SOLSC 5 of 31 March 5, 2014 - Spring Snow

Join me this month as I write a slice of my life each day this March and join many others sharing slices at twowritingteachers.com.  My students will also be slicing this month and you can find links to their daily blogs HERE.  

This morning, the world was covered by an inch or two of heavy wet snow.  It was the type of snow that pelted down, just a little slower than rain, sticking to everything it touched. The rain that preceded it, had disturbed my sleeping, three-year-old daughter, tapping against the windows and noisily gurgling down the downspout outside the wall of her room.  This led to a night of many awakenings and eventually her climbing into bed with us around 3AM and keeping us awake with her sleeping calisthenics. We greeted the new day bleary-eyed and groggy.

Looking outside the bedroom window, through heavy eyelids, was magical.  Each stick and limb of the sugar maple in the front yard, was encased in a layer of white. Our neighbor's pine tree was frosted, boughs slightly drooping, green needles poking through the layer of snow. The blue sky promised a day that would melt the snow from the sidewalk with no need for shoveling. The crocuses in the front yard, only just emerged two days ago, were buried. They wait for the sun to rise, over the houses across the street, to herald spring again!

I think this post could be remade into a poem, but I don't have time to do that and post for today.  Cheers!

Snowy Branches photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/calliope/6452908/">Muffet</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/">cc</a>

Crocus photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/beautifulcataya/4451338409/">beautifulcataya</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a>

SOLSC 4 of 31 March 4, 2014 - Failure or redefined success?

Join me this month as I write a slice of my life each day this March and join many others sharing slices at twowritingteachers.com.  My students will also be slicing this month and you can find links to their daily blogs HERE.  

As my fingertips grip the tiny handholds, my climbing shoes search for purchase on a tiny protruding nubbin. My forearms ache, my fingers scream as I hold my core tight and try to stick to the slightly overhanging face I’m scaling. I try to use my left leg to push over to the handhold I need to grasp with my right hand.

Before I even make the move, I know it’s useless. I just don’t have the skill for this move.  What am I doing here?  Was this a bad idea? My fingers start to slip and I fall…twelve inches onto the thick, padded mat in the climbing gym.

I sigh.  I’m trying a GREEN bouldering route, which is at the recreational, or easiest level.  I didn’t make it past the first move. While I’ve successfully climbed two routes already (although they may be called problems. I’m not sure). One was just plain easy and the other took me several attempts and it’s no sure thing I will be able to do it again.

Not me, but an example of the lithe-like people in the gym and the moves they do.

Around me in the “Bouldering Cave,” a dozen lithe bodies take turns clinging to the walls, seeming to defy gravity, easily working from one handhold to another.  They are also at least a dozen years younger than my thirty-eight years and I’m rarely accused of being lithe. I work to stave off frustration as they make routes, far above my level, seem simple.

The thing is, I’m a confident rock scrambler. I’m relatively athletic, have climbed mountains, made rock climbing moves while looking between my legs at rocks a hundred feet below. I’ve been roped up and climbed some rock pitches and belayed others as well.  But this bouldering is another matter.  I am a beginner, a Noob. I don’t know the lingo. I don’t know the etiquette. I am sure everyone else knows I have no real idea what I’m doing.  I do know; this is how my students feel when I ask them to try something new.

Earlier in the day was the first day of Ultimate (Frisbee football to some) practice at my school. I told the fifteen, eleven-to-thirteen year old boys:

That we all had different skills levels, from beginner to skilled.

Everyone would make mistakes and everyone needed to be able to move past it and try again without feeling badly.

That skilled people fail at a something and just try again.

Beginners fail and sometimes never try again, but with good support they often do.

All that mattered was that we tried hard and supported each other to keep trying and getting better.

If we were not having fun, we were not doing it right.

I look back at those initial handholds on the wall in front of me. Right now, I do not have the required skill, understanding of the first move, or strength to figure it out.  I know that and IT IS frustrating. I pick up and move to that green route I’ve only solved once this evening. I expect with practice, my body will figure out this new skill.  For now, I work to believe that success means, try to get better and don't give up. 

I put my hands on the first handhold, smile to make sure I'm having fun, and try again.  

photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mloskot/6998433459/">Pantera and Mateusz</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a><a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/">cc</a>

SOLSC 3/31 - The Dropsies

Join me this month as I write a slice of my life each day this March and join many others sharing slices at twowritingteachers.com.  My students will also be slicing this month and you can find links to their daily blogs HERE.  






Switching the soap from one hand to another, it slips from my grasp, and that's where the trouble starts.  All I wanted to do was wash my other armpit, but instead, the last 10% of my bar of soap is accelerating at 9.8 meters per second squared, towards the floor of the tub.  I reacted quickly, and made one of the almost best saves of all time, and instead ended up with this story.  But first, you need a little background on me.

I drop things. Regularly. With amazing clumsiness and occasional skill. If you hang out with me for any extended period of time, you will soon realize that things around me have an extra affinity for gravity, especially if I have been holding them.  But to tell the truth, it's not that I drop things so much, it's that I don't catch them...after tossing them.

It seems that students of speech/forensics are are all able to do all the cool pen twirls around their fingers. I apparently try to flip, toss or spin every object in my life.  Some things that get flipped, spun or flung everyday include (roughly in the order of my day): the shampoo and conditioner, deodorant, hairbrush, spoons, occasionally dishes, shoes, keys, my phone, whiteboard markers, pens/pencils, milk cartons, books, small children (including my daughter Clara), light free weights, forks, knives, contact case, contact solution, and dozens of other things.  With all these things flying around me, it's no wonder that a few of them hit the ground.

So, while some things do crater around me, and the occasional object gets broken, I also have dozens of small successes each day.  Perhaps it was a behind-the-back grape toss into my mouth, or a three-and-a-half flip of the hairbrush complete with one-handed handle catch.  I also make incredible saves that either end with me catching something that seemed "done for" or just blunting the impact by slowing it with my foot, so my phone doesn't hit the ground at full speed and break.

Back to the falling soap.

I stuck out my left foot and hit the soap back up into the air, just like a hacky sack player.  The filament of soap rose straight up to chest level and with confidence, I snatched at it with my right hand. A minuscule miscalculation from eye to brain to hand led to the soap being hit over the shower doors, flying across the bathroom, bouncing off the wall and landing behind the toilet.  Oh the agony of a defeat snatched from the jaws of improbable victory.  Chagrinned, grinning and dripping, I gathered my dented soap and returned to washing my armpits.

Soap photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/soapylove/822138120/">soapylovedeb</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/">cc</a>

Wet Tiles photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/checoo/246078388/">checoo</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/">cc</a> 

SOLSC 2/31 - "My Darn Child"

Join me this month as I write a slice of my life each day this March and join many others sharing slices at twowritingteachers.com.  My students will also be slicing daily and you can find links to their daily blogs HERE.  







When my daughter wakes up from her afternoon nap, she is either going a million miles a second, or sleepily needing a cuddle for a few more minutes.  The other day she was high energy as I helped her get dressed.  She was jumping around, dodging her shirt and making me work to put socks on her feet.  In an effort to slow her down, I started asking her questions.

"What's your favorite color?"  "Red."
"What do you want for a snack?" "Let's see...Cottage cheese and crackers."
I noticed a handkerchief on the floor with a small figurine laying on it.  "Who is this?"
"My darn child," Clara replied in a matter-of fact voice.

I was floored.  Did I hear her right?  I probably wasn't really listening well, since my main focus was on getting her sock onto her left foot at the time.

"Your what?"
"My darn child," she repeated, clear as day.

Now I knew that Clara must have come across that phrase somewhere. She is three-and-a-half after all, with real adults in her life who occasionally let things slip.  I don't think I've ever actually uttered that expression and I doubt my wife has either.  Perhaps it was one of Clara's many grandparents?  There was no way she could really know what she's saying.  She must just be repeating what she heard elsewhere.  I decided to probe a little deeper and get to the probable, innocent "bottom" of this surprising comment.

"Why is she your darn child?"
Immediately, "Well, she cries a lot, so she's my darn child."

I dropped the sock. That cleared up if she knew how to use it correctly.  I was actually a little impressed, a little proud and, of course, horrified I'd be blamed for the original phrase or the continued use of it.  I could already imagine the conversation with my wife.

Susan - "I don't know where she heard it either, but after your reaction, she's using it all the time."
Me - Dumb look on my face, eyes glassy, perhaps drool dripping for my mouth. "I don't think it was that bad. I was so surprised, it just happened."
Susan - "What you should have said was '[something so simple and obvious I feel like a dolt for not thinking of it while simultaneously knowing that I would never have thought of it given days to study the problem].'"

Looking back at Clara, I struggled to compose my face.  I wasn't sure if a look of horror or amusement wanted to creep across its features, but I knew I didn't want to make a big deal about it so she didn't keep using it.  If I laughed, she'd want to make me do it again.  If I was shocked, she'd do it again to test the boundaries.

"Oh. That must be very frustrating while you're having your nap.  Maybe she just wanted a hug?  Come here and let's put this sock on and get that snack."

Crisis averted (I hope). Inside my head, I patted myself on the back and we piggy-backed downstairs, fully clothed and ready for the rest of the day, me and my darn child.

Would someone this cute say such a thing?

Sock photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/franziska/213301851/">franziskas garten</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/">cc</a>

SOLSC 1/31 - Snowy Silence

Join me this month as I write a slice of my life each day this March and join many others sharing slices at twowritingteachers.com.  My students will also be slicing daily and you can find links to their blogs HERE.  

You know when you're so tired that your eyes just feel heavy from eyebrows to cheeks?  That's what this whole week has felt like for me.  Life became crazy with just too many things, some more stressful than others, in all aspects of of my life.  And somehow, it is always possible to pile on another huge event or issue; so things have been piling up and I've been zooming around doing what NEEDS to be done, and somehow staying afloat.  I'm old enough to know, IT will calm down and I can make it through this busy tough time, and I'm very lucky to have great support from family and friends.  But in times like these, a break in the action, a heart-filling moment (or longer if possible) is always appreciated.  

Friday, I took my class on a snowshoeing trip into the mountains west of Denver.  To be entirely accurate, our environment education teacher Elizabeth led the trip while Kam, my co-teacher, and I were there to assist in all the parts the go along with taking a class of twenty-three middle schools students on an outing.  It was a wonderful day full of deep snow, laughter, a nice hike, a great lesson, six-foot snow pits, and a massive snow fight or "brawl" for those interested.  Like most days with my class, it was a Good Day, a Great Day even. 

But the best slice of my day, was while we were waddling along the path in our snowshoes.  Six inches of fluffy, sparkling flakes covered the six feet of snow already on the ground.  The lodgepole pine boughs were heavy with snow, sometimes two-feet deep on the strongest branches, while the last remnants of the morning storm drifted from the sky onto the line of students in front of me.  A forest, covered in deep snow, always seems to create a heavy silence, even as birds chirp, snow pants swish, and steamy breath chugs out from bodies climbing along a steepening path.  Ahead, a blustery gust of wind knocks snow from the trees and creates a swirling wall of white, whipping down on us.  An expectant hush grips the forest, even as the noise from the wind gust increases, before it reaches and soon slips past us.  The silence is never actually quiet in these woods on this snowy day.  But today I find some peace and some needed joy, as the flakes melt on my skin and fill my heart.

photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/amanda63/4276423269/">fleckchen</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/">cc</a>

SOL February 25 - Preparing for Slicing with my Class

I'm excited, nervous and slightly dreading this upcoming month.  I've been intermittently Slicing since June and also posting books I've read for the "It's Monday! What are you reading?" blogs.  But I have not been very consistent, especially since things started feeling VERY busy at school, which seemed to happen about the first week in September.  Now I have challenged (actually required as part of their schoolwork) my class of middle school students to write every day in March.  I'm a little worried about the logistics of helping to make it all work, but we've been blogging about books all year and posting poetry and Slices of Life a few times a month for each other to read.  I actually believe that most to all of my students will post more than the target 25 times, and many will be successful in posting each day.

But what I'm anxious about is me.  My days feel so busy that I do not write as often as I hope to and it is so easy to just put it off for more pressing needs (like my family obligations or sleep or exercise or homework or..or...or). So this is my slice for today.  The part where I carved a few minutes to write (albeit at the end of the day it was "due"), hoping I find this time everyday, for thirty-one days, and can proudly co-write with the amazing class I work with every day.

Good luck to all the participants for the next month in the individual and classroom challenges.  We wil learn so much about ourselves and the people around us!

Max

It's Monday! What are you Reading? February 17 2014

This week I read far far away, a YA book by Tom McNeal. I also have the rest of the week off so hopefully I'll get some other good books read.

It starts...

"This is the strange and fateful tale of a boy, a girl, and an ancient ghost."

Tom McNeal does a wonderful job of incorporating the typical aspects of the Grimm fairy tales, while making it seem like a modern day story in a small town.  The character's are enjoyable, the story takes several twists and turns, and as in Grimm's original tales, there are some very real and slightly disturbing moments (although no one gets their eyes pecked out by birds or cuts off body parts to fit a glass slipper).  It is a enjoyable read, especially if you have a penchant for a good fairy tale and the Grimm stories.

far far away is a modern day Grimm fairy tale set in modern America, complete with mischievous children, heroes, villains, and a ghost.  The ghost is actually the spirit of Jacob Grimm, set to wander the Earth trying to solve the riddle of why he has not "passed on." The only person who can hear him is a lonely teenage boy in a small town.  After a prank goes wrong, Jeremy Johnson Johnson is shunned by most of the townspeople, except for the girl who made him take part in the prank, a kindly neighbor, and the town baker.  The baker makes Prince Cakes every few months and there are rumors that they are enchanted.  One other mystery, children from the town, and surrounding towns, have been disappearing for over twenty years.  The authorities believe they are runaways, but as with most fairy tales, the real reason is much more sinister.  far far away has love, friendship, loyalty, a misunderstood villain, a lonely boy, a ghost, and enchanted pastries.  What more could a reader want?