It’s quiet here on the couch.
I hear the low whoosh of the furnace, and a clock ticking.
That’s it!
Quiet still feels new.
Earlier, I thought it was way past my bedtime
but it was only 6:52.
It’s cold here on the couch.
Thank god for this blanket on my toes
Or thank my mom, really, since she made it —
crocheted it
I’m going to close my eyes
Just for a minute…
It was quiet this morning. I looked around the classroom, wondering why it felt extra calm.
Reading.
Reading is why.
There were a bunch of kids reading.
I should have collected the data. How many kids were reading? What were they reading?
Am I right that reading is catching?
A few weeks ago, we finished a chapter book read aloud: Legends of Lotus Island. Kids started signing up to have a turn to read the second book in the series. So I ordered another copy of the second book and the third book. The librarian lent me another copy of the second book and even gave me a few copies of the first book. Last week I ordered book four, gave it to a student on Monday, and he brought it back finished today. The next student on the list started reading it right away.
Is reading maybe catching?
I noticed we had kids reading each of the books in a series, so I had to take a picture.
“Sit on the couch in order and hold the book up,” I said.
“I’m going to really read it,” the student who had just gotten book four said.
“Yeah,” one of the other readers said, “Me too.”
After the picture, it was time for morning meeting.
“Can I bring this to share?” one of my readers asked, clutching book four.
At sharing, he said, “I am reading book four of Lotus Island!”
And another student said, “I finished that this weekend.”
“Was it good?” I asked.
“It was my favorite one,” he said.
I wondered when Christina Soontornvat might write book 5. I mean, we need to keep this momentum going!
Around the circle, another student had a book in her hands. “I just got this Wings of Fire book this weekend,” she said.
“It’s the newest one.”
So, it isn’t just about one series then . . . reading is catching.
It’s funny. I know that this is how it works – a series inspires readers, readers inspire more readers… a reading culture is created.
But when you see it start to happen, it’s a little like magic.
Magic and pressure – because I gotta fan those flames with more real books!
Sara told me this morning that she has a vivid memory of me stuffing animal rights flyers into the pockets of fur coats at Macy’s. Back when there were malls, so much was possible.
And I wonder what kind of messages I could stuff into what kind of pockets now.
I knew the answer to one of the Thanksgiving trivia questions at inservice yesterday. It was 46 million. 46 million turkeys are murdered each year for this holiday. The question of course was worded a little differently than that, but even with the wording, and the cute turkey clip art, I still understood what it must mean to be a turkey in November.
And I wonder if that was the one time someone might have liked having a vegan on their Thanksgiving trivia team.
I have a friend who learned to slaughter a turkey. First, she sang him a lullaby in her arms and thanked him for his life. Once I met a flock of turkeys at Farm Sanctuary. I fed them blades of grass. If I had to disguise a turkey, I’d disguise it to look like your pet dog. Or perhaps I could just disguise it with facts about how smart turkeys are, how they pass knowledge down to other turkeys, how they purr when you pet them, how they talk to their babies even before they are hatched.
And I wonder what other trauma we would be okay with disguising in a cute school project.
Uncomfortable, I know. Especially if your turkey carcass is already in your house, waiting for Thanksgiving.
My day, as told by my advice — to you, and you and you, and me too.
Get new tires.
Always order the venti coffee.
Look at the plans. The ones I made.
Take a deep breath.
Listen.
Go outside.
Please stop screaming.
Do your own work.
Chat GPT isn’t the way.
Read the room.
Watch your face.
I took my son back to school tonight — fall break is over.
We talked about egoism and empathy for most of the trip. But, with five minutes of the ride left, I gave him some reminders.
I think he
really appreciated my sound bites of advice.
18 year-olds usually do.
“I get a hug!” I said, as we pulled into the parking lot, and he said, “Okay, but it has to before I grab all my stuff.”
Spoiler alert: I gave him one hug before
and one after.
Plus, as he crossed the street, I yelled,
”Goodbye! I love you!”
And he said it return.
I win!
I drove back, betrayed Sheetz for a
Wawa coffee stop —
which I like better, I have to admit, Wawa coffee.
Maybe it’s nostalgia, I don’t know.
Now I’m home,
in time for bed.
I’m hoping the melatonin wins against the coffee
on this school night.
There are leaves crumbling all over the tabletop
and I love it
but
this morning I balanced a box of capybara squishies
as my coffee dripped all over the top of my lunchbox
just so I could swipe my ID, open a door —
but
I love it
Teaching is an odd thing to do with your time
today I told someone to stop talking about milk
so they could finish their breakfast of apple juice poured on cinnamon Chex
The things you never even thought of to think you’d never say, you know?
One year I had to tell my sixth graders that we do not form cults in middle school
So far, there have been no talk of cults in second grade.
Instead we talk a lot about Star Behavior—
but
I love it.
Today I had to stop science because too many 7 and 8 year olds yelled,
“It’s a magnet!” And ruined the
aha!
for half the class.
We had a
short
class meeting where we talked about the
big
feelings we had from not getting to figure things out ourselves, and I reminded them that we all make mistakes, no need to say
“Thanks a lot!” to friends in a way that means
everything but
thank you.
After that we celebrated finishing our read aloud
I handed out capybara squishies
to a chorus of “You’re the best teacher ever.”
and we lined up to go home
Awhile later as I was leaving my classroom
I passed our community art table
and saw that the leaves were still crumbling all over the tabletop
but more were glued in place
a scene was starting to be set
I hope it is a metaphor
and
I love it.
when I was 9
the summer after fourth-grade
I moved far away
heartbroken to leave my best friend
We met, you know, when I was 3 and she was 4.
she hid in her car sobbing
while we packed the moving truck in my driveway
I rode away sobbing
kept sobbing every night of fifth-grade
that was almost 40 years ago
Would it make me seem younger if I said that was over 30 years ago?
38 years
between then and now
I moved back
we went to college together
she moved away
there have been visits
phone calls
FaceTimes
and today as I drove
14 minutes from my house
to help unpack her moving truck
here
Just 14 minutes from my house.
I wondered two things
Would it help if I could tell 9 year-old me it’s going to be okay – What’s a
few decades and miles between old friends. Also be patient.
and
hear me out here
What is it that my future self wants to tell my today self will be okay?
Where does your writing come from?
Sometimes
I catch a line
a phrase
something someone
says
or sometimes some
rhymes
sometimes
my fingers
wiggle
Wiggle?
Do real writers use words like wiggle?
Would you prefer
joggle
squirm
jiggle?
My fingers want to
write
so they move
hopping
hoping a keyboard materializes
by the time my brain realizes
how to possibly process
what made me laugh
or cry or
most
maybe most likely
made me angry
one day I’ll write about the breeze that
floats through the trees in my backyard
makes you believe those people who talk to trees
I’ll find a way to describe the bird songs so
you hear them
the way they interrupt each other
just in time
so the short quick repeating
chirp chirp chirp chirps don’t act like an alarm
but a melody
until then
I’ll just notice things,
my fingers will
joggle
I’ll write the words when
I can catch them.
Dear Grocery Clerk,
I didn’t want to be a jerk
So I watched in silence
didn’t threaten violence
when you slowly bagged
what didn’t need to be bagged
and stuffed the bag
into the bottom of my cart
I didn’t have my reusables
and this was inexcusable
so you bagged with hate
I’m not here to debate
but could you not consolidate?
Did you have to bag while so irate?
It’s fine, 4 bags for 20 cents was my fate
The extra two in the bottom of my cart
It was so windy outside
I swear I almost cried
As the cart started to roll
It was so hard to control
I pulled, and I pulled the stuffed bag
The 5-cent brown bag
The I didn’t need a fourth one bag
from the bottom of my cart
I tried to research a grouchy poem format. But, I couldn’t find one. So I decided to make my own. It could work with other feeling words, I’m sure. But right now I am very grouchy. Don’t take it too seriously though, writing it was fun.
I am feeling grouchy
and that rhymes with slouchy
which makes sense, especially when I’m
sitting on the couch-y
I am feeling grumpy
and that rhymes with frumpy
which makes sense, especially when its
all so Trump-y.
I am feeling irritable
and that rhymes with uncharitable
which makes sense, especially when life
isn’t really editable
I am feeling snappish
and that rhymes with brattish
which make sense when happy
seems to vanish
I am feeling bitchy
and that rhymes with witchy
which makes sense when days
make me so twitchy
I am feeling snarky
and that rhymes with malarkey
which makes sense when life
ain’t really a party
the musings of a high school science teacher
Tales of a Doc student's readings
erratic thoughts too loud for lines
Small slices of my life, in one place!
Celebrating the Randomness of Life
On a Thought 