes and effects, so I had them read about the causes of love and the negative effects of Valentine's Day. They read a piece about how our brains decide what love is, and then they read a piece about the negative effects Valentine's Day has on Ecuadorian flower/rose workers. One student commented, "I have no idea where you are going with this, but it seems like you've done it before, and I fully expect by the end of the class period that it will all make sense."

I guess it helps that they know I always have a plan. It's always a surprise to see how we'll get there.

-C

SOLSC Day 6: Outbursts and Restless Legs

2011-03-06T20:13:00.000-06:00

As some of you know, my husband is a pastor, so every Sunday he's kind of busy. He serves two churches: one is a city church and one is a rural church. I usually go to the city church because it's right next door to the house. Neither church is big, and as is typical of most midwestern, traditional churches, there's not much action that occurs during church aside from the usual stand-up-sit-down-sing type thing. And I'm comfortable with that. I'm not much of a contemporary worship type person; it just makes me uncomfortable. We don't even "pass the peace" in our church. We're social, we chat, we like each other, but we just don't like to show it too much. Very News from Lake Wobegon.

But sometimes it gets interesting, and this morning was no exception.

Today the confirmands had a mini-examination where they had to go up to the front of church and answer questions. All normal so far.

And then in the middle of the sermon, my husband asked a question. It was a rhetorical question. But one of the confirmands was so into what he was saying from the pulpit that he shouted out his answer. "No!" he yelled. And everyone smiled, some chuckled to themselves, and I would have laughed out loud if I wasn't so surprised at the outburst.

This kid comes to church with his grandparents and his cousins and siblings. There's always movement on that side of the aisle when they are there. The little girls run in and out of church to use the bathroom. Others have to blow their noses or need a drink of water. It's almost always chaos, but sitting for so long makes people restless, and our pews are hard. Hard. As. Rocks. My butt falls asleep sometimes, and I look forward to standing after the sermon to get the pins and needles out.

Later in the sermon, out of the corner of my eye, I could see that the same kid had now taken his sweatshirt and pulled it up over his head like a hood of some sort. And I know that the woman sitting behind him took one look at the restlessness and had to hold back her laughter. All I can do is shake my head and be happy that their restlessness doesn't stop them from coming to church.

-C

SOLSC Day Five: Hair Lies

2011-03-05T12:10:00.000-06:00

My workstudy student told me the other day that everyone lies, on average, at least 10 times per day. At first I disagreed with that number because I really don't have reason to lie and I don't really consider myself a liar-liar-pants-on-fire, but the more I thought about it I decided that lies of exaggeration (Well done, so-and-so, I can tell you worked really hard on the revisions to this essay!) and lies of omission (Is her shirt on backwards? Should I tell her? Nah, she probably meant to wear it that way.) should probably count in that total. And, therefore, I am average as far as lying is concerned.

One lie that I've told consistently for years has been about my hair.

As you can see from my picture here, I have curly hair. And it's always been curly. I have never had a perm, but I did own a curling iron for those traumatic early teen years when I attempted, quite unsuccessfully, to curl my bangs every morning. So wrong. So so wrong.

I have never straightened my hair, and I never will. Partly because I don't want to waste my time in the morning dealing with my hair and mostly because I have no idea what I would do with my hair. I don't own a comb. I don't own a brush. I don't own any hair implements other than a hairdryer, and I never use it. It just sits at the back of the drawer in my bathroom waiting for the day when I might need it to quick dry something, I guess. I must be fairly low maintenance. I get up in the morning, put the coffee on, shower and wash my hair, wrap it in a towel for 5-10 minutes while I drink my coffee and check my email, towel it dry it, get dressed, put on the bare minimum of make-up, grab my stuff, and leave.

Most of my family (immediate and extended) on both sides has curly or very wavy hair. My mom, dad, 3 out of 4 grandparents, most of my aunts, uncles, and cousins have curly hair. Here's a picture of my grandmother with her hair perfectly curled. Her hair is still perfectly curled every day. And her hair is a thick, silvery, white.

The day before I turned 30 I discovered a hair on my head that wasn't brown. It wasn't grey. It wasn't slightly brown or even blonde. It was full-on white. Almost silver. And I freaked out and started looking for more. And, gasp, I found more. Why are those hairs always in the place you don't see them every day? You know, on the top of your head closer to the back where you don't ever look, but someone behind you in line at the bank might see and scrutinize? I had no idea how long they had been there.

And despite the fact that I keep finding more, I have yet to dye my hair or cover up those white hairs. I imagine that the girl who cuts my hair has to bite her tongue as she shampoos and cuts to keep from saying something about it. But I don't want to dye it. My mother dyed her hair for years and has since stopped. My grandmother, the one pictured above, dyed her hair black for years because she went completely white at the age of 35 (oh great - one more year to go to find out if I will also go completely white like she did). I just don't want the hassle and the expense. Essentially, I'm lazy and cheap.

And here is the the lie that I've always told about my hair: I have never dyed my hair.

That, my friends, is a lie.

I did dye it once. Once. I was a freshman in college, and as a result of the dye job I wore a hat for quite some time. The color was an auburn/red color, and my boyfriend at the time, who dyed my hair in his mother's kitchen, neglected to dye any of the spots at my hairline from my forehead to my ears. It was horrible....at least in my mind. There are no pictures, that I know of, of this dye job. I just don't want to dye my hair. I mean, I'm sure it would make it thick and lovely (that's what the commercials tell me), but I barely get a haircut on a regular basis, so why would I want to devote my time to this, as well.

Maybe I will change my mind some day, but until that day I'm going to keep telling people a new lie: The silver hairs on my head are just my natural highlights. Aren't they lovely?

-C

SOLSC Day Four: I know you don't like hugs, but...

2011-03-04T09:49:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was the last day of my 8-week writing class. It met two days a week for nearly three hours per day. And while it started out with 20 students, I ended up with 14 in the end. Those other 6 had problems attending and when one class period is the equivalent of one week of class, absences are unacceptable if you actually want to pass.

I've taught 8-week classes before during the summer and fall, and I usually enjoy the fast pace, the intensity, and the community that develops. This time, I must say, that the caliber of students taking the course wasn't as high; in reality, they chose to take the course because it meant they could get it done quickly. Most weren't prepared for the rigor required.

No matter their level, this class had a good time. They did their work, they participated (sometimes a little too much), one kid brought me a sandwich one day, one kid ordered pizza and had it delivered to class for all to share, one woman brought treats on Valentine's Day, and they really developed a great community in the classroom. At the end of class each day, I always found myself still in the classroom deep in conversation with a small group of them. So while I'm happy to be done with the class and some of the headaches they caused me, I'm kind of sad not to spend time with them.

During our last class period yesterday, they took their final exam. They had to write an argumentative essay using one of the 5 prompts I had written. They would randomly draw one of those prompts or they could get the "wild card" and pick which one they would write on. They all sat at their computers frantically typing away for the better part of an hour and a half. As they finished, they were free to go.

As some left, I called them up to my computer to show them what they still needed to submit before I had to have grades in. Or I would tell them that I had everything form them and they were free.

One woman, after I showed her her grade, handed me an envelope with my name on it and said, "I know you don't like hugs, but..." and I laughed and said, "I like hugs." And I gave her a big hug and told her I would see her around.

I waited until I got home to open the envelope and read the card. And it was so sweet and nice. She expressed her thanks for all the work I did to help her improve her writing skills and make her feel comfortable as a non-traditional student. She loved the class, she said, and really, who loves their college composition class? And she also included a nice little treat for me: a gift card to Panera.

Now I need to get those papers graded, submit grades, and send her (and probably the rest of that class) a thank you card for making those 8 weeks great.

-C

SOLSC Day Three: Straight Lines

2011-03-03T18:03:00.001-06:00

Straight lines give me problems. When I took my driver's test, the only points I had taken off were for the backing up part of exam. For some reason, when I tried to back up I just couldn't go straight. You might see this in action if you happen to be walking or driving by my house in the morning. I'll open the garage door, get in the car, start the engine, disengage the parking brake, put the car in reverse, and pull out. Inevitably the car heads too far to the left or too far to the right. Winter becomes even more of a challenge because the snow tends to drift on either side of the driveway turning a rather wide driveway into a narrow path. I can't tell you how many times I've backed up into a snow drift. My husband, however, thinks it's hilarious and will watch (he'd point and laugh if he wasn't such a swell guy) as I attempt the maneuver.

This is also why I don't sew. I am unable to sew in a straight line. My mother gave me her old sewing machine (as a joke?) when she bought a new one, and while I know how to thread the machine - quite a challenge in itself - I cannot for the life of me sew anything that requires a straight line. I like to think it has nothing to do with skill and everything to do with my complete lack of patience.

Yesterday, however, while home on winter break from one of my schools, instead of grading papers, I sewed something. And the reason I was able to succeed had to do with the fact that no straight lines were required, and it involved sewing by hand. I found the pattern online for free, and I had most of the supplies on hand. And what turned out isn't too bad, if I say so myself. I may have to make it a mate.

-C

SOLSC Day Two: Where Everybody Knows Your Name

2011-03-02T09:52:00.003-06:00

Nearly every semester I have my students watch Michael Wesch's video "A Vision of Students Today." And while it doesn't always really apply to my students (his students go to a large 4-year, research institution and mine to a community college or a private liberal arts college), they always respond quite strongly to what they see. They see the similarities and can relate to the students in the video.

This semester, however, I was a little disappointed by one student's response. No, she didn't respond negatively or complain that she "just didn't get it." Instead she focused on the section of the video from minute 1:34 to 1:38. In that section, a girl holds up a sign that reads "18% of my teachers know my name." And then she told me that of her 4 or 5 classes, I was the only teacher who knew her name. I read her response and I wanted to shout, "But this is a community college! Our classes are small! There's NO REASON the teacher shouldn't know your name!" But I get that same response from my students at the private college, a place where they pride themselves on being personal and welcoming.

I guess I just don't get it. How could you not want to know your students' names when you have fewer than 30 students in your class? I suppose many of her teachers lecture the whole time and do not interact with their students. I know of one teacher who seems to pride himself in the fact that he doesn't know his students' names and doesn't care who they are. Am I wrong to be this appalled?

I mean, knowing your students' names isn't necessary for learning, but it does help, right?

-C

SOLSC Day One: An Admission

2011-03-01T18:39:00.004-06:00

Somewhere in the back of my mind I have a short list entitled "Things I Enjoy Doing but Am Unwilling to Admit I Enjoy Doing," but for some reason today I feel like unburdening my conscience a bit. Some of these items from my list are mild and math related: 1. I enjoy figuring out my taxes, 2. I enjoy citing things in MLA format, and 3. I enjoy paying bills. But number four, well, I find it a bit embarrassing, and I only talk about it with people who get it , and oddly enough those people are usually men over 35.

Before this begins to get too weird, let me just say that number 4 on my list has to do with television. Growing up, my family didn't watch much television and we never had cable. I didn't actually have cable until I went to college and even then that was pretty much only my freshman year. When I lived in apartments with various friends, no one really ever wanted to pay for cable, so we made do with local programming or nothing at all. The year I lived alone, I had no cable and no tv of any kind. The first years I was married, same thing.

What I remember most about television as a child is implicitly tied to my father. His work took him away quite a bit, but when he was home on those summer days when I didn't have school, he would watch daytime television while he ate lunch. And, as a result, I am well-versed in the world of All My Children and Santa Barbara. For some reason, he enjoyed watching soap operas, and, therefore, so did I.

He also enjoyed a different type of show, a show I still watch to this day, a show that is on my list of things I usually don't admit to enjoying: Dr. Who.

I don't know what it is about this show that keeps me silent. Perhaps it's the fact that it's science fiction and involves strange talking robots and aliens. I also don't know what it is about this show that keeps me up late on Saturday nights watching episodes on PBS. I don't read sci-fi or fantasy. I don't particularly enjoy talking about anything related to sci-fi or fantasy, yet when the theme song comes on for each new episode, I am riveted.

And that is why, if I get out to New York to visit my brother this summer, I will most definitely make a trip to The Way Station in Brooklyn to see this. Even it is makes me a geek.

-C

7.

2011-02-10T18:15:00.002-06:00

I showed up to class a little early, which is pretty typical. And, as usual, there were 8 or so students already logged on and waiting for class to start, so I warned them of the firestorm to come.

"Guys, I just want to warn you that I've had it," I said.

They looked at me quizzically.

"I'm warning you now that when the late people show up to class, I'm not going to be able to hold it in anymore. I'm sick of it, and so are you. I can tell by the looks on your faces as the late people show up that you hate it just as much as I do."

One student asked, "Are you going to lock the door?"

"I can't," I replied, "but I wish I could."

And at 9:30am, I asked those who were seated to go online and open up the quiz for the day, and, as predicted, 5 minutes into the class, the first late person slouched in to class. And a minute later, another arrived. And then another. And another. And as each came in, I sighed, and said, "Class started at 9:30. You are late. Again." And when the one person walked into class 15 minutes late for class, everyone braced themselves, but I decided that I had already wasted 15 minutes reinstructing people to open the quiz and complete it. I would save my anger for the end of class.

And I proceeded to take them through the material, and I was nice. Until the 5 minutes before class was over.

As they returned to their seats from their group activity, I said, "A reminder for next week. Our class starts at 9:30. It has always started at 9:30. There are many of you who consistently arrive late to class. That. Has. Got. To. Stop. I cannot waste everyone's time yet again because many of you cannot get your crap together. Every day you are late, I mark you late or absent. You miss out on necessary information because you cannot arrive on time. I'm sick of it, and so are your classmates."

And not a one of those 7 late students apologized. Of course.

-C

Why does the winter seem so much worse?

2011-02-08T20:34:00.002-06:00

Every winter I find myself ready to throw my hands up in the air or banish an entire classroom full of students to any of the various levels of hell, whichever one will hurt the most. Winter semester begins and ends with apathy. I don't know if it's the fact that they've been through one semester and figured out what they can get away with or if they've just discovered what it means to have a social life. Or if their true colors just begin to reveal themselves at this time. Whatever the reason, they are making me tired.

A good percentage of my students fit into one or more of the following groups:

Students who think it's okay to show up 10-15 minutes late to class every day.
Students who skip classes so much that I don't really remember what they look like.
Students who are able to complete many assignments (poorly) online and do not come to class at all because, for some reason, they think this class has no face-to-face component.
Students who ask me when my office hours are and then do not take advantage of them opting instead to spend the hour talking on the phone.
Students who like to ask "what did i miss????? i was sick."
Students who don't come to class on peer review days for whatever reason but think that I really want to read their rough drafts anyway so they fill my inbox with bad drafts.
Students who begin their essays with a disclaimer: I wrote this paper an hour before class don't hold it against me. (Uh, too late, buddy.)
Students who sing, dance, clip their fingernails, and eat gross quantities of food in class.

And then there's the woman who, after missing 2 weeks of class, left class after I escorted the 6 students who had done their work for the day to another room to peer review, and ended up missing the next 2+ hours of class. But don't worry, she told the others in the room that she would see them on Thursday. I. Can't. Wait.

Sadly, these students really only represent ~20% of my students, but they are the ones who weigh on my brain and are giving me a headache. Why can't I just take my own advice and focus on the positive?

There are some great students in my classes....it's just that the horrible ones seem to take up the most space.

-C

I love it when a plan comes together

2010-11-17T18:38:00.003-06:00

My morning writing class is a challenge. First, it's a remedial English class. Second, it's full of students who belong in remedial English (with the exception of one extremely tall, sweet boy). Third, it's full of students who probably shouldn't be taking a class that starts before noon much less before 8, which is when it begins.

They're tired, crabby, and unprepared. They're the ones who say things like, "Are we getting out early?" or "Can we just take naps today?" or "How long are we going to meet today?" or "Are we doing anything fun today?" I find it annoying and usually don't respond at all. But today I had a plan, a plan specifically for them.

We're nearing the end of the semester, and since this is a remedial class we're revisiting high school type assignments. This last essay is a comparison/contrast essay, which is simple enough, but they're just so tired every morning that I needed to do something different. Something that fit with my lesson plans but was unexpected. Something just for them.

So we started by watching two videos:

>

and then:

They took notes and shared their lists of similarities and differences between these two videos on the board. For example, butt slapping and use of black and white film were similarities; costuming and genre were identified as differences.

Then we took a look at this video:

And then:

They brainstormed similarities and differences again on the board. After discussion, small groups picked one of the pairs of videos and drafted a thesis that identified a comparison or contrast focused thesis. And every single one of thesis statements were spot on. After reading one aloud, I looked at the two kids who wrote it and proclaimed my love for them and for everyone in class.

As a reward we watched The Jackson 5's "I Want You Back" and Jay Z's "Izzo (Hova)" to consider another example of an original piece and how it was sampled by an artist.

If every day they could be just as engaged with serious materials, my life would be quite a bit easier.

-C

-ing

2010-11-17T00:09:00.002-06:00

listening: the ticking of the clock on the wall in the kitchen
eating: dried cranberries
drinking: LaCroix grapefruit
wearing: yet another cardigan
feeling: tired
wanting: these last weeks to go by fast
needing: one weekend without grading
thinking: the 4.5 hours of sleep I'm going to get tonight won't be enough
enjoying: the news of a friend's engagement
wondering: why I'm still online when I should be in bed

Pseudo Celebrity

2010-11-06T20:49:00.003-05:00

I've become a celebrity at a local elementary school, which basically means that they schedule these readings and presentations and ask me to be the guest speaker. This year I'm scheduled for 3 events including an all school celebration assembly. This means I have to talk in front of 500 elementary school kids. Interesting.

This past month, I was their literacy evening speaker. So I did what I was told to do: I wrote a 10-15 minute speech about reading and literacy appropriate for parents. What I didn't know until I arrived was that those parents would have their children with them. And so the speech I wrote was almost entirely scrapped. Instead I stood in front of a gymnasium full of people who had all been there for 2 hours and had come to the school after a long day of work and life and talked for about 8 minutes. The result was fine; the principal loved it and the teachers and kids I talked to at the end loved it. I just didn't love it.

Therefore, in order to compensate for my inability to give the speech properly, you get it here in its entirety. All 2,756 words of it.

-C
----------------------------------

How I Became a Reader

About a week ago, I had to call my mother and ask her a question. The question had to do with you actually, with tonight, with reading. I wanted to ask her just how I became a reader. What magical thing did she do for me when I was young that gave me, as she put it, “an insatiable, unquenchable, desire to read”? Because really, I wasn’t sure. I tried hard to remember back over 30 years ago what it was like to read, how I felt about reading, why I read, and even what I read. I had no clue. Or at least nothing stood out; there was no single event that left its mark on me. All I could say for sure was that I didn’t remember a time when I wasn’t reading.

My mother paused on the other end of the phone when I asked her the question. “How did I become a reader?” And then she laughed. “Well, we were always just sticking a book in your face. From the time you were 6 months old until the time when you could hold the book on your own, we just kept shoving books in your face until you began reaching for them yourself.” So that is how it began; that is how I began.

I grew up in Duluth, Minnesota, on a street only blocks away from both sets of grandparents, down the street from my pre-school, around the corner from my elementary school, and 5 blocks from the nearest library. Both of my parents worked and my father traveled quite a bit, but both of my parents read to me. They read board books and picture books and fairy tales and had me find goldbug hidden in Richard Scarry’s intricate scenes. They read to me until I could form my own words, my own sentences, my own stories. Eventually I would hold a book in my own hands and tell my mother or my grandmother or my father the stories I imagined were written in these books. They would turn the pages and I would point out with my small voice exactly what I thought was happening in my stories. Because, they were, after all, my stories. And when my brother Clark was born, I became the reader and he became my audience. The two of us would sit in the sunroom off the kitchen and I would hold up the book for him. I would tell him my stories, pointing out the characters in the books, making it up as I went along. In this way, my reading and writing are intertwined. And, perhaps, the writing, albeit informal, came first.

On October 7^th of this year, The New York Times lead with a story entitled, “Picture Books No Longer a Staple for Children.” The article describes the pressure parents feel from schools and testing to push their very young children into reading early. However, literacy experts argue that picture books can be more complex than an early reader or a chapter book. Literacy experts argue that picture books help to develop the critical thinking skills that children need to begin reading and develop imagination. And I agree. I became a reader because of picture books, because of those first stories I saw unfold through images. I became a writer because of them, too – they allowed me to develop my own vocabulary, oftentimes a more challenging vocabulary than I might have found in regular books – and while my stories took shape in an oral form, they were stories nonetheless, stories I couldn’t help sharing with others.

My mother told me later in our conversation that she was a picky parent. She chose not to buy me every toy I wanted or every toy that the neighbor kids had. She thought it was a waste because eventually those things would lose their appeal, break and end up in the trash, or some small part would be lost forever. She chose the permanence of books instead. These treasures lasted longer and were toys I never grew tired of. They were passed on to my brother and many of them have made their way into my own home and sit on my shelves. And instead of toy stores, we visited libraries. We made the trek to the neighborhood library regularly to sit on the floor for storytime, and each time I was allowed to select books that caught my eye. Hauling home a bag of new books felt like receiving presents for my birthday once a week. And I would devour each one.

Eventually I moved on to bigger and longer books and I became that kid: the kid you see in television commercials or in film, the kid who huddles under covers past her bedtime with a flashlight trying as hard as she can to find out the ending. The kid who is constantly being reminded to turn out the light and go to bed. And even to this day when I find a book at the public library that captures my attention, you will find me on my deck reading until it’s too dark to see anymore or sitting in my car in a parking lot or in my driveway listening to the end of the chapter of a book on cd.

I have taken books everywhere. They came with me to boarding school, to college, to my first apartment, to Ireland and Scotland and Israel and Ukraine. A summer or two ago, my husband and I were on our annual trip to NYC visiting friends, and we found ourselves sitting at a table in Grand Central Station each with a book on our lap reading despite the noise around us. And when I finished the book, I went upstairs to the bookstore to see if they had the next book in children’s series The Mysterious Benedict Society because I just couldn’t bring myself to do anything before I found out what happened to the main characters next. These books have lasted longer than any toy or doll or game.

And oftentimes I find myself going back to the books of my past. Each spring, I reread The Secret Garden. This book captured my imagination as a child. The book is filled with mystery and secrets and to this day it still evokes in me a sense of wonder and elation to discover that one little girl with the help of friends could cause a garden to grow. And oftentimes as I’m driving to school as the sun rises, I am reminded of the images within that book. Burnett writes:

One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands alone and throws one's head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun.

And like those characters, I look at the world around me, these Iowa cornfields, bales of hay, and cows in the distance, and I, too, see the sky growing orange and red and purple and yellow all at once and I find myself choking back tears. Sometimes these books become my connection to the world.

But not everyone is a reader, which is not to say that everyone cannot be a reader. My mother also wanted me to know that. My parents are both readers, my father especially. My paternal grandmother is a reader. My aunts and uncles and most cousins are readers. My brother is two years younger than me, is a chef, and was given books from an early age, yet he would not call himself a reader. He would rather cook or play basketball than read….unless…..unless it’s the right book. But that’s just the way it is with reluctant readers – it’s the finding of the right book, the book that captures them, the book that entertains them, the book that sucks them in and won’t let go. That’s the challenge. With people and children who are drawn to books, our job is easy. We simply find a book, almost any book, put it in their hands, and watch them enter the book. How do you convince a child who doesn’t want to read, would rather do something else, that reading is important? I believe that all of the convincing can be done by the right book. I don’t like the idea of forcing someone to read when he doesn’t want to. And when it comes to reluctant readers, I only recommend books that fit their interests. I ask questions, I search. I currently have 16 nieces and nephews, some of whom are characters in my books, and some are voracious readers. I know what they like and I recommend accordingly. And my nieces and nephews who struggle, who view any type of reading as a challenge? I don’t let them do it alone and neither do their parents. Reading together is important as is asking questions. Never would I read a book with a child without asking for their opinion about the characters or the story or even the illustrations. To me, this shows them that there’s more to a book than just struggling through the words – it’s about the meaning and thoughts we have about the book once its finished.

As a teacher of 16-65 year olds, I see very few students who might place themselves into the category of “reader” in the same way that I see very few students who might place themselves into the category of “writer.” As a teacher, I avoid dry, dull textbooks as much as possible opting instead for newspaper articles that surprise, shock, or give them opportunity to share experiences or disagree with the author’s points. This is the reading they find accessible and less burdensome. And on a regular basis, I have assigned an essay that is a “Literacy Narrative.” The assignment asks my students to tell me the story of themselves as a reader and/or a writer. I ask them to choose one key moment in their lives that shows how they feel about reading or writing. I leave it open; they can choose a positive experience or a negative experience. Some write about the first books they encountered or the teacher who inspired them to write poetry or read graphic novels. Others dwell on the negatives of assignments and homework and challenging texts or bad grades they received in writing which caused them to hate writing forever and ever and ever. These assignments do show me, however, that it’s never too late to become a reader or a writer.

There are two students come to mind immediately when I think of reading and writing: Tom and TJ. They are as different and any two students can be. Tom is close to 65, is a Vietnam veteran, owned businesses and managed hundreds of people, and decided at this point in his life to finally take advantage of the GI Bill and go to college. He was by far the oldest student in my class, but was also the hardest working student I think I may have ever encountered. At the beginning of the semester, he told me that he was not a good reader and not a good writer. Somewhere along the way someone had told him this or he had come to believe it because of an experience with reading and writing. Tom decided that he didn’t have to write or read alone. And his grown daughters became his writing and reading mentors. Each paper he wrote was shown to them first. He would have long conversations over the phone with them and write long emails to them asking for advice on his writing. And he was fantastic. I firmly believe all along that Tom was a great writer and a great reader – he just didn’t have the opportunity to see how wonderful he was. He didn’t have the confidence in himself. And through his interactions with his daughters and with the other students in my class, he became known as a brilliant thinker, reader, and writer.

TJ, on the other hand, is approximately 30, was in prison, has a young daughter, and has had many struggles in his life related to drug use. TJ came to me looking for a fresh start. And he was a fantastic student in the classroom. He always sat in the front row, always did his work, and was always willing to ask questions. His first essay was one that came as a wake-up call to me. For his literacy narrative he wrote about his first experience reading and actually liking it. And what complicated his story had to do with how he came to reading: he discovered reading in prison. He wrote that he became tired of counting the tiles on the ceiling of his cell and, instead, decided to check out a book from the prison library. That book was Moby Dick. Now I will be honest with you….when I think of Moby Dick I have horrible flashbacks to my sophomore year in college and my American Literature class. I have never read Moby Dick nor do I ever hope to read it. But TJ read it…..and he identified with the characters. He saw the search for the whale as a parallel to his search for peace, for freedom, for a life without trouble. And because of that whale, TJ became a reader and also became a writer.

My best writers are oftentimes readers. I’m convinced that readers absorb vocabulary and unconsciously learn the rules of writing. They are better able to recognize good writing from bad writing. But more importantly, I think readers harbor a secret hope that they, too, can be writers. And by writer I mean writer with a capital W. I always wanted to be a writer. In 7^th grade I dressed up for career day as a journalist, but in reality I fell into writing, published writing, by accident. I had just quit my administrative job at a university and moved to Iowa when a friend asked me if I wanted to write some books. Being the kind of person who can’t say no to anything, I jumped at the chance. But these books didn’t just come from my head or my heart or my soul or wherever writers say their inspiration comes from. It came from the library. One of my first tasks was to head to the public library and research. I sat in the children’s section of the library and read as many books as I could find about character education and manners. And then I talked to real kids. I visited my nieces and nephews to find out what they liked and what they wanted to read. And then I wrote. And the highlight for me was developing characters who reminded me of the books of my childhood and of the kids I now know.

Last spring when I came to this school and spoke to the preschool classes about manners, I was struck by the energy and attention these beautiful children had for sitting on the floor and listening to someone read. I was also a little surprised to hear them quote directly from the text. These were children who had been drawn in to books, who were getting it, who still had that love for something new. My grandparents have preserved the love that I have always had for books and stories in their own way. In their car’s tape deck they have an audio tape that has been stuck for years. And it’s a tape of my 4-year-old self telling an elaborate story about elephants. On long car rides, they occasionally press the button and listen to my small voice telling them my story. I believe that books and writing and reading and telling stories are where we can escape and learn and observe and gain confidence. And I hope that we can all find or give that one piece of writing we can connect with to make our minds race, our throats tighten, and eyes well up with tears.

-ing

2010-09-24T21:16:00.003-05:00

listening: the timer ticking as I bake blueberry muffins
eating: tapioca pudding
drinking: LaCroix cran-raspberry
wearing: a pink shirt, which is odd because it's probably the only color I really don't like
feeling: congested
wanting: someone to grade those papers for me
needing: more to eat than tapioca pudding
thinking: that conference presentation won't write itself
enjoying: the smell of those muffins in the oven
wondering: why I'm so good at saying yes but so bad at saying no

-C

An Open Letter to Teachers

2010-08-31T21:14:00.004-05:00

I know I should really be writing a post about the rest of my Ukraine trip; however, I just can't think about summer any longer. The new year has begun, and I'm in the thick of lesson plans, schedule development, and reading reading reading.

I'm back at the high school again teaching a contract class for the college. It's a literature class, which is a breath of fresh air after consistently teaching writing for the past 11 years. And the students....oh the students....those 26 sweaty high schoolers crammed in a health room....I just want to squeeze them tight and nod and shout "Yes! Exactly! You are blowing my little mind!" I want to tell them just how much I love the fact that they are readers and thinkers and writers and talkers. I let a little bit of that out today when a student provided his interpretation of a pretty tough story. I said, "Yes, Ben, you are exactly right. Brilliant. Just brilliant." And to my extreme pleasure, he received a well-deserved fist bump from the kid in the next row.

Yet, I'm also troubled. These kids tell me things. They express their displeasure with their education. With the teachers who seem to lack the knowledge, drive, dedication, creativity, or preparation to give them what they need. They complain about the extreme lack of rigor and relevance (although, of course, they would never in a million years use those terms). They want to be challenged, but in many cases it's. just. not. happening.

One of my former students talked to me in the hall about a math class he was taking last year. With 3 weeks left in the term, nearly every student in the class was failing, and, in order to, I don't know, bring up the average, the teacher had the students color for the last three weeks of the term. They were coloring. In a freaking math class. And miraculously students who had a 40% in the class were now suddenly getting a B+. I guess it helps to stay inside the lines.

So to you, you crayon happy math teacher and to you, you psycho former English teacher who I cleaned up after last year, and to you, you English teacher who had students creating scrapbooks from February to June with the bare minimum of writing, and to you, you jaded PE teacher who is counting down the days to retirement, and to you, you slow talking history teacher, this letter is for you.

Dear Teacher,
I know you're busy. I know this new year snuck up on you, and you, like I, wish it was still the lazy summer. I know you have too many students in your classroom. I know you were given a brand new text to use and didn't have time to really check it out thoroughly before classes started. I know you've been doing this for a while or you are just starting out. I know this, this burden of educating minds, is difficult and challenging. I know that you are underpaid and underappreciated. I know your classrooms are hot and students are tired. I know you put in hours and hours preparing content that if oftentimes received with an eyeroll or a complaint or an "I don't get it!" or "I hate this stuff!" I know the administration is expecting way to much but providing you with way too little

I know. I know.

But can you do just one thing for me? Tomorrow when you get to school, walk into your classroom....no, walk into the school building and look around. Look at it with fresh eyes. Ignore the ancient chalkboards and mismatched chairs. Ignore the open locker in the hall spewing papers and books. Approach your school, your classroom, your materials, your students with anticipation. Ask yourself how you are going to create a space for learning. I'm not asking you to change the content or even your entire approach to the material. Just start by changing your attitude.

I know. I know. The power of positive thinking blah blah blah.

But you're hurting me. You break my heart with your complaining and your inability to treat these students as human beings who need to be challenged and tested and made into beautiful thinkers. My heart can't take the look on my students' faces when they come from your class with flat expressions and a distinct disinterest in learning.

You say, "but these kids are brought up in a generation of X, Y, and Z." Why is the blame on the student when you are the one with the power to lead them to learning? I'm not asking you to put on a clown costume or break out jokes or become their best friend. I just want you to change your attitude about what it is you teach, who it is you teach, and how you do things. I want you to celebrate their successes and make sure they remember those successes. And I want you to bring that same attitude to how you guide them to the right answer.

And after that attitude change...then we can start working on the content and the method.

I'm not perfect. I make mistakes in teaching. Sometimes I get angry at my students or at their work or at the administration or at you. But I can come back from that anger. I can be Pollyanna again. Because I want to change and improve and grow and make those students remember something significant every day.

My grandfather was a teacher. He taught health and PE and coached. And he was no Pollyanna. He was a hard-assed former Navy man. His demeanor was much different from mine. While I might be remembered as good humored or fun or different, he is remembered by students, students who flocked to his funeral in the hundreds, as someone they respected. Give them the opportunity to respect you. If you love your job and love teaching students and love the content you've mastered and they can see that, really see that on your face and in your words and in your eyes, they will respect you.

And I'll respect you, too.

-C

The things I could tell you about Ukraine (part 2: people)

2010-07-21T14:26:00.003-05:00

My encounters with people in Ukraine can be split into two groups: people who were with me on this trip and actual Ukrainian people I met while in Ukraine.

Official Translators: my teaching partner and I each stayed with a translator, but my host (Victoria) served as our translator while we were teaching. She was fantastic. Each night she and I would go over the materials for the next day. When she didn't know a word, she would look it up and jot down notes on a post-it. We would talk extensively about alternate meanings, and if there was a Ukrainian word she wasn't sure how to translate into English for me, she would grab her Russian-English dictionary and we'd go from there. Other official translators include my teaching partner's host, who lived in quite possibly the most amazing house in the entire city, and Andrew, the pastor for the church we were visiting. He had a difficult job at times translating between people who were attempting to get things in order, but he was hilarious to watch when translating Ole and Lena jokes from English to Ukrainian. I've never seen someone "get" the joke and then try to overcome laughter in order to translate it so the rest of the group could "get it" also.

Unofficial Translators: It would have been quite common for you to see me and my teaching partner walking around our city surrounded by teenagers. These teenagers served as our unofficial translators. And for my teaching partner, a 20 year old college junior who also plays college football, these teenagers were usually girls. At one point he turned to me as we were walking down the hill to visit the castle, "Does it look like I have my own harem?" Answer? Yes. Most definitely, yes. Our unofficial translators took us on tours of the city, tours of the castle, tours of the old city. They took us to grocery stores, the bazaar, restaurants, and internet cafes. One of our unofficial translators, his brothers, and a friend took us to see Marta, the bear. We would sit on park benches or wander the city talking about anything these kids wanted to talk about. At one point a group of 14 and 15 year old girls asked me, "Do you enjoy extreme sports?" This conversation eventually led to a 20 minute debate about who is better: Edward or Jacob. They prefer Jacob, apparently. The conversation also was their opportunity to fill me in on the details of books 3 and 4 of the Twilight series, since I hadn't read them yet. I let them spoil the ending for me.

The Ukrainian on the street: As I wandered my city and wandered through Kyiv, I met a million wonderful people. At one point three men selling honey begged me to take a man with a complete set of gold teeth back to the US with me. I declined. One of our unofficial translators took us to his father's shop and the girl behind the counter "made us" try all of the beer they had on tap. And one day when I was surprised by a sudden downpour, I found myself huddled under green tents outside a restaurant with a dozen Ukrainians and 4 or 5 German tourists.

My teaching partner: Good kid. No, great kid. He was exactly what I would have wanted if I could have picked my own partner. Easy going, friendly, a good teacher, and funny....very funny. The last night in Kyiv as we sat around drinking beer, I listened to him tell stories about someone's horrible experience in Ukraine and laughed even harder when I realized he had tears running down his face from laughing. One of the best travel companions I could have asked for. And when he shushed someone on the plane in Frankfurt because she was overexcited about the prospect of firetrucks and ambulances greeting us as we landed, I wanted to stand up and cheer...but the fasten seat belt light was still on.

Ugly Americans: There were some annoying people on this trip, and I was just glad that I didn't spend too much time with them. I'm convinced that when people travel, 3rd person plural should be banned from the vocabulary to avoid sweeping generalizations. Stupid, stupid things were said and done. The best, however, was to hear an elderly Ukrainian woman yell at one of these people and then, what made it even better, was to have Kate, our translator in Kyiv, translate what the woman was yelling. Basically the woman was yelling at a girl because of her clothing choice while at a church. I recall the following: "You stupid girl. Do you not have a brain? Why would you wear something like that in public? " Awesome. Absolutely awesome.

The kids: Teaching every day was a joy. Our students were sweet. They could sit and color for an hour without rolling their eyes and without getting bored. They loved to hear us speak Ukrainian, even if it was just a little bit. And they were so well behaved. I wanted to pack so many of them up in my suitcase and bring them home with me. Lovely.

-C

The things I could tell you about Ukraine (part 1)

2010-07-17T10:37:00.006-05:00

On June 30th I arrived at the Minneapolis airport to debark for 2 weeks in Ukraine. These 2 weeks would be spent with people I didn't know in a place I was entirely unfamiliar with. And if I had to do it again, I would have spent some time memorizing the Cyrillic alphabet. Ukraine is a beautiful country with amazing people, but it would have been hard to get around if I hadn't had wonderful translators traveling with me and if my miming skills weren't top notch.

After flying for a day, we arrived at the Boryspil airport near Kyiv (or Kiev, if you prefer the Russian spelling/pronunciation). Immigration was a mess and it was a warm day, but after a long bus ride to the conference center, a shower made all the difference. My roommate there was fantastic. She's a senior education major at a college in Wisconsin and about a foot taller than I am. We got along easily.

July 2nd was spent touring Kyiv, seeing the famous St. Sophia church and other sites in the city. Our tour was interrupted, however, when my teaching partner and I were told we would have to leave immediately to head to Kamyanets-Podilski, a 7 hour ride by car. So we gathered our things and left. There's a huge story that goes along with this "leave immediately" stuff, but I'll spare you the details. Let's just say that there was a man on this trip, a grown adult who should really know better, who complicated things for us quite a bit.

This 7 hour car ride was an adventure. We took a Lada (not this exact one, but quite similar) and my teaching partner and I bounced around the back seat. Victor, our driver, frowned and shook his head when we tried to put on seat belts. We learned that lesson quickly. I have never seen someone so adept at darting around vehicles on two lane highways, slamming on his brakes, and downshifting all while talking rapidly on his cell phone. We made one stop to get petrol and snacks at a gas station.

A little bit about Ukrainian money: one grivna or rivna is worth approximately 1/8 of a dollar. There were people on the trip who purchased large bottles of vodka and paid approximately $2.50 per bottle. Needless to say, I spent next to no money on this trip.

On our trip we drove through forests, fields, past people selling honey and jam on the side of the road, stray dogs and cats, and chickens and goats near the side of the road in small villages. Every bus stop we passed was decorated with mosaic tile or detailed paintings.

We arrived in KP around 11pm and were dropped off at our host families' homes/flats. We were each staying with English teachers. Mine taught elementary school English and my teaching partner's taught secondary school English. Both women were wonderful, kind, and bright. More about them later.

Kamyanets-Podilski has an interesting history. It was founded in the 1100s or so and, now, has two parts: the old city and the new city. Each city is separated by an enormous canyon spanned by a bridge. The river also flows through this canyon. The old city has the castle, fortress, old mill, and various churches. The new city is just like any modern city with public transportation, shops, parks, and government buildings. One thing I found interesting: you can't see the old city from the new city and vice versa. The density of the tree line in summer prevents you from knowing that the two coexist.

-C

A bunch of gerunds

2010-06-23T11:07:00.002-05:00

listening: only the beginning of the alphabet, apparently - Ian Axel, The Avett Brothers, Angels & Airwaves, Andrew Belle
eating: cinnamon toast and fresh strawberries
drinking: coffee
wearing: shorts, t-shirt, glasses, coffee cup (I insist that it is an accessory)
feeling: conflicted: do I actually do things today or do I sit and watch the first season of The Tudors for a couple hours?
weather: sometimes hot, sometimes breezy but the blue skies are fantastically bright today
wanting: maid service for a year
needing: some motivation
thinking: I should really get ready for this trip
enjoying: the thought of little to no contact with my life for two weeks
wondering: can I really fit everything I want to take with me to Ukraine in one carry-on?

-C

The best parts of summer

2010-06-05T22:37:00.002-05:00

In no particular order:

I haven't worn mascara, heels, or worried too much about my clothing choices since school got out at the beginning of May.
In 5 days I'll be in Kentucky with some good friends, locked in a frigid room, reading horrendous AP essays. But, and more importantly, 'll be in Kentucky with those same friends enjoying drinks and loud conversation.
My brother started his new job in NYC and will be cooking for a private party in a week or so at the restaurant..........for Playboy.
In 25 days I'll be flying out to the Ukraine for two weeks of volunteer teaching in the city of KP.
Most days I take a trip downtown to visit the library to check out books and casually observe the drug dealers doing business. And when I return home, I pour myself a gin and tonic and read, read, read, read, read, read.
Looking forward to a long week on the North Shore in August.
Checking out and watching guilty pleasure movies (and others worth the time) from the library like this one, this one, this one, this one, and this one.
Mornings, cup of coffee, on the deck.
A good tan....a really good tan.
Hanging laundry on the line and watering new lilac bushes.
Not weeding the garden because, frankly, I could care less.
Good songs by The Smiths, Greg Laswell, Angels & Airwaves, Meaghan Smith, Andrew Belle, State Radio, and The Hold Steady.
A subscription to The Sun.
I have nothing to grade, no class to prep, no emails from students to reply to, no voicemail, no bags of hair dressed as students who insist on sitting in the front row of class reading smutty vampire books, and no long drives to make along country roads.

The summer is so relaxing that I barely know what day it is.

-C

10 minute talk

2010-04-25T19:38:00.002-05:00

So I wrote some books. And really it's not something I think about very often. I mean, I was asked to write two sets of books for PreK-3 kids, so aside from a little research I don't remember it being a terribly difficult task. I knew the editor and she had some very specific guidelines I needed to follow. It's not like I came up with the ideas myself. I see it less like being an author and more like following rules.

This is why I find it really funny when someone notices the books. I've gotten emails from people who teach preschool and kindergarten who encounter the books. And today I received a phone call from a preschool teacher who wants me to come and speak to her kids next week about manners. Hilarious. I have 10 minutes to talk to three classes of preschoolers about the kinds of manners they should use when they are out at restaurants with their families.

I have no idea what I'm going to say, but I do promise to avoid all mention of where to wipe boogers after you have picked your nose.

-C

All in all, a good day

2010-04-18T23:57:00.002-05:00

Very rarely do I read a book that makes me want to weep, laugh out loud, and write a letter to the author. This weekend, however, I took some time away from grading (although, for the record, I did grade all of my PSEO kids' causal arguments and I graded final exams for two other classes) to read for pleasure. I picked up a book that is on the list for my book club. I think it's for June, but it was on hand, so I started reading.

At first, the title made me not want to read it. Dare I say it sounded too much like a chick book, which normally wouldn't put me off because, frankly, I read lots of trash. This book was not the typical chick lit fare. This was brilliant. The characters' voices were just perfect. The story, told entirely through letters written back and forth among characters, took maybe three pages in before I was hooked. And while it was a bit predictable, the storytelling was exactly what I needed to keep me out on the porch most of yesterday and today, enjoying the sun, coffee in hand.

I guess I would have to recommend The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. The voice, the incorporation of WWII and post war history, the descriptions, and, most of all, the characters made me sad to come to the end.

-C

The following all belong under the category: what the hell?

2010-04-08T16:34:00.002-05:00

Most of the time I when I look at, talk to, or read emails from my students, I wonder just what they are thinking. And then I realize that I should know better than to ask a stupid question like that.

Student emails me 45 minutes before class last Thursday, the day before their Easter break, to tell me he won't be coming to class because he has a headache and his stomach hurts. My initial response was, "Liar, liar, pants on fire." My second response was, "Why did you just write me an email entirely in lowercase with no punctuation?"
A student yesterday called a friend of mine "a total bitch" because of a story I told in class to illustrate an act that might be considered unpatriotic. My initial response, which I said outloud, was "Yes, you are correct. She is a bitch. And I think she's pretty proud of that fact." That same student expressed vehemently that I should move to Canada for my unpatriotic attitudes about a) the national anthem, b) the 4th of July, and c) wearing red, white and blue to an event. I believe she used the words, "You should just get out of here! Move to Canada! Just go!!!!" My response to her and to the class was, "Uh, okay, if you say so." The rest of the class looked at her in horror throughout the entire exchange. She managed to confirm every feeling they have about her in the span of 3 minutes: they hate her guts, they find her annoying, and they wish she would go back to not attending class at all.
A student nearly fell out of his chair this afternoon because he was leaning back on it and only using his knees against the table to balance himself. My internal response was, "Serves you right and you should know better than to do that on carpet." My audible response was, "I've been waiting 4 weeks for that to happen."
One of my students has been showing up to class with a Sam's Club/Costco size container of seasoning salt, which he sets next to his backpack on his table. I finally asked what he had that for. He said that the cafeteria food is too bland, so he brings the salt with him to season his food. My internal response was, "Uh, okay, interesting." My audible response was, "I was afraid to ask you that on April 1st when I noticed it on the table because I was afraid it was some elaborate April Fools prank."
A student in my morning class showed up an hour late to class (it goes for an hour and 15 minutes) only to leave again to take a cell call. She attended a total of 5 minutes. And while on her cell one of my colleagues overheard her say, "That's okay, I can talk. Class will be over in 10 minutes anyway." Thank you. Thank you very much. I hope you enjoy getting your F as much as I will enjoy giving it.
A female student had a gaping hole in her shirt today in a very, very precarious place. Let's just say that the skin I saw was verging on, well, uh.....it might have been nipple. I didn't look long enough to determine. She put on a coat.

-C

The Grocery

2010-04-03T09:03:00.003-05:00

Last night we stopped at the grocery to pick up a few things for my mom's visit this weekend. Her husband likes lasagna; therefore, I bought the items I didn't already have so I can make lasagna for dinner tonight.

While in the noodle aisle, we had a strange experience: a woman yelled at us and then proceeded to throw her bags of egg noodles violently into her cart while we looked at each other confused.

Apparently, I cut in front of her while she was deciding on the right noodles to purchase. You know that this happens all of the time. You'll be walking down the aisle of your grocery and someone will be parked in the middle of the aisle looking at her choices, comparing prices, doing math, so you'll have to decide. Do I walk in front of her or behind her?

In this case, I had to walk in front of her because there was a cart behind her and 2 teenage girls talking on cell phones beyond that cart.

My problem was that I didn't say "Excuse me" as I walked in front of her. That is why she yelled at us. She said, "I'm so sorry I was in your way. Excuse me." This sounds fine written here, but let me add the sarcasm she said it with: "I'm soooooooo sorry I was in youuuur waaaay. Ex-CUUUUUUSE MEEEE!". You get it.

And as she said that we were standing at the end of the aisle but at first we didn't know she was talking to us. So we looked at each other and I said, "Is she talking to us? What did we do?"

Therefore, I had to spend the rest of the grocery trip walking around the story analyzing what would make someone get that upset. I was also afraid I would run into her again and she would think that I had cut in front of her while lining up to pay or something.

I guess I need to be more polite.

-C

Three from Today - SOLSC Day 31

2010-03-31T20:45:00.006-05:00

This is the end of the Slice of Life challenge for 2010. And I know, based on last year, that I will not post as regularly as I did this month. Something about a consistent community, others posting alongside me, makes me do it more. Is it because I have a more specific audience in mind? Perhaps.
----------
On my drive from the high school, I finally pulled over to the side of the road and took pictures of some of the things I see each day: the horses, the windmill, the quilt block on the barn.

Once this next month ends, I will have no reason to take that highway. And that in itself makes me kind of sad.

To my fellow writers, thank you for your stories. Each one came at the right time.

-C

Walked right into it - SOLSC Day 30

2010-03-30T19:54:00.003-05:00

The following is an illustration of just how slow I can be sometimes. It is also a fitting illustration that showcases just how immature my students are most of the time.

-----------------------------------
Today in class I was teaching a lesson that I have taught four times already this term to four different classes: how to integrate sources. This was the fifth time.

The point of the lesson is to show my students how to read sources, place them into categories, evaluate the quality of those sources, eliminate the bad sources, and document their research.

For this activity I start with two question: Would you give money to someone begging on the street? Why or why not?

I have them write for 5 minutes responding as honestly as possible and in whatever direction the questions might take them. For example, most qualify their response with a "only if the person is..." or "it depends on whether the person is..." And to ensure their honesty, I ask them to come up with a pseudonym (which, by the way, I have to define for them).

I had learned in the past that oftentimes students will come up with "those names." You know what I mean, right? Names like Amanda Huginkiss, Oliver Clothesoff, and Hugh Jass. Basically they re-enact the scene from The Simpsons when Bart calls Moe's Bar.

And I have also learned NOT TO BRING IT UP. Don't tell them not to write those names because, of course, they will anyway. Can I just remind you that I teach college students?

Today I forgot not to mention it.

After they were responding to the questions, I asked them to write their fake name and I cautioned them not to come up with names like Kris P. Bacon or I. P. Freely. One student says, "How about Mike Sweeney?"

I paused. Everyone paused.

I said, "Mike Sweeney?"

Heads swiveled. The student giggled. The students he sat with giggled.

And to their absolute amusement I said it again, "Mike Sweeney??"

More giggles, this time from other corners of the room.

And I still. Didn't. Get it.

"Mike Sweeney....? Am I not hearing you right? Mike Sweeney? Mike's weenie....oh crap."

The giggles filled the entire room and were no longer giggles - they were full on, knee slapping laughs.

"I'm sorry guys. I just wasn't in a true 3rd grade mindset, apparently."

And we continued on with the lesson.

-C

Lesson Plans - SOLSC Day 29

2010-03-29T20:02:00.002-05:00

No one ever told me I needed to or taught me to write lesson plans. And really I don't write formal lesson plans that contain objectives or items from course competencies that match up with each activity I do. Those things are in my mind when I write out my plan. But then how could anyone expect me to? I don't teach for a school district; I don't teach K-12. I am, however, organized.

I keep notebooks. I have a notebook for each term and, most of the time, multiple terms. In those notebooks, I keep my lesson plans. Oftentimes, I refer back to them when I can't remember what I've done in the past. I also keep a binder or folder for each term to track my handouts; I refer often to these as well. Sometimes it's just easier to open one of these than it is to dig through my computer folders to find what I did on some day two years ago.

My lesson plans take the form of a simple outline. This is something I've been doing since I started teaching. Eleven years ago you might find me in the shower in the morning formulating my plans. Now I prep the night before or, if I'm really on the ball, at the end of the previous class period.

Today's lesson plan for this morning's class looked like this:

1. Baggy Jeans
Problem - Solution - Reasons
Brainstorm counterarguments
Write the thesis for this topic on the board - show structure
2. A Modest Proposal reading
-video
Problem - Solution - Reasons - Counterarguments
3. Assignment Sheet for Proposal Argument - go through
4. Brainstorm own Problem, Solution(s), Reason(s), Counterargument(s)
5. Return Annotated Bibliographies

And that was my 50 minute class.

What this doesn't reflect, however, was the discussion that ensued after reading the Are Your Jeans Sagging? Go Directly To Jail. article. They identified the problem discussed, the solutions, the reasons, and the counterarguments. And they got it.

This also doesn't show me the horrified looks on their faces and the gasps as I read aloud from Swift's A Modest Proposal. They had never heard it before, and, of course, their first reaction was, "Is this guy serious/crazy/insane?" Thankfully, they had read The Lottery, and I could refer to that short story and draw some comparisons to the reactions of those readers and their reaction to Swift's proposal.

But now I imagine that they will all go home and tell their families that I am encouraging people to eat their babies in order to control poverty and overpopulation. But it was worth it if they really understand the concept of satire and our next assignment. Entirely worth it.

-C

Who does that? - SOLSC Day 28

2010-03-28T11:27:00.003-05:00

Today in church I witnessed something I'm not sure how to react to. I wonder if perhaps I'm just sensitive to noise. But the more I think about it, I really don't think what the person did was appropriate. What did he do?

During the first and second hymns, he cut his fingernails.

As the first hymn started, I began hearing the sharp clicking noise. I didn't look around, kept singing, but began to get a little distracted by the noise. And I proceeded to get more and more annoyed.

All the time I was thinking, "Who cuts their fingernails in church? And does he plan to clean up the scraps of nail that are most definitely flying through the air and onto the carpet? And what about those poor people who chose to sit in front of him? Are they getting nailed by his nails? Gross gross gross.."

Then the liturgy started and I immediately forgot my irritation. I was so happy not to be playing for church today especially since I've been playing every Wednesday and Sunday since Ash Wednesday. The organist is back and healthy.

And then the second hymn started, and the clipping began again. This time I had to look. And like a 2nd grader, I swiveled my head around to the back corner to see who the heck was clipping their fingernails. Believe me, I wasn't sure what to expect. A part of me expected to see he'd moved on to his toenails.

He hadn't. He was just clipping the other hand, I guess.

It annoyed me that he waited until the hymn because he thought the organ would cover up the noise. It didn't. It annoyed me that the thought it was quite okay to do this and, I imagined, was quite okay to leave the clippings behind.

When I was in 4th and 5th grade, I had a teacher who liked to cut his fingernails during class. Ugh. All I could think then during the rest of the service was of Mr. Korth sitting at his desk with his feet up clipping his fingernails. When did personal grooming become an acceptable public practice?

After church, to satisfy my curiosity, I went back to the pew to see if there were clippings everywhere. At first I didn't see them. And then I saw them scattered on the pew in front of where he was sitting. Yuck.

-C

Five for Friday - SOLSC Day 26

2010-03-26T19:45:00.003-05:00

This weekend at the high school I'm teaching at it's prom. Today I spent 15 minutes talking with 3 juniors about how much they've been decorating for this event. Then they took me into the gym to see the decorations. Pretty excellent, I must say. As someone who didn't have a prom in high school, my mind has no idea what prom really looks/feels/sounds like aside from what I've seen on television. Therefore, a part of me automatically assumes that there will be a fight, someone will give birth in the bathroom, and pig's blood will end up ruining someone's dress.
I stayed at school until 5pm today talking with a colleague. This is rather rare for me on a Friday. Once Friday comes around I am more than ready to get in the car and drive home to do nothing.
I had French toast for dinner. And I always, always have my French toast with powdered sugar and lemon juice. No syrup.
One of my tutoring students was writing a paper about indie music. He recommended Paul Baribeau to me, and I recommended State Radio and Dovekins.
In my afternoon classes, very few of my students were really ready for peer review. So I improvised, they worked, and we ended up talking about football. At one point I will admit to yelling "Houshmandzadeh." We also talked extensively about Minnesota accents, how big you have to be to be quarterback, and size of Nigeria. They may not have complete drafts, but I have no regrets.

-C

One email can make a big difference - SOLSC Day 25

2010-03-25T19:52:00.003-05:00

The chair of my department asked me for my opinion about textbooks for next year, so I did a little research after classes today and then went to her office to talk to her. After we were done talking, she said, "Come sit in my chair and read this email."

I was expecting some piece of ridiculousness. Instead I saw this:

Dr. G,

I know that many times we hear, "No news is good news," but I want to tell you thank you for everything you have done for me and my fellow classmates. I don't want to be known as the student that only complains. I really had no idea what could be done with Professor S. and her stay at our school. I really felt that my money was getting wasted. Now that Carrie has entered into our classroom, our class has taken a complete 180 degree turn into a class. This is what I was expecting from the beginning of the semester. I know a hand full of students who were not really excited about the change in the class because they were receiving okay grades, and they were scared of how they might have to put in more effort. I would like to say the students I have talked to about the change in my class only have good things to say about Carrie.

She brings professionalism, thoughts, ideas, organization, and most of all you can tell she cares about us. I could talk up and down about how great of a teacher Carrie is. From the first five minutes on the first Tuesday I walked in to Carrie's class I felt a complete change from the dynamics of the classroom. I go and tell friends and my parents that I love going into my English class now. My parents are very excited that a change has been made. I know some of the reasons why I believe Carrie is such a great teacher is because I have seen what I believe as one of the worst, but I very much believe that Carrie has turned a bad situation into a great thing.

Dr. G, I really want to thank you for everything. I know that it is not easy to listen to every student's complaints about his/her teachers. I also know there were other circumstances that lead to Professor S's dismissal, but you have convinced me how much our college, staff and faculty, really have put their students at a priority level.

Thank you again,
A student

Everyone deserves this kind of email at this time in the semester.

-C

Revision - SOLSC Day 24

2010-03-24T21:59:00.003-05:00

I'm at the point in the semester when I would rather think about how I could revise my courses for fall than grade or prep. And I'm heavy in negotiation with myself: "You should only prep your first class...you have those 4 hours between classes to prep the later class...you can go to bed early and get some much needed sleep." But I know better.

I know that if I step away from the computer right now, if I head to my bedroom and put on my pajamas, if I take my contacts out, I will sleep and I will not wake up at 5. Instead I'll sleep until 6:25am, get up, rush to school so I'm there by 7:05, drink coffee, check email, and not prep my afternoon class.

And then when I'm supposed to be tutoring, I'll be coming up with handouts for my 1pm class. And that would definitely be the day when I'll have a bunch frantic students who need tutoring help.

So, I'll post quickly, pour myself a drink, grab my lesson plan book, and write out more detailed plans. I'll print out anything I need to copy tomorrow. I'll write a quiz on paraphrasing. And I'll promise myself that I'll be in bed by midnight.

Here's to hoping.

-C

One Quarter - SOLSC Day 23

2010-03-23T19:15:00.003-05:00

When I was an undergrad and working for the VP of Academic Affairs at my university, every time someone asked a question that started with the word "Why" the questioner would have to put a quarter in a jar. I guess working in administration you just learned not to ask why anymore because, frankly, there usually was no good answer to the question.

I started working for the VP by chance. At the end of my freshman year of college, I was in the student union giving blood. While waiting for the cookies and juice to take effect, I entered into a strange conversation with a former professor about computer science, blood, and work. I asked him how I could get a job at school for the upcoming year; he told me to come work for him.

And so on the first day of my sophomore year, I showed up at the computer science office to work. And I did work in that office organizing, photocopying, doing math long-hand to prove that various computer programs worked, making gigantic rubber band balls, alphabetizing computer science journals, and talking about artificial intelligence with the faculty. Everything was great until a minor problem occurred between the chair and his secretary. It was the first (but not the last) time I was called before affirmative action to "testify" about my experiences in that office. And after the dust settled, I was moved up to Academic Affairs to work.

This job involved more of the same tedious work but more html coding and more photocopying than I had seen in my short tenure in the computer science office. And I loved working there. I worked there for the next couple years and the first summer after grad school. I learned all of the short cuts around campus, I knew every dean, every VP, and every administrator extremely well.

And I got in trouble. Quite a bit of trouble.

I seem to have a knack for pranks, but I always get caught, which I guess would mean that I don't really have a knack for pulling pranks. For some reason, I am always put into situations with people who share my knack. I've filled an entire office with empty boxes, hung a scarecrow from my bosses' ceiling, ridden every kind of gigantic vacuum the university owned around the top floor of the administration building, sent things through the mail anonymously, and engaged in many other pranks that I honestly don't think I should share in public.

But I think that's the environment that works for me - that's how I get work done. I must enjoy myself.

And to this day I still talk regularly with the people in that office and in the other offices I've worked in. Every one of those women I worked with became my surrogate mothers - they counseled me through horrendous emotional disasters, serious choices, major accomplishments, and intense joy.

Today while I was driving home, I thought about them and their quarter jar. Periodically, when the quarter jar was full, we would celebrate by taking that jar with us to the co-op in St. Peter. If the weather was nice, we would pile into the secretary's hot red convertible, put the top down, and take a long lunch. Those days were some of the happiest I had in college. And we would sit and chat over vegetarian lasagna and good bread, enjoying our work and enjoying each other's company.

-C

I shouldn't complain - SOLSC Day 22

2010-03-22T09:13:00.004-05:00

This post has a soundtrack.

Song #1: In the Night by Basia Bulat

I complain quite a bit about where I live. I live in Iowa. I never wanted to live in Iowa. Iowa to me always meant fields of nothing, the smell of Quaker Oats, and people who call a bag a sack. Iowa can be disturbing sometimes, but most days I thank those in charge of deciding the rest of my life for putting me in a "major metropolitan area" in Iowa.

Song #2: The Luckiest by Ben Folds

I spend lots of time in my car. I drive from one school to the next in my silver VW. Recently I've been able to put the windows down and crank the music. It's been nice. This morning as I was driving from the high school on the county road that takes me over small bridges, past swollen rivers, and empty fields, I was once again overcome by Iowa. Sometimes as I'm driving past these rolling fields and barns and silos and small towns, Iowa clamps down around my heart and throat. And it's all I can do to keep myself from crying because of the sheer beauty of such openness and emptiness.

Song #3: Furr by Blitzen Trapper

And it's not really that beautiful. I mean, it's not something that would be featured in some coffee table book, but there's something about driving past gravel roads, new barns, abandoned houses, and clusters of oak that set something off in me. And I smile widely as I drive past a field with 4 black cows eating what is still in the field after fall harvest.

Song #4: Viva la Vida by Coldplay

And when I come to the stop sign to get on the highway that could take me all the way to Rochester, I accelerate to 67.5. I do love the city. I think about New York and its fine and furious boroughs, Chicago, Minneapolis, Madison, Dublin, Atlanta, Aberdeen, Tel Aviv, Jerusalem. I love the smell of the city and public tranportation and the continuous noise and the food. I love the feeling of my feet on the pavement and the constant motion around me.

Song #5: Down on the Corner by CCR

But when I come to the curve in the road that will take me to school, I marvel at the brick buildings in this town, the river that runs rapidly through its center, the small shops, and sculpture in the park.

Song #6: The Crane Wife 3 by The Decemberists

I park in faculty parking, take my iPod out and insert by earbuds, grab my bag, lock the doors, skip to track 6, and start the rest of my day.

Song #7: Queen of the Surface Streets by DeVotchKa

-C

Plate of Cheese - SOLSC Day 21

2010-03-21T19:28:00.002-05:00

There is currently a plate of moldy cheese sitting on my dining room table. I put it there Wednesday night after church, neglecting to put it in the refrigerator because a) I didn't want to rearrange the stuff in the fridge to make the cheese fit and b) I didn't want to separate out the crackers into a smaller bag so that they wouldn't be in the fridge along with the cheese.

Both are stupid reasons to leave the equivalent of 10 slices of Swiss and Muenster out for 5 days to become progressively more greenish blue.

What is even more stupid is the fact that I have walked by that plate of cheese, watching it turn from its waxy white to yellow to green to green and blue to green and blue with fuzz, at least 10 times everyday since Wednesday.

What is the stupidest part of this whole thing is that I am spending 5 minutes writing about this cheese instead of simply walking away from my desk in the kitchen to the table to pick up that plate and dump it in the trash.

But did I mention that there isn't currently room in the trash for me to dump the cheese?

And did I mention that I don't want to be the one to take the trash out to the garbage in the garage?

And did I mention that I can't wait until spring term is over and I can stop making these totally lame excuses?

-C

Beet Jell-o, banishment, and the elephant - SOLSC Day 20

2010-03-20T14:35:00.004-05:00

Thanks to Mary for providing me with today's writing inspiration.

When I was a senior in high school, I gave a speech about my grandmother for one assignment. And this wasn't one of those, "I love my grandmother so much, and she's inspired me in so many ways" types of speeches. This was a speech that probably would have sent her into fits if she had heard it. This was a speech that showcased just how neurotic my grandmother is and can be.

My grandmother is a tiny woman who grew up in southern Minnesota during the Depression. And despite her stature, the woman is a fireball. You just don't know she's a fireball until it's too late.

She's extremely particular about everything....especially food. The speech I gave about her focused on her various food issues. I shared with my class just how controlling she was about food. To illustrate, I can remember watching movies at her house as a child and she would count out the number of popcorn kernels each of us would get. If my brother had 32 kernels, I would get 32 kernels. No more. No less. I suppose she was just being fair, and it seemed completely normal at the time, but when I was 18 it just seemed crazy.

The rest of my speech centered on one particular Easter. We were visiting her in Arizona and family had been invited over for dinner. The meal consisted of the obligatory ham (extremely dry, salty, and tough, just like I like it) and a surprise. A horrible, horrible surprise: beet jell-o.

This beet jell-o was made from plain gelatin, beet juice, and chunks of beet. It was topped, unfortunately, with a mayonnaise spread and garnished with beets. It was horrific.

But aside from the food, there was an incident that set the tone for the rest of the week. My mother, I believe, took a good piece of ham. The good ham was reserved for the guests. And, therefore, at the next meal my mother, my brother, and I were banished to a table away from my grandparents and their guests.

How far were we banished? To a table at the end of the dining room? To another room altogether? No.

We were sent to sit at a special table set up in their neighbor's driveway behind a trellis. I kid you not.

The horror on my classmates' faces and on my teacher's face as I told this story only confirmed the ridiculousness of the whole situation. And if my mother were reading this, she would be laughing hysterically. My aunt would be nodding her head. And my brother would be adding other details I've forgotten.

At the same time, however, this woman can be so sentimental it just brings you to tears. She used to have a framed picture of me, taken when I was 2, above her washer and dryer. And while she did laundry, she would talk to my 2 year old self. She would tell me about her day and ask me questions.

In her car she also had a tape of me talking. I was telling a story I had made up, I must have been 3 or 4, and the story was about elephants. On the tape, you could hear my grandmother asking me questions and me responding in my little, 3 year old voice. This tape was actually stuck in the tape player in the car, and, occasionally when my grandpa and grandmother were driving around, they would press play to hear me tell the story. And they would laugh and laugh at how I pronounced the word "elephant."

And, really, I can't help but love her for all of it.

-C

I blame spring - SOLSC Day 19

2010-03-19T17:06:00.003-05:00

It must be the change in the weather that has created such randomness in my classes. That's what I'll blame.

The following occurred in the span of 3 hours:

I enter my classroom to find one particular student standing at the front of the room showing YouTube videos to the students who had arrived early. These videos contained some Spice Girls song parody with boys drinking Coke.
One boy started making baby bird noises and then clenched his two hands together to try to convince his seatmate that he did, in fact, have a baby bird in his hands.
A student tried to convince me that we should devote the entire class to watching one of the NCAA games.
When I asked students to make up a fake name for an activity, the names they came up with seemed to be limited to McLovin', Anita Beer, and Turd Ferguson.
Various students lamented the fact that they had to be in class when a) it was snowing and b) they had to drive home in a couple hours.
Students asked if I watched the Gophers lose, and when I said I wasn't a Gopher fan they automatically assumed I was a Duke fan. My response was to a) point out that my cousins who attended Chapel Hill would be thoroughly disappointed if I chose Coach K over their Tar Heels, b) identify the faulty logic in everything they were saying and about to say to me about basketball, and c) clarify that I could care less about anyone's bracket at this point.
A student hovered over my cup of coffee trying to sniff it to see if it smelled good.
One of my former students came into my class to tell my current students to "stop dinkin' around."

I really don't understand why they don't give students naps beyond kindergarten.

-C

One of the many things I do not do - SOLSC Day 18

2010-03-18T19:47:00.003-05:00

I'm not a patient person. I'm also not a person who enjoys reading directions before I attempt something. This means that I've been lost in town trying to find various high school and middle school gyms because I only glanced at the map before I left. And, of course, on those days I never have my cell phone with me either.

I'm also one who has a problem saying no. My friend, Miriam, once made me a notecard I was to carry around in my pocket with me at all times that simply said, "NO!" on it. That didn't work for long. I always think I can take on more. Always.

Is it because I'm the firstborn child? Perhaps, but my brother has similar problems. I prefer to think it's because I work better when I have lots on my plate. And, as my grandfather always told me, I should always finish everything on my plate no matter what is on it. Even the peas.

This is why today I went to the fabric store. Now I love looking at fabric, touching the fabric, and fantasizing about texture and pattern, but I do not sew or quilt. In fact, I can't sew in a straight line when using the old sewing machine my mother gave me. This is because of my lack of patience, but also because I like to do things fast. In elementary school, I liked being the first one done. I don't second guess my answers; I plow on going with my gut. My gut is usually correct.

So today at the fabric store I poured over the remnants to find the right colors for some banners I'm making for church. As the president of our church Ladies Guild and as the person responsible for getting people involved, I applied for a grant to complete the banners. And, sadly, I received the grant. The money has been sitting in the bank for a year and the treasurer keeps bugging me about the money. "I know, I know," I say, "we'll get it done."

And Saturday is the day to get this project started. The problem is that I'm really not the best person to be picking this stuff out. I know nothing about this type of project. And those women will show up on Saturday morning ready for some direction, and, I can only hope that the results will be good. I've only spent $65 of the $1000 I'll need to spend, and at this point I don't see how I'll spend that money or how we'll accomplish this. I do know that some of the other women have some knowledge. I just wish they had said they would take it on.

Or maybe I wish I would have just asked them to do it.

-C

Can we go outside? and other questions I get when the weather is nice - SOLSC Day 17

2010-03-17T21:51:00.003-05:00

I switched classrooms today for my 1:15 class because a colleague needed to use my lab. It was the best thing I could have done for that class. The change of venue gave them focus, forced them to talk to people they don't normally talk to, and kept them in line. It was nice. They were fun for a change. They asked me funny questions about why I wasn't wearing my green shoes today and if I was Irish. More importantly, however, was the fact that they really got the activity we did and could understand the concepts related to organization of their own essays.

It probably also helped that I tossed them candy as they answered questions about the essays we were reading. What didn't help was that I ended up nailing over 50% of the class in the head, shoulders, necks, and arms with mini-Twix and Snickers bars.

About 5 minutes into my next class, I was wishing I had switched rooms for that class, too. They were not on task. One girl, who is usually quite focused, asked, "Can we go outside today?" I told her that today was not the day we would be going outside. Others yawned. One asked if he could have some of the candy on my desk. "Uh, no. Not yet," was my response. Another pulled a bag of candy out of her bag and gave me a piece to give to the kid who had asked for candy. He said, "Thanks to whoever just gave me candy."

But then when we got down to it, got down to really talking about the essays they read, they got it, too. It just took them awhile.

There are days when I am thankful I'm in a computer lab and there are days when I wish I could rearrange the whole room to shake them up a bit. Only 4 more class weeks left. Repent. The end is near.

-C

But how do you know? - SOLSC Day 16

2010-03-16T18:08:00.004-05:00

Today I taught "the mystery class." As a result of a pre-spring break firing, for reasons I'm discovering more about as each day passes, I ended up with one more section of writing. This section is one that meets twice a week for an hour and 40 minutes. This translates into 10 class periods and then a final exam. And as of right now, I only have 9 more to go.

And while I don't have to cover all 14 weeks of material in 5 weeks, I do have to assign 3 papers in that time span and cover all of the necessary information these students will need to write those three papers and grade them. So basically I need to make sure that they will have gotten those 14 weeks of information by the end.

This, my friends, is a challenge.

But aside from the time, effort, planning, emails, and general craziness of the end of the term, it's a challenge to me because it's making me paranoid. All of this "we must fire this teacher because students are complaining, parents are complaining, and she really is horrible" stuff keeps me questioning my own abilities as a teacher.

Because how do you know, really know, if you're any good?

This woman who was just fired didn't know she wasn't good. She had no self-awareness as a teacher. She didn't see what was going on in class or outside of class. And maybe that's a part of the problem. All the signs were there. Students in multiple sections were freaking out. Parents of those students were freaking out. One class from last semester actually balled up their quizzes and threw them at her. But I don't think she really saw it. No one told her in a way that she could actually hear what they were saying and do something about it.

At the end of class, 5 or 6 students approached to ask some questions. After I responded to the students, two of them stuck around to ask more detailed question, so I said, "Okay, can you guys tells me what the heck happened in here over the past weeks?"

And they told me. It was nothing new - it was stuff I had been hearing all term. But one thing struck me. "She was very unprofessional," one girl said.

"What do you mean by that?" I had to ask. Because when I think unprofessional, I think informal to the point of inappropriate, sloppy dresser, late for class, that kind of stuff.

The student listed all of those things, but she also focused on her lack of organization: "She kept changing the syllabus. She didn't seem like she knew what she was talking about. She didn't have a plan for each class period."

As those students left, I wondered: will she know now that something needs to happen to get her to improve? Or will she just keep teaching at her other institution like she has been teaching?

And I sit here still wondering: is it the questioning that signals some quality? Is it self-awareness? Is it the desire to improve and change after you reflect? If no one watches me teach, no one observes me except for my students, how will we know? If you asked my students right now if I am a good teacher, how would they respond? How do they determine quality?

I read the New York Times article about building a better teacher, and it only added to the knots I've got twisting around and around in my head. These knots have me questioning not only the lesson I'm trying to write for tomorrow's classes, but also what I'm going to do when summer finally comes and I do have the time to reflect and make changes, if needed.

But I don't have time right now for twisting.

-C

Ditch full of diamonds - SOLSC Day 15

2010-03-15T18:43:00.003-05:00

This morning the pond on the east side of the highway was no longer covered with snow, but it didn't look like the river either, all swollen with snow melt and over reaching its banks. Instead it looked like a ditch full of diamonds, the shallow ice melting slower than the snow in the fields.

And I drove to school for the first day back after their winter break. And every one of them was wearing shorts, flip flops, and a new tan. Oh did I envy them - their feet free, their legs breathing, their browned noses. "I must buy a bottle of gin on my way home, " I decided.

To get the whole "spring break" commentary out of the way as soon as possible, I started each class by asking them what they learned over winter break. And it varied. Some, of course, learned that 4pm was too early to start drinking. Others learned that break is too short or no fun when you are the only one from your hometown on break. Some learned not to jump on hotel beds, while others learned not to call their friends at 1:30am because they might be angry. These were pretty unsurprising, but two really got me.

One wrote that he learned his father will never have time for him, even for the smallest, most minor things. This made me sad. This kid who headed home for one whole week of family time, who actually may have wanted to talk to his parents, didn't get what he wanted and most likely needed.

Another wrote the following:
"I learned that my mom smokes pot. She offered me some. I said no."

Wow. Welcome back. Good thing the Boodles was on sale at the liquor store.

-C

Familiar Feeling - SOLSC Day 14

2010-03-14T12:28:00.002-05:00

After two days of hiding under the covers waiting for my sickness to subside and fevers to break (which they did, repeatedly), I ventured beyond the mailbox and my local Walgreens to my back deck. While I might still not be able to taste the coffee I made this morning or breathe properly through my nose, I can feel the sun. And what a strange feeling that was. All foreign and unfamiliar yet firmly etched in my mind at the same time.

I sat there with my coffee and I could almost remember what it meant to relax and feel the breeze and the heat of the sun on my toes. And for a minute, I pretended that I didn't have a syllabus to write for the class I'm picking up on Tuesday or email to check or papers to grade or projects to ready for the coming week. And for a minute, spring forward wasn't really that bad.

-C

A Quiet Day - SOLSC Day 11

2010-03-11T20:43:00.003-06:00

Last night I had the chills and everything ached. Today I was hot and everything started aching around 3pm. I know I'm sick, but I'm not one to take a sick day. So instead I sat for 4 1/2 hours tutoring. And really since spring break is next week, it was a pretty quiet day. I read maybe 3 or 4 essays, talked to a friend who tutors math about putting a clock on the wall in the bedroom (do people put wall clocks in their bedrooms??), waited for one of my students who has spent the last 3 or 4 weeks in jail to show (he didn't), but I spent the majority of my tutoring time reading a book for book club.

The book we're reading is The Weight of Silence. It's a mystery told from 4 or 5 perspectives and it's really not bad. I just hate books that I read and midway through the book I know who did it. Give me a book that keeps me guessing, please.

Last month I selected Olive Kitteridge for book club. And what a fantastic book! It's a series of short stories that take place in a small Maine town. It's probably one of the best books I've read in a long time that truly captures description, surprise, character development, and dialogue. It would make for a great summer read.

-C

Harvard, Jail, or Prison....you know, Prison, New Jersey - SOLSC Day 10

2010-03-10T21:18:00.003-06:00

To celebrate spring break for my classes, I'm giving them an easy journal due when they get back. The assignment is to view the following YouTube video entitled, "The the impotence of proofreading," and summarize, identify the argument, and react to the content. It's terribly immature, but they get it.

My other classes received a different journal. This journal, especially geared toward my high school class, is from The New York Times and is entitled, "A Prom Divided." The article is from 2009, but it presents to my current high school students a story that will probably surprise them.

When I conducted midterm evaluations, many of my students commented that these journals are a pain and one also asked why I make them do them anyway. Ugh. How many times do I have to explain to them that critical thinking, reading, and analysis is important? That actually preparing them to read texts critically might come in handy at some point in their lives? What I need are more real world examples, but even then, I'm sure that they will find them to be a pain. At this point in the semester, what isn't though?

-C

Summer - SOLSC Day 9

2010-03-09T20:55:00.003-06:00

Like all of my students and probably most of the teachers I know, I'm clamoring for summer. I'm looking forward to scoring AP exams in June and a trip to the Ukraine in July. And every day I wake up thinking of sitting on my deck with a gin and tonic and a book. Just the prospect of reading something for pleasure, something I don't have to critique or grade or give revision suggestions for, is enough to get me through the second half of the term.

While I'm on spring break for one of my schools this week, I'm taking a mini-break, but I'm also planning. I'm planning for how I'm going to handle next week's challenge.

A teacher was fired last week, and the firing was immediate. We're talking security present, HR present, dean present, chair present, and teacher escorted out of the building. It's not that the teacher did something criminal, but parents were involved and they complained about the teacher's incompetence. And, I'll admit, that I saw this coming. Just see a couple posts from December and just this past week.

What I didn't see coming was the immediate firing and the resulting new assignment for me and two of my colleagues. We'll each be taking over one of three sections of 22 students who have approximately 6 weeks left in the semester. Our challenge? Cover 14 weeks of material in 6 weeks.

So tomorrow, when I'm done teaching at the high school at 8am, I'll be driving up to a vacant campus to figure out a plan. I may also have to pick up some gin.

-C

NWP: the life you save just might be your own - SOLSC Day 8

2010-03-08T19:12:00.004-06:00

I usually hate professional development. They plop some ridiculous speaker up in front of a room with powerpoint slides, usually employing Comic Sans and horrendous clip art, and they try to develop me....professionally. I'm as resistant as my students would be if I all of a sudden said, "So, for the next 7 weeks, I'm just going to lecture and that's how you're going to learn to write....by me talking....at you....with clip art as punctuation."

Or I sit in workshop after workshop, which isn't really about workshopping anything, but is rather the same lecture transplanted into a smaller room but this time with handouts and bad coffee and break-out groups and attempts at bettering something related to my professional life, whatever that might be.

Don't give me professional development. Give me practical development. Give me something I can use, something I can touch and try and bring to my students tomorrow. Give me something I can chew on and figure out and debate and discuss and, for pete's sake, get excited about.

Putting some "speaker" with pep in front of a room of teachers is just not going to cut it. And deciding that "a day spent on assessment is what we really need to better understand what the problem is with our graduates" will only cause me (and my students) to hate you even more.

Give me, no wait, give every teacher the National Writing Project.

Give us a community of teachers who want to talk about writing, who want to learn how to do what we do every day better, who teach music and PE and science and religion and history and art and English and Spanish and everything in between. Give us time to write and read and think and discuss and debate and laugh and cry and share and change. Give us 3 weeks in the summer to find out what those people in the room with us, in the school with us, in the city with us, in the state with us, really do in their classrooms, with their students, with their writing.

Give us the National Writing Project and you give us fuel and ideas and passion and friendship and the knowledge and hope that in doing what we love for the ones we love we will make a difference in our communities, in our state, in our cities, in our schools, in our classrooms, in our students.

This, this here, this is important.

-C

Guns - SOLSC Day 7

2010-03-07T12:35:00.002-06:00

I've never liked guns. Guns scare me in much the same way that a balloon about to be popped or one of those cans of crescent rolls about to be cracked open scares me. I hate that anticipation of something about to happen and the noise that accompanies it. When I was little for some reason I always ended up at birthday parties where you had to pop a balloon to get the slip of paper inside that told you which prize you would get. I would cringe every time and, perhaps, try to get someone else to pop my balloon.

Whenever I'm around my nephews there always seems to be a gun present. Granted, we're talking about those Nerf guns that shoot soft rubber pellets, but still - all guns freak me out. And it's not that I've had an bad experiences with guns. I've shot a couple guns in my lifetime - at camp, I recall - but I refuse to allow a gun in my home. There's just too much that can happen.

Last week I assigned a journal for my classes about Colorado State University's current dilemma about allowing guns on campus. The article they read can be found here: Our View: Gun ban may make students unsafe. Their weekly journals ask them to summarize the article in 1-3 sentences, identify the argument the author is making, and then do some critical thinking in a reaction to the piece. As I was reading their responses this morning, I was surprised at how many of the students in my class agreed with the students at CSU; they believe that concealed weapons should be allowed on the college campus. They believe that they have the right to defend themselves in dangerous situations.

Perhaps because I teach, because I'm the one standing at the front of the room, I am horrified at the thought that students in my classes could be carrying concealed weapons. I envision a student angry about a grade or angry about something going on in her/his life. But I also envision a colleague who might carry a weapon to school to get back at those in her/his department for something. My students say that they should have the right to defend themselves from someone coming to campus to kill students or teachers. They think their guns will stop a lone gunman.

Just a week or so ago at one of my schools, a student freaked out in a class. She swore up and down at the teacher, crumpled up a test and threw it at the teacher, she cursed the school and the class....all during an exam. And I think, "What if she had a gun?" And, really, she could have and no one would have known unless she showed it to them. And what is she was registered to conceal and carry that weapon?

One of my students included a caveat in his journal: "Guns should be allowed on campus if the person licensed to carry the gun is responsible." And my question to him is, "How do we know?" Does it make a difference if the person has a license to carry a weapon? Does that make the person more responsible and less likely to use that weapon rashly? Is it possible to predict?

This is really not an area I'm all that conversant in, but as I read the arguments, everything seems circular and all too dependent on the split second between responsible and irresponsible. All I know is that my definition of safety is quite different from the definition created by my students.

-C

Why I Avoid Walmart - SOLSC Day 6

2010-03-06T20:31:00.002-06:00

I hate going to Walmart.

I avoid it not because I'm morally opposed to the big chain store or because of their policies about unions or because of the mass produced products they sell. I avoid it because it's always a madhouse and packed with crazy people. But this afternoon I had to go to get a book for book club on Friday because Barnes and Noble didn't have it in stock.

When we first moved here, my husband and I took a trip to Walmart, and while we were standing in the middle of the sporting good section, he turns to me and says, "I must say that I think we are the most attractive people in this entire store." And he may have been correct.

After all, a) neither of us were dressed in pajamas and slippers, b) we had both taken showers, and c) our clothes were clean. It also helped that we weren't yelling at each other in the aisles, running, cursing, talking too loudly on our cell phones, or scratching inappropriately. But that was just in sporting goods.

And today was pretty much the same. I parked as far away from the door as possible, and headed straight for the books. I had to dodge 4 or 5 cart wielding women, one of whom was yelling at her daughter: "No, you are not buying a $20 book today!!" The others, based on how slowly they were moving through the aisles, had had a rough week.

I found the sugar, half-and-half, paper towels, and some scissors and headed for the check-out. I chose one of the 20 items or less lanes and waited.

The girl at the checkout, wearing her letter jacket no less, started ringing up my items. And then she started talking. I had to lean in to hear what she was saying.

"That boy is really hot," she said.
"Uh, what?" I asked.
"That boy. Over there. Pushing the cart. He's hot."
I looked over my left shoulder at a younger guy pushing a cart out of the store.
"No," she said, "The guy over there heading into the store."
I looked over my right shoulder at a similar looking young guy pushing a cart into the store.
"Oh," I said.
"But I don't need any more drama," she confided, "That's what happened last time. And I should know better than to get involved. There's just so much drama here."
"Drama?" I asked.
"Yeah," she replied, "Like all the girls I'm friends with here. They're always gossiping and creating drama."
I wanted to tell her that this drama occurs at every workplace in the world, but instead I asked, "How many people work here at this Walmart?"
"600," she said.
"Wow, really?"
"Yeah," she said with a smile, "and they all add to the drama. But now you're thinking, 'I'll never have that girl check my stuff out again.'"
"No," I said, "I'd rather have someone talk to me than just frown."
"That's cause I just had my break. I'm in a good mood." She handed me my receipt and said, "Have a good night!"
"You, too," I replied as I walked away. "That was weird."

-C

Sometimes my husband is still a 14 year old boy - SOLSC Day 5

2010-03-05T20:49:00.002-06:00

I detest laundry, dishes, and dusting. Partly because these tasks take up time I'd rather spend doing nothing in particular, and mostly because my husband thinks he's 20 years younger than he really is.

Today when I arrived home from school, I tackled the dishes and some laundry. Those dishes piled up all week, just waiting for me to get home and do them. If I had a dishwasher (human or electric), they wouldn't pile up...or at least I'd like to think the wouldn't.

The laundry is another story. For some unknown reason, I spend most of my time turning socks right side out, pulling layers of undershirts out of sweaters, and marveling at just how pants can stay belted and buttoned after they have been removed. I've learned to check pockets for paper, trash, chapstick, and oddly colored scraps of plastic. Currently there are two full baskets of clean clothes that I refuse to fold and refuse to haul upstairs for him to put away.

And just 10 minutes ago as I heated up the spaghetti for his dinner and gave him advice about cooking noodles, I volunteered that he might go down and move the wet clothes into the dryer.

Let's just say he's still in the kitchen.

-C

I can be their people - SOLSC Day 4

2010-03-04T18:05:00.003-06:00

I basically have 5 jobs but 2 employers this semester. I teach 1 class at the community college, 1 community college class at an area high school, and 2 classes at a private college. I also do faculty development and tech support on Tuesdays and tutor developmental writers and readers on Thursdays.

I've tutored online before, but this term is the first time I'm tutoring face to face. And sometimes it's enough to make me cry.

I don't want to cry out of frustration or anger. I want to cry because many of these students are in such desperate need of someone to listen, counsel, develop, prod, comfort, and instruct. These students tell me stories through their writing - stories about spending the first 5 years of their lives in an orphanage in Romania, about their struggles learning English, about their struggles with losing jobs and raising children and raising their children's children. I see how they dealt with addiction and jail and learning disabilities and tragic accidents that left them with speech difficulty. I see how they struggle to form words and sentences and ideas. And their writing might not be great....it might not even be good....but I'm reminded again and again that they are trying. They want to learn because learning leads to something - something better than what they had last year or last week.

"I promise that in the future my papers will be better."
These were the first words uttered by one of my own students this morning. I didn't understand what he meant until I talked to his tutor this afternoon. He'd been up all night, his learning disability had been particularly prominent over the last week, he'd been writing and revising and revising and revising, but it still wasn't sticking. He turned in the paper anyway because it was due.

I asked the tutor if he had roommates. She told me he lives alone. I asked if he has friends. She said he's active in his church, but she wasn't sure if that was giving him friends beyond services and volunteering. He's a unique kid, and as I type this I feel my throat tighten. It just breaks my heart to know that this beautiful young adult, who struggles with learning but so wants to learn, doesn't have people, people he can hang out with or people he can watch tv and shoot the crap with or people who will listen (really listen) to his ideas as far fetched as they might seem sometimes.

As I tutor, I realize I can be their people. I can treat them with respect and ask questions and praise praise praise their successes. I can ask for recommendations from the kid writing his paper about indie music. I can listen without assuming or interrupting as the boy struggles against his stutter to get the question out. I can be their people for the time I have them sitting at my table.

-C

Midterm Evaluations - SOLSC Day 3

2010-03-03T21:00:00.002-06:00

This morning I gave out my usual midterm evaluation to the college class I'm teaching at an area high school. It's involves 3 post-its per student and the instructions "On one post-it write one positive thing about this class or about your work in this class, one the second post-it write one negative about this class, and on the third write one question or suggestion you have for me to help me improve the second half of the term."

I've always conducted midterm evaluations to check my progress, their understanding, and get some feedback about what is and isn't working. To be honest with you, I wasn't sure what I was expecting. This is, after all, the class that went through hell last term. This is the class who constantly uses the phrase, "Well, last semester we...." and basically you could fill in the blank with the craziest, most ridiculous, pedagogy-lacking stuff.

For example, on the first day they asked me if I wanted to know what the teacher wrote on the board on the first day of class.
I said, "Umm, I don't know. Do I?"
Their response? "Vagina. Carrie, she wrote the word Vagina on the board."
I was flabbergasted. "Why did she write that?"
They said, "We have no idea."
I asked, "But was there some kind of application? Some connection to learning?"
They all said, "Not that we know of."
And then two junior boys, two boys who I would never imagine saying this word EVER, said, "And her handwriting was so bad that we couldn't tell what she wrote. We were trying to sound it out.....virginia? virgil? vigilant? And then we figured it said Vagina."
"Well," I said, "That's really not a word I can say aloud in front of you without blushing so....let's just move on."

The responses I saw on the midterm evaluation were quite reassuring:

Yeah! We're learning something this semester!
You are so much more experienced and knowledgeable than our teacher last term!
I really feel like I'm prepared to write for other classes.
You're fun - class is fun!
I love that we do hands on activities

And, of course, the obligatory:

Please bring food again - that was nice.

Happy midterm!

-C

Worst Job You Ever Had - SOLSC Day 2

2010-03-02T17:29:00.005-06:00

On the first day of class for many of my courses, my students complete a 20 questions worksheet. The questions include some basics like where are you from? and what is your name? but the rest of the question are attempts at randomness like what's the weirdest thing you've ever eaten? if you could have one superpower, what would it be? and what's the furthest away from home you've been? These questions are ones that, oftentimes, their friends who might be taking the class with them don't even know the answer to.

One of the questions I enjoy hearing their response to is what is the worst job you've ever had? I've heard some interesting answers, some of which have to do with farming or heavy labor or some type of dull, repetitive task.

While they fill out their forms, I fill one out, too. And then when they introduce their partner, I have each group ask me one of the 20 questions. Sometimes they choose the job one and my response is always the same: it was the summer I worked conducting surveys over the phone. I tell them that it was the only job I ever just didn't show up for.

And that job was horrible. It involved sitting in a room full of people with a headset on my head, staring at the computer in front of me, and calling calling calling. I couldn't read because we had a quota to fill; the only thing that was allowed was the crossword. And there was all that rejection you had to deal with when cold calling people. It was hard being required to talk on the phone but never allowed to really "talk" on the phone.

I thought of this today because the administrative assistant in the office hates her job. And to make matters worse, she tells everyone she hates her job. Everyone. She's posted it on Facebook. She tells faculty (those she's still speaking to) she hates her job. And what she doesn't say aloud is broadcast by her tone of voice in emails, her comments about the institution to staff and students, and in the way she handles problems that come her way at work. She even went so far as to clear her desk of every personal item. Everything. Gone.

And as much as I hated that job doing phone surveys, I know that I did not hate the job as much as she has made evident her hatred of her job. And it also makes me sad. Because as much as I am frustrated by students, stacks of grading, and silly excuses and as much as I am annoyed by bureaucracy, I still get to do this thing I've been wanting to do since I was in 7th grade, long before I even know what it meant to do what I do. After 11 years, it still hasn't lost its appeal.

-C

This is a picture I did not take - SOLSC Day 1

2010-03-01T17:04:00.004-06:00

This is a picture I did not take

of the gold medal moon high in the western sky as I drove to school this morning. The clouds bending around it, sometimes almost obscuring its light. The roads were clear, the empty fields were white with snow, and the purple sunrise in the east was much higher than it had been the week before. And as I drove, I kept checking the clock not sure if the time was correct. The sky seemed too bright to be 6:17am.

of the bowling ball size chunk of ice in the parking lot of the gas station that I managed to run over with my left front tire, the sound reverberating across the parking lot drawing a look from the tired looking man getting out of his truck. I cringed and patted the dash of my car hoping the ice had done no damage.

of my face as I sipped my cup of coffee and realized that I had accidentally added French vanilla creamer to my coffee. I decided to suffer through its sweetness as I walked around the library turning on computers for the day's class, organized my handouts, and looked over my lesson plans.

of the silence that filled my last class as I handed back peer reviewed essays and watched them slowing absorbing the comments their peers had made and quickly jotting down notes for revision.

of me dumping my bag of papers and books on the back seat at 4:35pm and flipping down the driver's side visor to block the setting sun's blinding western light.

-C with inspiration from Unphotographable

Sometimes my students are funny....and sometimes I want to throttle them.

2010-02-15T20:47:00.004-06:00

Beginning of week 6 today, and I wish I wasn't counting down the weeks until the term is over. My students really are lovely, all 85 of them, but they make me crazy in both a good way and a bad way.
---------------------
My high school seniors would rather talk about their prom dress selection than develop a decent thesis. I suppose if I was in their situation I would be doing the same thing. But the juniors in the class are writing rockstars. They make eye contact with me, they stay on topic when discussing in groups, they write big, beautiful paragraphs. And when they are seniors, they may just talk prom, but now they are mine and they are amazing.
---------------------
There's a boy in one of my classes who is about 6'5", weighs approximately 120lbs soaking wet, and plays basketball. He's all freckles and red hair and questions. But he's also always playing games instead of listening, skipping ahead instead of focusing, and sliding his iPod out to listen with one ear to music. He loves to cop an attitude but is never afraid to ask a seemingly obvious question, which most students won't do. And today, as I'm introducing our next paper, he looks at me with all sincerity and with exasperation when I mention that he has to use 5 sources in his paper and says, almost whispers, "You're killing me, Smalls." I burst out laughing.
---------------------
In one of my morning classes, I have this beautiful, smart, and amazing girl from Pakistan. She sits up front, answers and asks questions. Her weekly journals are so powerful. I assign readings for their journals that require them to read an article, summarize, identify the argument, and respond with some critical thinking, and the last journal (http://chronicle.com/article/Stop-Asking-Me-My-Major/63453/) hit home with her. She wrote about parental pressure to pick a specific major, and how her choice was her choice and she was sticking to it. Just beautiful.
---------------------
The girl in one of my afternoon classes cracks me up on a regular basis. She's quiet in class, but with her friends she is fiesty. She's an international student from Nigeria, which gives her this amazing perspective when compared to her peers. And nearly every day in class her cell phone goes off. Her ring tone is, "Single Ladies." And everytime I hear the song start up, I start singing along. And next thing you know everyone else is singing along, too. It makes me a little sad when she remembers to put it on silent.
---------------------
Today in my afternoon class I had a random visitor. A prospective student sat in on my class (either that or she was a plant from the department to make sure I'm not screwing around in class) and today of all days was the day to be in class. We spent nearly the entire class period discussing credible websites, so we looked at the following pages among others:

This meant that we talked about underwater cities, whale watching in the Minnesota River, pyramids, Tim Tebow, how teens "still got it," and the 20,000 tons of pubic hair mentioned on The Onion. That poor prospective student had no idea what she was in for. I think she enjoyed this video most, though. But then again, who doesn't love an African elephant.

-C

The 5 Stages of Grief or How I Grade Papers

2010-02-14T13:42:00.004-06:00

How I grade papers and my response to this kind of work somewhat mirrors the 5 stages of grief.

Denial: I pretend I don't have those papers looming online or in my bag. Out of sight, out of mind, I think. I always tell students I will have papers back within a week of them being turned in, but denial kicks in and I think to myself, "Ah, I told them I'd have them back in 7 days. Why tackle them now? Why not wait until the day before I said I would get them back?" In this way, I am more like my students than I usually care to admit.

Anger: I get frustrated and ask, "Why did I assign so many papers? Why did I teach so many classes? Why is my enrollment capped at 22 and not 20, as if those 2 students really make that much of a difference?" And the worst is, "Why do I teach writing?? Why can't I just score multiple choice tests?"

Bargaining: When I grade papers or read drafts, I make deals with myself. For example, once I finish reading or grading x number of paper, I can refill of my coffee cup, check email, walk around the house, read some blogs, or, in this case, write a blog post. Small rewards really just distract me from what I should be doing.

Depression: It's more of a feeling than an act and, oftentimes, it occurs when I am in the throes of grading and I begin reflecting on how poorly my students are performing. Weren't they listening? Did I do such a horrible job teaching this concept that only 2 out of 22 students really got it?

Acceptance: This often occurs around 10pm when I realize I just have to get this stuff done if I want to show my face in class the next day. I hate making excuses to my students; I hate telling them they have to wait one or two more days to see their grade.

And right now, I'm deep in bargaining. I've updated participation for one section, graded journals for one section, and just begun to read and grade final drafts. 3 down, 19 to go......for one section. I'm still in denial about the other section of 22 students.

-Carrie

The First Week

2010-01-18T08:28:00.003-06:00

I drove through dense fog this morning to get to school. And when combined with this weak coffee, I'd rather be heading home now than driving up to the other school to teach at 11:45.

But instead of complaining about my teaching schedule this term (K-12 teachers would roll their eyes at me because this schedule I have - aside from some of the driving between schools - would be normal to them), I'd rather talk about poetry.

In the first week of class, my students were treated (or at least I'd like to think) to 4 poems. Each poem served a purpose:

"Valentine for Ernest Mann" by Naomi Shihab Nye
"Do You Have Any Advice for Those of Us Just Starting Out" by Ron Koertge
Poems of their own creation - they reacted to one of the first two poems, and I combined their words into a new poem - each class really rocked that assignment
"This Be the Verse" by Philip Larkin, which I censored a bit.

The first two poems were introductory/first day activities to get them thinking about writing, where it comes from, and how to begin. The third poem was their first piece of writing, which each group was slightly stunned by when I read them aloud to class. The fourth poem was referenced in a NYTimes article they read for class. I read them the poem to explain how critical reading is important - if the author references something or someone you are unfamiliar with, look it up. It will help you understand the reading much more clearly.

My high school class is a challenge. I'd forgotten how students act when 1) they are seniors, 2) they are too cool to sit by a certain group of students, 3) they have spent their entire lives going to school with the same people, and 4) they have the attention span of a gnat. My biggest challenge will be not letting them pull me off topic with their randomness. I'm having flashbacks to my own high school experience.

This is going to be interesting.

-C

Lessons Learned

2009-12-26T16:59:00.003-06:00

On Monday I drove out to the high school I'll be teaching at next term. It's a college in the schools course at a small school about 20-30 minutes from my house. And while I was there, I learned some interesting things, some of which have posed a couple dilemmas for me.

1. I'll have students whose ages range from 14-18 in my class. There are a couple freshmen taking this class. Uhhhh, that seems a little strange. Why are 14 year olds taking college classes? They may be able to pass "the test" to get in, but are they really mature enough to take the class?

2. The school valedictorian is in the class. And she has a 4.0. And......she got a 14 on her ACT. What? I mean, some may make the argument that she's not a good test taker, but when the guidance counselor told me that the girl is not that intelligent and that she "just works hard," I was a little skeptical. Will this class be the one that makes her lose her 4.0?

3. The guidance counselor shared some things about the teacher who taught the college course there last semester. Basically, the counselor told me that the students a) hated her and b) didn't learn anything. Oh, okay. Then the counselor told me something that horrified me.

She told me a little story about how one of the students in the class came to her with a paper from the class. The student wanted the counselor to read it to give some feedback. On the paper were the comments from the teacher. The counselor was appalled by the student's lack of correctness when it came to grammar; she was more appalled that the teacher hadn't said a thing about grammar. But she was most appalled by the teacher's own grasp of grammar. She then did something that shocked me....well, maybe the act itself didn't shock me, but the fact that she told me what she did was what shocked me.....she photocopied the student's paper with comments, blacked out the student's name, and took said paper home to a gathering of some friends. Those friends happened to be professionals, college teachers, and k-12 teachers. She asked them to read the paper and give their feedback.

They determined that the paper was written by a middle schooler and the comments provided on the paper were comments made by another middle schooler. Low level middle schoolers.

And while right now I am thinking, "Oh shit, what have I gotten myself into?" I'm also wondering a couple other things:

what am I going to do to make sure my class isn't viewed in this manner?
what can I bring to the class to ensure that what they are learning is appropriate?
what should I say to the other people in my department who already have concerns about the school and its students?
what should I say to my associate dean who hired and observed this teacher?
what should I tell my department chair at the other school I teach at about this teacher when you consider that she has recently been hired to teach 3 classes at the college?

I should also mention that the computer teacher was reluctant to let me use her classroom/lab some mornings because this teacher hadn't respected the space (didn't clean up after herself, didn't ask students to put things back the way they were).

Lots to think about over vacation, I guess.

-C

Grades are in...

2009-12-18T20:27:00.002-06:00

for two classes, at least. I only have one more class to enter grades for. I, like an idiot, promised to write comments on their essay exams (which are hilarious, by the way) and mail them to them at home over break.

So after about 3 months of not posting here, I think I need to do a little reflection on what transpired this semester, what made me insane, and what made me burst out laughing at the front of the room.

The Insanity:

Students who show up late to class every gdamn day - there was a lot of that
Students who attend less than 20% of a class, think I'm "cool with it", and tell other students so - seriously? Do you know me at all?
Students with, ahem, "legal troubles"
Students with H1N1
Students with H1N1 followed by the regular flu followed by a cold followed by various other maladies that I really don't need or want to know the details of
Students who want to turn in late late late late work after missing 80% of class
Students who ask, "Oh, was I supposed to cite my research in that final argumentative RESEARCH paper?"
Getting emails from academic advisers who have been lied to by their advisees demanding to know why the students are getting Fs

On the bright side:

My sweet boys (who are really 20-28 year old men) who send me constant emails wanting to know when I'm going to be teaching next term so they can be in my classes
Super awesome girls in class who say the funniest things and make me feel like I'm smack dab in the middle of an episode of Keeping Up With the Kardashians (i.e. references to Lady Gaga's supposed "wiener" and using the term "vajayjay" to describe, well, you know)
The one day when one of my students told the story of her husband's colonoscopy and what he wrote on his butt with a Sharpie to get the doctor's attention
Having a student who works at Walgreen's pharmacy who not only gave me a Christmas present but had a truly hilarious email conversation with me about an Rx that was waiting for my husband at her pharmacy for stool softeners
A bunch of kids who tried really hard this term and were successful
Talking nearly every day after class with a sweet freshman named Neil about his papers and his research - the kid took his writing so seriously....and he wrote some great stuff
Laughing as I skimmed through essay exams when I realized that half the class used this kid Neil as an example or in their essay's thesis because when we reviewed for the exam (and oftentimes during the semester) his name came up because one of the other kids was his buddy and liked to use him as an example of greatness
Rearranging my classroom for a specific activity and realizing that it freaked out the entire class
The constant smell of whiteboard markers
Chalk on my pants
High heels and jeans
Finishing one class by talking solely about the creation of sexy paragraphs and finding myself blushing midway through the conversation

The positive does outweigh the negative. And next semester I'll be teaching at an area high school doing a college in the schools course. I have a bad feeling I'll find out that I was justified in never wanting to teach high school.....or maybe not.

-C

The things I can love

2009-09-02T20:54:00.003-05:00

This fall marks the beginning of my 11th year of teaching. Seriously. How the heck did that happen?

If you could have been there that first semester, the first time I stepped into the computer lab in Wissink to teach my first class, when on the first day I wore jeans and a sweatshirt, when my hands shook just a little as I handed out my first syllabus but then calmed as I started talking, when I had that kid who looked EXACTLY like Mark Hamill who told me all about his girlfriend dumping him and who then proceeded to ask me out to see a movie, you would be shocked to see me today.

After 10 years, I still write out lesson plans, and I still do 2 or 3 activities that I did that first semester in 1999. Everything else has changed. I've found that 3 inch heels make a better first day impression than my old pair of green Chucks ever did, but I still take off my shoes midway through class to wander the room. I'm still able to memorize the names of my students by the end of the 2nd class period, but I woefully forget the names of students I just saw last semester. I still love the smart ass students in my room, but I now love the students who struggle to make sense of it all even more.

And once again I was able to start my Comp II class with my favorite unit: political ad analysis. I always tell my students that two words I could use to describe me would be "easily excited" and today's class was no exception. I love bringing up the political ads from 1952-present to discuss propaganda, ethos, logos, pathos, and persuasion. I love to show them the Johnson ad and talk about fear and logical fallacy, to show them the 2008 "Yes We Can" Obama web ad and talk about glittering generalities and testimonial (that ad, I think, it quite possibly the best and most stirring ad I have yet to see - gives me goosebumps every time I view it), and I love love love to show them the Jackie O. ad that is done entirely in Spanish. In 1960. Just awesome.

Teaching is one of the things I can love despite its innate horror and disappointment, its ridiculous bureaucracy, and its tediousness. I refuse to be mediocre about this thing I love.

-C

They tell you to keep a file of these

2009-08-05T19:17:00.003-05:00

Today I read an article in The Chronicle about students crying in front of their teachers. I've had it happen many times. They cry out of frustration or because something in their life has gone awry. When I worked in college administration, I saw more criers than I do as a teacher. I saw tears from students who had been suspended, who were experiencing medical issues, or who had recently suffered a loss. In those situations, I'm never quite sure how to respond, but I usually end up patting shoulders or looking as sympathetic as possible and listening as much as I can to whatever it is that is bothering the student.

I'm much better at celebrating with students. I've cheered with students when they made the dean's list, when they got a job, when they realized they were actually going to graduate from college, when they successfully passed a class. When I used to line up students at graduation, I was great at giving out hugs and high-fives. I'll also admit to sharing a celebratory smoke with students while waiting in line for them to process into graduation. Ah, art majors are always so much fun.

Today when I got on Facebook, my chat window opened almost immediately. A former student wanted to tell me something important. She said, "Today I had to open up a new bank account and choose security questions. For Who is your favorite teacher?, I put down you." This from a student who struggled personally and academically. This from a student I haven't talked to in over a year at least. This from a student who hasn't been my student since the fall of 2005.

These are the tidbits they tell you to put in a file somewhere. These are the stories or sentences they tell us to look at on those days when school just plain sucks, when you are seriously reconsidering every professional decision you've ever made in your life, when all you want to do it "get a real job" or go back to school.

These are the stories that should be read every August in order to get ready for the new school year.

-C

For my mother-in-law....sort of.

2009-07-09T21:54:00.002-05:00

-----------------------------------
Next year in Jerusalem

Each year tens of thousands of tourists descend on Jerusalem to walk in the footsteps of the prophets, and a handful come away from the journey thinking they are the prophets.
– Lonely Planet Guide to Israel and the Palestinian Territories

As we sat at the table for the Passover meal,
my mother-in-law turned up her nose
and stage whispered, Why is this meal taking so long?
Our meat did not touch our dairy.
We remained unleavened.

On the Shabbat elevator, she sighed impatiently
as it stopped at every floor,
the metallic bing announcing
that she would have to wait
even longer to get to her room.

In the Dead Sea she scavenged for salt,
floated, and covered herself in its rich, dark mud.
At Masada she complained about the heat while
observing laughing Israeli schoolchildren
trailed by armed guards.
While walking through the markets
in the Arab quarter, she narrowly avoided concussion
when a tray of hot bread came swinging her way.

At every stop and every stall
she bargained for the cheapest bags
that tackily proclaimed Jerusalem in gold and beads.
She bought postcards of the Dome of the Rock
and a mezuzah for every door in her home.
And on the Sea of Galilee, she danced to Hava Nagila
despite the waves that rocked the fishing boat.

In the Church of the Holy Sepulchre,
surrounded by pilgrims pressing their
lips to the marble slab where Christ’s body
had supposedly been prepared,
she ignored their reverence and instead
went looking for some dirt to bring home
as if to prove that, yes, she had seen Jerusalem.

Next year in Jerusalem, she had said the year before
while planning the trip that would take her to
Palestinian held Bethlehem, to Jericho, to Jaffa.
Boker Tov, she laughed while sitting atop a camel at sea level.
Shalom, she said as she swirled her wine
on the porch overlooking the city.

For Miriam

2009-07-09T21:51:00.000-05:00

And here's something a little less sad.

-C
------------------------------------------
Instead You Get This Poem

I would put you in the liner notes
when I record that album of reggae beats for women.
They’d say, To M, who showed me rhythm
and tapped loudly on my heart.
But really what do I know about reggae
aside from that one summer spent smoking
and watching the city repair the road behind your apartment.

I would thank you in the program
when I perform my interpretation of some Beckett play.
I’d write, To M, who taught me that acting is on the outside and feeling
always trying to get out.
But sadly, I know nothing of Beckett save
the summer we spent in Dublin drinking Guinness
and solving the problems of our small world.

I would paint you into the landscape of
rolling corn fields in Iowa in the glare of the day.
You’d be that abstract light in the middle of the field
that draws my attention every time.
But I’ve never been good with paint and brush,
color and line. I only know what I like when
I see it hanging on the gallery wall.

I would knead you into a loaf of homemade bread
after it has proofed in the heat of my kitchen.
You’d go in with the thyme, rosemary, and garlic
adding your own unique blend of spice to the otherwise ordinary.
But, lately, I don’t have time to flour my counters,
measure out the yeast,
or wait for it to rise.

Instead you get this poem that pulls me back to you
and me, driving from school to home,
singing everything we say.

This is dedicated to the Nates we love....

2009-07-09T21:44:00.002-05:00

I haven't posted in quite a while partly because I've been busy teaching online and partly because I had to write so much for the Iowa Writing Project class I was taking for 3 weeks. So instead of boring you with the details of my uneventful summer, I'll give you a piece of writing from my IWP class.

This piece was the result of an in-class exercise we did in which we had to write a letter to someone who had taught us something. I don't know why I decided to write this piece. It really wasn't something I was prepared to write. I revised and polished it while sitting on my deck and I cried the entire time. In fact, I still have a hard time looking back at it and reading it without getting a little misty.

This also meant that when I had to read it aloud in class, I lost it. I did make it through the entire piece, only stopping two times to get myself together. Basically over half of the room was crying along with me. So there's your warning.

-C

--------------------------
Big Island

Do you remember what you did when we would take the canoe out to paddle around the big island? You would put me in the front, yourself in the back to steer, and we would push off from the rocky shore. You made me wear a life jacket or, as I got older, you would at least make sure I had one along. We would start heading into the wind to avoid paddling against it on our way back around. You wouldn’t say much except to point out herons in the shallows, loons in the distance, or the spots for good fishing.

You had been a phy. ed. teacher since the 1950s, after you came home from the Navy. You coached swimming and Special Olympics; you taught health and disciplined homeroom. You were strict and tough and strong, but you were the only one to cry at my college graduation.

When we got around the bend to the other side of the island, you always did the same thing, but it always surprised me – you stopped paddling. You would take your oar, still dripping, and place it roughly on the bottom of the canoe; the thud signaled to me that it was my turn to work. You made me paddle the two of us along the shoreline of the big island, past the rocks and bridge in the distance.

You died the week before Christmas 2005. I was harried that day. I was hosting my first Advent get-together at the house. Me, the pastor’s wife, trying to make sure all the food was ready: stuffed mushrooms, hot artichoke dip, caramelized pears over puff pastry. Finals were over and grades turned in. Now I only had a congregation to impress.

That morning I was still in my pajamas, doing some last minute cleaning and arranging of chairs. It had snowed the day before, a heavy snow atop a thick crust of ice. We had plowed a path from the church to the house but were worried that it would be too cold for people to attend. When the phone rang, I wasn’t expecting news. I thought it might be Edith double-checking to make sure I didn’t need any help. It wasn’t Edith. It was Grandma calling. I laughed when she said my name. “I was thinking of you all morning,” I said.

On that long stretch around the island as I paddled, hauling you along with me, I felt like I was doing something amazing. I struggled against the choppy lake trying to seek out the smooth places. I imagined the canoe gliding gently, missing the wake that followed each wave. I pulled hard on my oar, sometimes sliding nearly off of my seat.

“Carrie,” she said, “I was thinking of you this morning, too.”

I didn’t know you were sick. I didn’t know you were in the hospital, that they were trying something to help your circulation. That if it didn’t work, they would amputate your legs. You, the phy. ed. teacher who still rode your bike and skied across Hartley Field whenever you had a chance. You wouldn’t have been able to bear it.

Once we reached the tip of the island, where the cattails grew and the fish were thick, you would pick up your resting paddle and help me paddle the rest of the way home.

People were there when you died. They said goodbye. You knew they were there. You squeezed Matt’s hand as he cried. They put the phone near your ear when Dad called. You nodded. Everyone stayed for a while after you were gone. They discussed your life, the people who would need to be told.

At your funeral, there was no body. Only rows of pine boughs and wreaths and one small box holding your ashes. The church was filled to capacity with former students and kids you’d once coached, now grown. Friends and family cried and laughed and sang along while Tedd played his banjo. Despite your toughness, or perhaps because of it, over 500 people attended your funeral.

“The one thing you need to know, all of you, is that he was so proud of you. Each and every one of you were amazing in his eyes,” Grandma said before the service.

When I got older, you no longer needed to come with me around the big island. Instead, you would hand me a life jacket, throw a brick in the front, and put me in the back to steer my own way around the island. You taught me to do well on my own.

I still seek out the smooth places, I still fight against the choppy waves, and each time I know I can do it alone.

Retraction to Earlier Post

2009-06-01T22:12:00.001-05:00

Lyle Lovett apparently is hot.....to some people. He can be your definition of a sexy paragraph, Nate. You, as Hot Nate, are qualified to determine what is hot and what is not.

- Hot C

End of the summer

2009-05-29T23:47:00.002-05:00

Oh crap. Only two more days left of summer vacation and then school starts up again. Summer school. Granted, I don't have to leave the comforts of my own home to teach this summer since I'll be teaching two classes online, but still it kind of puts a cramp in any plans I had to sit out on my deck all summer with some trashy books, an endless supply of Klarbrunn sparkling water, and a bottle of suntan oil.

I took summer school when I was in junior high (zoology, chemistry, theatre), elementary school (ceramics), and college (WWII and Nazi Germany, Shakespeare Tragedies, 19th Century American Women Writers). It makes sense that I taught last summer and am teaching starting on Monday. I like to be busy. If I'm left alone to my own devices, I get restless and bored. Believe me, you can only rearrange the living room so many times and avoid doing laundry for so long.

I've been experimenting quite a bit for my online classes starting with some weekly videos filmed right here in my kitchen. I'd embed the video here, but it's much too dorky to show you. Really. Very dorky. I can't wait, however, to do the one video I have planned about writing sexy paragraphs. Photos of Brad Pitt as Achilles, Jude Law, Megan Fox, and Sean Connery are sure to make the video. And for not-so-sexy paragraphs, I'm planning to include pictures of Chloris Leachman, Amy Winehouse, Lyle Lovett, and Clint Howard.

I guess this weekend will be filled with bread baking, conference proposal writing, Chicago trip planning, and finishing up all the prep I can do for Monday's big start.

-C

The two best things that happened today

2009-05-18T16:18:00.002-05:00

I would say that both are ranked equally in my mind.

1. Card and cd in the mail from Ms. M.

And the message inside was, perhaps, the best message I've gotten. I'm copying it here for your reading pleasure.

At work, I have to watch the same video hour after hour day after day, for the whole month. And it plays without sound. And this month, it's all about birds and their flying and general birdness. Everytime I look up at the screen, I think of how much you would hate this movie. And also how much I miss you. So here. It's what's for dinner. XOXO, M.

2. The VW dealer called. My new car is ready to be picked up.

-C

Why can't they all be like that?

2009-05-12T20:02:00.002-05:00

I'm finishing up grading final argumentative essays right now and stumbled upon one of those magic essays that showcases the student's writing, organization, revision, and development. These essays, for those not teachers, are elusive. They only show up occasionally and, usually, when you least expect them.

This essay was written by a student who can't help but write big, beautiful, sexy paragraphs with topic sentences (!!!). There's absolutely no rambling for this student. It's all focused writing.

My comments on his essay follow:

Comments: Holy crap, XXXX. Holy crap. THAT was a totally different paper than I remember at the conference. THIS paper has a super amazing strong thesis, beautifully developed paragraphs, a clear organization. Basically, you rocked this essay hard core. Well done and happy summer!

And only 5 left to grade and I am done done done.

-C

A couple quick questions

2009-05-05T23:27:00.003-05:00

Why do television medical examiners always act so chatty, obsess over topics like necrophilia, and say things like "I also found a sticky residue in the victim's hair"?
Does Brett Favre really just have it out for Ted Thompson?
Why would a student continue to steal wireless from random homes after being "pulled over" by the police 11 times?
Is tomorrow really the last day of the semester before finals?
Will I have enough time during the month of May to get my online classes ready for June 1st even though I'll be in North Carolina for a long Memorial Day Weekend?
Why is it that a $10 ticket to fly to Chicago on June 4th for another long weekend makes me exceedingly happy?
Do car salesman also have a 3 day rule before they call you after you test drive a new car?
Who ever said that red leather pants was the way to go?

-C

I shouldn't be annoyed; I'm still on vacation.

2009-04-22T09:03:00.004-05:00

I get really really annoyed by comments like this one: "Our concern is that the full-time faculty members and the regular part-time faculty have gone through a really rigorous vetting process," said so and so. He called adjuncts "less qualified, not unqualified," people whose more limited employment results in "less commitment to the college and its mission."

Couple comments:
Then maybe you should start "rigorously vetting the adjuncts." Would that reassure you?

Are you really calling me "less qualified"?? And don't even tell me that you didn't mean me. You put me in a group of only slightly incompetent people or just not as competent people.

Why don't we just call adjuncts what they are: lower paid teachers who teach the same classes. How can you trust me to be a teacher if I'm less qualified? Why do you even let me teach? And maybe you assume that I don't have any years of experience. Expletive, expletive, expletive. I've been teaching for 10 years. Does that make me less qualified because you've been teaching for 20??

I should not let this kind of crap piss me off. It's my last night in Jerusalem and that's the reality I will have to come back to. Might as well enjoy my ignorance while I can.

-C

Just too much to write about....

2009-04-19T13:41:00.003-05:00

We've been in Israel since Tuesday and done all of the obligatory tourist things: Tel Aviv, Galilee, Capernaum, Bethlehem, Jerusalem. Tomorrow it's the Dead Sea region all day. Our accommodations have been great, the food has been good (even during Passover and Shabat), and the company has been, well, as expected. Traveling with a group of people can be challenging. And it can be made more challenging when you realize that you are traveling with a bunch of women who closely resemble your grandmother....the grandmother who doesn't seem to be paying attention or listening much of the time, the grandmother who has that innocent look about her that makes every guy selling beads and crap approach her, and the kind who turns up her nose at the food choices with a comment that indicates she would never touch the stuff. Ugh. All in all, however, a trip well worth the time, money, and effort.

-C

Passover ending

2009-04-14T11:59:00.002-05:00

We arrived in Tel Aviv today right at the end of Passover. I spent my evening sitting outside, checking email, and enjoying the 90 degree weather. I also spent a little while observing some of the men in the hotel lobby reciting their end of Passover prayers and singing. It was a long day, but I did sleep the entire flight from London to Tel Aviv. The longer flight from Chicago to London was spent listening to Mozart, Mahler, and watching Quantum of Solace (ugh, didn't like it) and The Reader.

I can't say that I like group travel that much. There are some people on the trip who have never traveled before, which makes some of the traveling quite painful. The age of some of those travelers also poses a challenge. But I guess this is the way to see Israel for the first time. I would love to spend a month in Tel Aviv in the spring just bumming around the beach, riding mopeds, and eating fresh everything.

-C

Lots of people think I was fired.

2009-04-09T16:58:00.003-05:00

I wasn't. Not yet, at least. I don't have a contract that would necessitate firing. They just wouldn't hire me back in the fall; this is not something I need to be notified of. I could simply find out in August that I have no classes.

I received quite a few messages from people I work with who told me they were "thinking of me today." Which implies that I'm recovering from receiving a pink slip (which, by the way, is really two 8 1/2 x 11 sheets of white paper).

I also received the following message from a former student:

--------
Subject: hi

Hey carrie i heard about all that is going on at school.... Do you know of anyone who has been let go yet???? I hope you don't get let go, because your a damm good teacher, and they would be stupid to let you go....
---------

The spelling of the word "damm" in his email seems to imply that I didn't cover "the proper spelling of curse words" enough in those classes.

Damm.

-C

It seemed like a regular day...until the bomb went off.

2009-04-08T19:03:00.002-05:00

I woke up this morning from a strange dream. A dream about math. I had been in a classroom with a teacher who expected the class to understand some strange equation. Half of us didn't get it. The teacher wouldn't explain. I kept asking, "But what does y equal?" Two boys, Neil and Dan, from my elementary school/running around the neighborhood days, understood what the "y" was. They sat at a table in the classroom whispering to each other about how those of us on the other side of the room "just didn't get it."

And while I'm quite often thrust into situations in my dreams involving people from elementary school and high school, this dream had particular significance after what transpired when I ended up at school an hour later.

I got to school at 9am, went to my office, checked email, did some prep, went to a staff meeting, and then headed to the building I teach in at noon. I should have known something was wrong when I saw the secretary crying at her desk. I asked her if she was okay. She said she was fine. I figured it was something that I didn't need to know about.

And then I'm not sure what happened next. My students were acting strange and asking questions about people being fired. I ended up talking to someone, not sure who, and discovered that over 40 faculty at school (10 full-time, 33 regular part time) were given notice that their contracts weren't being renewed for fall.

And then I saw one of my officemates, and his first words to me were, "You're regular part time aren't you? Well, you're getting fired today." Instead of telling him what I really felt (lots of profanity ran through my head), I indicated that no, I am not a regular part time faculty member, and gave him a big thank you for setting the tone for the rest of my day.

He's one of the faculty being fired. And while I have opinions about the rampant firings that occurred today (so many good people fired - so many great teachers), I wouldn't consider him to be one of the losses. I've subbed for him. He teaches math; I teach English. He thinks that giving 4 tests in a row is a good way to fill the time, uh, I mean, teach.

And I don't know how this is going to get better. I can't see that far into the future. There's a chance they'll be called back. But until then there are gaping holes in the fall schedule and dark offices. Many of my friends were fired today. We saw it coming, but I don't think we really could grasp what it would feel like.

It felt like a bomb went off in my building today.

And I wonder if those boys could tell me what "y" means in this ridiculous equation that I'm staring at here. This is the kind of math I just don't get.

-C

The Notebook?!

2009-04-05T20:06:00.004-05:00

The other day I read that my brother, Clark, had taken a quiz on Facebook that would tell him what movie most "accurately" represented his life. The answer was The Notebook. When I read it, I burst out laughing.

The Notebook is the movie that many of my students indicate is their favorite movie of all time or the best movie ever made or the movie they could watch over and over again. It's a crying movie. It's the kind of movie people should not watch in the middle of the day because if you do you end up with bloodshot eyes, a headache, and a red nose.

I haven't seen the movie in its entirety (I did read the book - with the same results), but I have watched this kind of movie. When I was flying back from Scotland a couple summers ago on Virgin, I spent the entire flight from Heathrow to JFK watching movies, and Reign Over Me was one of them. I sat in my row, all alone, eating curry, drinking those small bottles of airplane wine, and sobbing. Getting off that flight at JFK, getting my luggage, and finding a cab to take me into the city was only partly complicated by the pounding headache I had from all that crying.

And really I'm not all that surprised that Clark is The Notebook. Facebook indicated that:

He's the Romantic. He's such an easy going and quiet natured person. He has an inner spark inside of him that shines through to the world. He's beautiful inside and out. He believes in true love and that the world needs more genuine people like him.

And, in this case, Facebook is pretty much dead on. He's quiet and sensitive, likes animals and babies, is a brilliant cook, and is passionate about perfecting recipes.

And apparently Facebook is on a roll. Here's his latest quiz result:

Clark completed the quiz "What Muppet Are You?" with the result Rowlf.

You are a calm and quiet person, but this does not mean you are overlooked. You are easy going and a fan of the finer things in life. Your artistic flare, leads you to appreciate the arts, especially music! People are drawn to you and enjoy your sense of style. Your hospitality is flawless as you love entertaining friends.

-C

It used to be spring

2009-04-05T12:29:00.002-05:00