DC

So I had lunch in the basement of the Senate building today--along with a jillion other people. Then, before my appointment with my Congressman (I got there early), I visited the basement of his building, too. Again, LOTS of people. And hardly anyone on the streets. I know because I couldn't find my way back to the hotel and tried to find people to ask for help. Amazing how few people there were! One of the Senator's chief of staff told us the building was like an anthill. Everything they need is there: food, laundry, gym, mail. . . So I was wondering if being inside all the time makes a person look at the world differently. I mean, it's a grey, misty day here in DC. I have a picture that I can't seem to upload. But it's pretty. The cherry trees are in bloom. Does anyone who works here see?

losing community

I do a lot of reading about online communities: what creates them, how "real" they are, their dangers, and so on. I have not really participated actively in one until this month. And I'm thinking today about the online communities that have been created by the SOLS challenge.
I "slice" with my students, too, and I have noticed an effect from this activity. About half of the class participates--it isn't mandatory--and I see a difference in the way those of us who are participating interact in class. We KNOW things about each other--our fears, our challenges, the details of life that don't usually get shared in class. I feel closer to my students, and I think they feel closer to each other because of the online community we have built outside of class. It's what I always hope for in a writing class--and we've built it. Through writing, yes, but outside of class. Interesting.
In addition, I feel that I have some online "friends" who respond to my posts with some regularity and whose posts I respond to. I have found myself doing some things I never anticipated I would: replying to others' blogs and looking forward to the comments that follow mine, wondering what I wrote that might spark a response in others. I don't know these people in the sense that I would recognize them on the street or that I know what they do or where they live. I only know them because for a few moments in March, we had connections: our lives intersected and were enriched because of the words (ideas) we shared. How cool is that?! I never would have anticipated it. I joined because I needed to get back into the habit of daily writing. I got that. . . and so much more.
A few weeks ago, one of my students wrote that he thought he would miss this SOLS connection when it ended. I am feeling that way today. I am flying to Washington D. C. to try to talk to legislators about funding for National Writing Project. I don't know what my online access will be in the next two days. I hope I will be able to "slice." If not, I will miss it even sooner than I intended.

blushing

Yesterday in class, I did something quite embarrassing. After most of the laughter quieted, one of my students said I should "slice" about it, and since it still is making me blush to think of it, I guess I will.
I currently teach pre-service teachers in a private religious university. Yesterday, in our discussion about grading, I intended to say grade sheets, but I accidentally slipped my vowel from a long "e" to a short "i." First, incredulity--on my part and my students' faces. Then they laughed. And me? Red face. Hot face. Cover your face. Why is that an instinct? Do we, like my grandson, think that if we close our eyes no one can see us?
The problem after that was that every time I attempted to say the word sheet, the other word felt like it was going to slip out! I changed to rubric and paper. This probably isn't a big deal to some people. But that isn't a word I say--and even if it were, it wouldn't be one I would say in this setting. So, like most embarrassing moments, it flashes back into my mind and then my face responds, blushing all over again. Even here, in my office, where no one is watching.

What if?

In addition to Two Writing Teachers :), I also RSS Interesting Nonfiction for Kids (INK), a blog written collaboratively by authors of nonfiction picture and YA books. Today's post was writen by David Schwartz--and got me thinking. Here's part of his post:

I think parents and teachers (not to mention media providers) would do children and our future a great service if they encouraged wondering and the asking of questions rather than simply consuming and accepting information and stimuli. Children need to interact, not just imbibe, what the world sends their way. . . .Case in point: I once met a 6th grade science teacher who had asked her students in a well-heeled public school to put some small piece of the natural world (a few plants and/or small animals) and temporarily transfer it to a contained environment (shoebox, glass jar, etc.) for an hour of observing, speculating, hypothesizing and experimenting. Everyone in the class thought the assignment was too hard. They didn't know what to do for an hour. The teacher lamented that if she had asked them to write a 10-page report on Einstein, no one would have batted an eye.
You might say the whole class -- or a whole generation -- has a "what if?" deficit.
What if we started a nationwide discussion on what to do about it?

In his post, Schwartz lists his own "what if" questions. What a great way to get me thinking! So here is my list of "what ifs" for today (it's actually kind of difficult to get started--but really fun once my mind starts going there!):
* What if we could choose one day a year to live inside our favorite books or stories? What would change--in the book and in our lives?
* What if rain went from the ground up, instead of from the sky, down?
* What if broccoli and cauliflower tasted like chocolate and caramel?
* What if people could run faster or somehow move faster (think my way to a place) than cars or planes? Would we even need them? Would we crash in space as we tele-ported ourselves about?
* What if we were required at the end of each day to list five things we'd noticed in the world that day? Would we pay more attention?
* What if we all had to use a minimum of 10 similes a day? More use of "like" or more effective use???
* What if spring flowers bloomed for 4 months instead of just 6 weeks?
* What if days were 36 hours instead of 24? Would we be in less of a hurry?

Taking time

I keep being reminded: we need to make good choices for how we spend our time. My friend whose husband is fighting cancer went with him and their children to the Jazz game last night (in a special suite to protect him). When I asked her about it today, she said they didn't even realize that the Jazz lost--they were having so much fun. I was so happy for them to have the time together--and I am reminded (again) that being with people we love is what matters. Yes, we have to work and fill the car with gas and pick up the dry cleaning. But when we can pick, we should spend time with the people we love. It won't matter if it rains during the picnic or if the dinner doesn't turn out as we had hoped. It's the time and the memories that will matter.

Writing

Last night we watched the new movie Limitless. In it, the main character takes a pill that let's him access 100% of his brain (under the premise that we normally access only 20%). He is a writer who can't write until he takes the pill--and then he can write. Just like that! The scene where he suddenly begins writing is visually intriguing: letters start falling from the ceiling, just a few at first and then more and more, faster and faster, until he is surrounded by letters. He finishes the book in record time. As if it were that easy. Some days, I wish it were. Not the pill, which is scary, but the words falling around me? That I would like.

imaginary driving

I haven't been home before my grandson's bedtime this week. A combination of work and church-related events kept me away. Last night, though, I got home around 5. He must have heard the garage door opening because, before I could even pull the car in fully, he had opened the door from the house and was running out to greet me. I turned the car off, preparing to get out. Gabe, though, wanted to play IN the car. So I pulled him in and we proceeded to play: we pretended to drive places, to say "hello" and "goodbye" as we went, to push buttons (he loves turning the hazards on and off, on and off), to put the keys in and take them out, to pretend to shift gears, to climb to the back seat (he did, I didn't) and back again, to put on our seat belts and take them off again. There was so much playing to be done in the car, even though it was turned off and sitting in the garage. We played for nearly a half hour, until one of us (I'm not sure which one)turned on the car alarm. I had trouble figuring out how to turn it off again, so we decided it was time to go IN the house and play cars there. I was reminded, in a week with lots of work and lots of tasks, how necessary it is sometimes to take time for imagination. How relaxing and refreshing it is to play and pretend. A two-year-old can teach us that.

too many things to do

It's one of those days, you know? We all have them, I know: more things clamoring for our attention than we can do. Today, at 11:00, there were at least four events I could have/should have attended. One would have been professionally enlightening, one would have been supportive of a colleague,one would have been I-don't-know-what (maybe boring, but I'd have been dutiful to have gone), and one was the appointment I made a month ago with a friend and colleague who works in a local school district office. About three times a year we find a day when our schedules work out to allow us to meet for lunch. Today was one of those days, so I did what I wanted to do, what I'd planned to do, and said no to the other good things I could have done. And my visit with her? It was enlightening, it was supportive (both of her and to me), and it was rejuvenating. So, I think I made the best choice for using that hour of my day. I wish I made the best choices for all the individual hours I must decide between a bundle of good options.

slice of. . . cookies?

I didn't have time for breakfast this morning--and I have this go-pack of mini Chips Ahoy! in my office. So, guess what's for breakfast??? I was eating a few of them (mind you--the serving size is only one-fourth of the pack!) and thinking about what I was eating. First, how do they get them to be that small??? Then, what's in them? I have the book, All in Just One Cookie, in my office. It is a delightful story and informative book about a grandma making chocolate chip cookies in anticipation of a visit from her grandchildren--and the ingredients that contribute to the chocolate chip cookies she is baking. I don't think there's anything in the book about niacin, reduced iron, thiamine mononitrate, riboflavin, soy lecithin, caramel color, or emulsifiers. Yet all those are in these little bite-sized "cookies" I am eating for my breakfast today. Hmmm. No wonder I like the ones I make at home better. But. . . these can do in a pinch. And there's something that makes me feel like I'm on vacation. . . eating cookies for breakfast.

This is where I

I'm using Ruth's SOLS as my inspiration today. Today she wrote about collecting the letter A. I have an A in my office, too.

I can't make it import right side up!

Anyway, here are some other "A" (or almost-A) things I have in my office:

ABC Books, including Agent A to Z (Andy Rash)
Art created by grandchildren and former students
Ahab's Wife (Sena Jeter Naslund)
(not really Abominable) snowmen
Abundance
An accommodating chair
Aspirin
Adjectives: different and secret and dreadful
Adverbs: extremely and incredibly and proudly
America: A Patriotic Primer (Lynne Cheney)
Afternoons
Antique books, including a grammar book from 1893
Awe

book spine poems

I read about this idea in someone's SOLS on TwoWritingTeachers, so I decided to try it with my own books. I had a couple of really good ones going (one was going into zombie . . . maybe I'll work on that one a little more). Anyway, to my students: April is Poetry Month. You might want to try this with your own library and contribute it as a SOLS! Find titles to create your own poem, take a picture of it with your phone, attach it to your blog post (see how your future students would like this???)
I also see a blog where there's a submission request for these: http://100scopenotes.com/2011/03/18/poetry-friday-the-mix-up/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=poetry-friday-the-mix-up
I look forward to seeing what you "write"! Here's mine:

two babies

What a great way to end the weekend: two of my children and their families at the house. After ice cream and M&Ms, the two little ones (a granddaughter 20 months old and a grandson 28 months) had lost their clothes and were each dressed in a diaper and nothing else, running around the house, laughing and calling each other: "Come here, baby!" Running up the stairs, grinning at us from the landing above us, and sliding back down the stairs just to run back up again. And laughing all the time. How great is that?

M&Ms

Tonight my 2-year old grandson found a bag of M&Ms on my dresser. It was a bag of individual packages, Easter colored ones I'd purchased to give the grandchildren. He grabbed it and said, "Mine!" I approached him to open it and get him a package when he took off running, as fast as he could with the bag clutched in his hand, laughing in that contagious way little kids have: pure joy. He got his package. With it opened, he climbed on the bed and lounged back on some pillows with his legs crossed. This is a boy who really knows how to enjoy his M&Ms.

pre-institute

We had our pre-institute tonight, getting ready for our writing project's summer institute in June. It's the end of a busy week, a Friday evening, and there we were: 19 fellows and 6 coaches (fellows from previous summer institutes), and 3 directors--all spending four hours together writing, sharing our writing, and preparing for the summer to come. It's amazing. I was tired; I'm sure the teachers were, too. But there was this energy there that was just amazing. Karen's prompt at the beginning of the evening came from Guys Write for Guys Read--and encouraged us to consider what powers we would have if we were a superhero. I think, after this evening, I would answer differently than I did at the beginning of the evening. Then, I said I would have powers to stop time for everyone else so that I could get more done. Now, I think I'd want the power these teachers have. These teachers, teachers who want to spend four weeks of their summer together learning more about writing, have superpowers. They energize me on a Friday night after a busy week. And I know from experience, that I will feel the same energy working with them during the summer. I will leave each day, after 8 hours of writing and sharing writing and working on ideas for teaching writing, with surprising energy when I should feel tired. I was reminded of that tonight. What a privilege it is to work with these engaged teachers.

one of those days

I'm having one of those days where I just can't seem to get myself going. It was misery to get out of bed. I actually got up and then half an hour later climbed back in, determined I was going to stay there for the day. But I wasn't sick. And people were counting on me to be places and do things. So I got up. I went to work. I did some things. But the day is like walking through mud: a lot of effort (it seems) for very little progress. It's taken me all day to get this written, but I am doing one thing new for today. I'm putting in a picture.

a storm's coming

I can see it from my office window, like a wall moving toward me. The mountains across the lake are shrouded in mist, disappearing into the gray in places. I can hear it. Every so often, a rumble. I can smell it. Water and dirt. I can hardly wait.

Words

I'm reading Pat Conroy's book, My Reading Life. I'm reading it slowly, chewing a few pages at a time. It's a book you read like that. This morning, I read some pages about his love of words: "Good writing. . . . is taking the nothingness of air and turning it into a pleasure palace built on a foundation of words." You see what I mean by needing to chew slowly?? He keeps a journal of words. When he reads a book, he writes down the words he reads that he likes. What a great idea. He said he just picks words that "please me, goad me into action, make me want to sing a song." Not fancy words, not what he calls pretentious words. Simply words that bring some kind of pleasure. I thought I'd try it today with HIS book. Here's the start of my list:
amulets
camouflage
mandrills
transcendent
hibiscus
dimpled
ethereal
anthem
limned
disconsolate

Yum.

Cookies with a grandson

One of our grandsons lives with us right now (along with his parents!). He's two. He understands that I go to work, and most days I leave before he's up, so it's not a big deal. But on Saturday when I needed to come in to work, he was up and not happy about it. He grabbed his shoes, ran to the door, and said, "I ready to go to work" over and over. So I asked his mom if we could go for a treat. We got in the car (he's still in his pj's) and drove down to Kneaders. When I said that's where we were going, he asked "French toast?" I laughed. They do make the best French toast in the world--and I wondered how he knew already. But we'd had breakfast (he ate his own and half of my bowl of Wheaties), so I said, "No, a cookie." We went in, got him a shamrock cookie and sat at a table while he ate it, one small bite at a time, studying all the people in between bites. It was such a fun way to spend a half hour, and the joy stayed with me all the time I was at work. Then on Sunday, when I was getting ready to go to a morning church meeting, he grabbed his shoes and said, "Go to Kneaders? Get a cookie?" I guess I started something. And I wish I could do it every day.

friendship

This weekend I have had several long conversations with friends, all of whom are going through really hard things in their lives: a woman whose husband has four kinds of cancer, another going through a trial suing for patent infringement when her husband (who died last year) was the inventor, and a mom dealing with a grown child with a new baby, kidney surgery, and a flooded house all at once. Our lives can be so challenging sometimes, and I have felt totally inadequate as these friends have called just to talk, "vent" two of them said. What do you say in these situations? All it seems like I can do is listen, hope they know that I care for them, and pray for their situations. At the same time, I am so grateful for these friendships, for women whose lives have been entwined with mine in different ways for so many years. One of them was a roommate in college. We've been at each others' weddings, watched or taught each others' children, shared vacations, businesses, and secrets. What a blessing! So, even though I don't know how helpful I was to these dear friends who are going through such difficult situations, I am still glad I was someone they felt they could talk to. I am glad for friendships that endure both the good times and the not-so-good ones.

writing stamina

I'm reading a book about teaching writing (In Pictures and In Words by Katie Wood Ray), including a chapter on stamina. Writers need stamina, she says, and I agree. She discusses the curriculum of time and tells how, when she's writing, she's very aware of time. She says, "the curriculum of time is fairly simple: Sit. Stay. Put something on paper." Even though she's aware of how much time it's taking and other things she could be doing. So, I'm in my office, on a Saturday, doing everything I can think of to avoid writing. I'm sitting. I'm staying. I can't leave until the letters of recommendation are done. Former students need them on Monday before they attend the job fair. I will put something on paper.

It's hard.

earthquakes

I woke this morning to the news of the earthquake in Japan. Since I was a child during the Alaskan earthquake, I have TERROR of earthquakes, and I tremble to know what those people are going through. And, although the shaking of the earth is bad enough (the feeling that something you depend on to be STILL, isn't), what comes after is worse. It's the aftershocks that wake you over and over in the night and the following days and send you frantically running for the door. It's the fear of broken gas lines and falling buildings. It's roads that have broken up so that they are impassable. It's no heat or light in the cold, dark winter. In the Alaskan quake, before the days of cell phones, it was hours or longer of not knowing where your loved ones were. It was melting snow for water and adding bleach to make sure it was safe. As a girl, I liked the no-school part and the eat-the-melting-ice-cream-for-dinner-and-breakfast part. But I was also old enough to listen to the radio broadcasting calls for lost relatives and know that some of those people would never be found. And then the waiting for the tidal wave and wondering if it would reach us or people we knew and what that would mean for us. I am a grandmother now. Many years have passed since that quake in Alaska (what I was reminded this morning was the second largest one of modern times), but I am still shaken--emotionally--when I hear news of these huge earthquakes and think of the people involved. I am reminded, again, of the fragility of life.

Cookies

A few years ago, I talked to my pre-service teachers about renewing yourself as a teacher, about how sometimes a teacher needs to "fill the bucket" so she can keep giving to her students. We discussed the many ways teachers can do this, but I also told them the story of one day I took for myself, just to recharge, when my family was all gone to work and school. I stayed home. Well, first, in my pjs, I went to the grocery store and bought a chocolate cake and checked out some movies. I went home and snuggled in with blankets and a pillow on the couch. As I watched my movies, I ate that cake--right out of the foil pan, without even putting it on a plate first. Later on, I did responsible things like grading papers and making lesson plans(and getting some exercise!), but I took a mini-vacation with my cake and movies first--and felt like a completely new person afterward. A few weeks later, one of my students gave me the book, Eat Cake (Jeanne Ray). In it, Ray says this: "Cakes have gotten a bad rap. People equate virtue with turning down desert. There is always one person at the table who holds up her hand when I serve the cake. No, really, I couldn't, she says, and then gives her flat stomach a conspiratorial little pat. Everyone who is pressing a fork into that first tender layer looks at the person who declined the plate, and they all think, That person is better than I am. That person has discipline. But that isn't a person with discipline, that is a person who has completely lost touch with joy. A slice of cake never made anybody fat. You don't eat a whole cake [well I almost did!]. You don't eat cake every day of your life. You take the cake when it is offered because the cake is delicious. You have a slice of cake and what it reminds you of is someplace that's safe, uncomplicated, without stress. A cake is a party, a birthday, a wedding. A cake is what's served on the happiest days of your life."
I like that sentiment. Today, I didn't have any cake, but I had something that makes me happy: a shortbread chocolate chip cookie. I was in American Fork for an early morning appointment today and stopped by Flour Girls and Dough Boys. They are the only place I know with these cookies, and I don't get by there that often. So, it's a party day. I had a cookie. For breakfast. And I'm not going to feel guilty.

Second post for today

Okay--I have to say that writing every day has made me think of writing more, of seeing events and images as subjects for my writing. I KNOW that about daily writing, but I had gotten out of the habit and had to be pushed back into it. So, thank you, TwoWritingTeachers!
Today my pre-service teachers gave each other feedback on drafts of their reversal essays. As I watched what was happening in the class, I wished I had thought to bring a camera (although it wouldn't have caught the quick laughter or the intense engagement). Since I didn't, I decided to capture what I saw in words (if possible), for a second post for today.

I watch them read and smile to themselves as they enjoy something in the writing. There's even been a chuckle out loud now and then to show how they are enjoying another's writing. How cool is that to be rewarded for your writing through someone else's enjoyment? It's rewarding to ME to see them respond that way. And then I see two heads leaning over one paper, conferencing about how it felt to read the writing, what it made the reader think. Another writer rubs her face, trying to explain to her peers what she was trying to do and what she didn't think was working, and nods her head as they give her suggestions--totally invested in helping each other do the best they can with what they are trying to communicate. That is something we don't often get from our writing, is it, that personal, individual response? That's one thing the SOLS do, though: put us in touch with people who respond to our writing. It's a very good feeling to know how your writing affects a reader. A burst of laughter signals another group's enjoyment of the topic--and encourages the writer to tell more than is in the draft, to extend the experiences recounted there. Students stay past the end of class, talking to each other about their writing: "I really liked your introduction. I could see the story you were telling."I like the parallelism in this passage. It makes the writing move."
In a book by Katie Wood Ray, I had highlighted these two sentences: "Writing work, or indeed any creative endeavor, is just not like other kinds of work in the world. Writing work asks you to go from nothing to something all on your own (unless you're coauthoring or sharing the responsibility), over and over for long stretches of time." This "work" we do together eases that journey from nothing to something as it gives us a chance to see progress and ways to improve. The 'long stretch of time' where we wrestle with our ideas and words might seem just a little shorter when we have an audience help us see our work through their eyes.

My celebration

Last night in my night class with teachers, we started by reading I'm in Charge of Celebrations by Byrd Baylor. Then we all wrote about our own personal celebrations. Some were funny. Some were moving. It reminded me how a good text can be a powerful prompt for our thinking--and writing. Here's mine:

My celebration would be Signs of Spring Day. Although I don't mind winter at its start, by the end of January I am ready to be done with it. I start watching for any signs of spring I can see--and sometimes I have to wait a LONG time. There are teasers, days that have that springy something: a quality of light, some warmth under the cool air. But that's not enough. I wait for buds to appear on branches and green pointy heads to peek out from damp earth. Then it's my Signs of Spring Day. I celebrate by noticing all the signs I can, to reassure myself that spring is really coming, and then I buy myself some yellow and red tulips--ahead of when they'll bloom in my year--so that the hope of spring blooms in my house before reality shows itself outside my window.

my face itches

I have been having some sort of allergic reaction on my face (and yesterday it progressed to my neck) for about 2 months. My skin tingles, then itches, and then a welt (or two!) appears that may or may not be gone several minutes later. I tried to ignore the situation, but it seems to be getting worse. I have switched moisturizers, gone without any (that was unpleasant in this dry climate), used soap and laundry detergent without dyes or perfumes--and still my face itches, and welts come and go. I tried to consider diet: no peanut butter for a week. No change. So I called the doctor's office to ask if medications could cause this. The nurse said I had to come in, the doctor said he has no idea--and probably the allergist won't either. Use baby shampoo and don't put anything on my face (lovely--my students are going to like that!!). Replace products one at a time. But, most likely (according to my doctor) we won't ever find out what's causing the itching. So, if no one can solve this problem (I will try his suggestions, though), I think I am going to write a children's book: My Face Itches could be a good title, don't you think? I've never written a children's book, but I have a situation, and situations are at the heart of story, right? At least I could make something worthwhile come out of an itchy situation.

No Internet!?

What is that? How can I work without internet? I have a smart phone so that not only can people call me at any time, but they also have constant access to me via email, twitter, or text message! Now, in my office, where I need to access wikis and blogs and my google reader to catch up on the stuff that is my work--I can't get anything?! I remember when cell phones first came out. Although I liked the idea and could see advantages, my mother (always ahead of the game with technology) had one. She answered it everywhere, at any time, even in the middle of a dinner conversation face-to-face. All of a sudden, my sister in another state was interrupting dinner conversation when my mother was a guest in my home! I thought the whole thing about constant access was overload. Eventually, I got a cell phone, of course. But I turn mine off sometimes, and I don't let it interrupt personal conversations. I like that, when I am waiting for a flat tire to get fixed, I can still do things like check email and text a friend. So, now that I'm dependent (in so many ways) on having access--3G, 4G--what next???--what do I do when I don't get the internet working in my office? Interestingly, we all open our doors and wander around in the halls, talking, until service is restored. . . and we can all get back to work. Funny. I hope this will post.

Hope for spring

I’m tired of cold and snow. I’m ready for warm and green. I’ve seen the start of buds on some of the trees in my yard. That means spring really is coming! Hooray! We have a north-facing lawn, so it still looks like winter there: the snow we shoveled from the driveway and walk onto the grass is still too deep to have melted, even though across the street those south-facing yards look like they’ve already been mowed. So, I look at their yards and not my own, look out the kitchen window at the baby buds starting to show on the maple tree there and feel hope rising. Spring isn’t just a dream. It will be a reality, and sometime soon. I hope.

Sunday-morning-for-Saturday post

I hate that feeling that you've forgotten to do something but you can't remember what it was. I woke up a little after 5:00 this morning (on a day when I finally could sleep in) with at least the memory of one thing I'd forgotten: to write my SOLS for Saturday--even though I'd intended it when I was on the computer in the afternoon. Here's what happened: my evening plans changed when my son-in-law asked if we could watch our grandchildren while he took our daughter to dinner. She'd had a long, hard week. How could we say no? So, we tended the three children and had a great time--but I forgot to write. So, two today. This one for yesterday.

Three images from tending the grand-kids:
1. When we asked Matthew, a kindergartner, how school was going, he announced he'd published several books. Grandpa said grandma had, too. "What's published?" asked Coley, Matthew's four-year-old sister. He said, "It's when you do all the stuff you're supposed to." Yep. That's it, all right.
2. Coley sitting on a stool at the counter, “helping” me prepare dinner. She had a stack of romaine leaves I had rinsed for a salad that she was tearing into a bowl. She tore up the whole stack, a surprise, but she chatted the WHOLE time, comments on this and that as she worked. When she finished, she announced, “My name should be changed to ‘Talker.’” Me: “Talker? Why?” Coley: “Because I talk more than anyone in my family.” 
3. I gave Anya, eighteen-months old, a blue M&M—something she’d asked for. A few minutes later, she walked up to ask for another M&M—and her face was covered with blue, as was her right hand. Completely covered with blue. There was no chocolate anywhere, just blue. I guess she licks off the outside before eating the inside. I didn’t know a person could do that: lick off the outside and spread so much of it and not get to any of the chocolate smeared along. Now, she’s just a little girl, but that’s was a lot of blue, so how thick is that outer covering??? Then a more disturbing thing: when I tried to wash her off, the blue was a stain! What is in those candies????

Sunshine and Shadow

A colleague was in my office this morning, upset over an email she'd received from a student who had misunderstood something said in class. The students' response was totally out of proportion to the level of misunderstanding (and probably reflected more about other things in her life than the misunderstanding in class). In the email, the student called my colleague--a gentle person--a monster and other bad names. As I commiserated with my colleague, I kept thinking that this kind of behavior is so common today, especially when people can write things on a computer, hit "send," and not think anymore about it. Just before my colleague entered my office, I had read of an incident where a woman loaned another woman $20, supposedly for necessities, found out the money was spent another way, and posted a rude comment on Facebook. The argument--public because it continued and escalated on Facebook--ended with one of the women dead, murdered by the other one! So I had the thought in my mind that we live in a world where people connect, but don't really connect, through the digital world. Where unkindness is easier with distance. Shadows.
After my colleague left my office, I turned to my computer screen and opened the next thing in my RSS feed: this SOLS from Ruth: http://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com/2011/03/04/dessert-club-ruths-sols/ Ruth's candid expressions of how hard it is to make relationships that end (in different ways) and then choose to develop more such relationships moved me. My perspective shifted; clouds parted. The world isn't so bleak as it had seemed just moments earlier. Yes, Ruth's relationships with those teenagers were face-to-face. But her influence on me was through the digital world. She gave me a little piece of sunshine to carry around inside today. A much better way to travel the world.

March 3: a rain shower deserves a brownie

On my way to work, I got caught outside in a rain shower after an appointment. The shower only lasted about two minutes--essentially the whole time I was running between the building and my car. At first, I thought it would be nothing much. A sprinkle. A few drops. Certainly it wouldn't ruin my hair. I was wrong. After the first few drops, it was like someone tipped a bucket of water on me. I ran to the car and jumped inside. Of course, one swipe of the windshield wipers and the rain stopped. My hair was so wet it was dripping. Great. I went to work, dried and tried to fluff my hair. This is just not a good look for me. When my husband came to pick me up for lunch, he looked at me a moment and said, "I think you need a haircut." Great. When he asked where I wanted to go for lunch, I said, "Kneaders. I need a brownie." So! Doesn't a good soaking and a bad hair day deserve a cream cheese brownie--sweet but not too sweet, chewy, and chocolate? Yes.

March 2 (even though it's March 3)

I wrote this yesterday, but I didn't have access to my blog. Here it is, even though it's posting on 3/3:
On the way to class today I saw a girl with the most unusual hair style I’ve seen in a while, especially in our hallways. I don’t know if I have the words to describe it adequately. On the left side of her head, the hair looked like what I might normally see: dark brown, straight, cut at an angle so that it was chin length in the front and longer—to her shoulders below her ears. But on the left side, the hair was straight up, like a stiff wave. Like the wind had blown it up and by some magical power, it stayed that way. In places the stand-up hair was 8 inches high! The issue for me isn’t the hair; it’s what I’m supposed to do in response to it. Should I stare? Should I look past her as though nothing is unusual? Should I gasp? Does she wear her hair in such an attention-getting way so that I will pay attention? say something? look shocked? Did my (what I considered) sophisticated response (acting like nothing could shock me) ignore her need for attention? Or was it an accident that she hoped would look better and then was glad no one reacted? Did she do it as some sort of social research project: do something weird and see what people do in response? Did I ruin her study? What IS the appropriate response in these situations?

march 1

We visited some friends we've known for over 20 years last night. The husband recently went through surgery and has been dealing with a long, difficult recovery. We went with hot soup and homemade bread, and sat for a few hours, chatting, reminiscing, catching up. Our friend stayed in his recliner, decked out in a dark blue robe and tucked in with a warm blanket. He seemed in good spirits--and I saw hints of the witty, wise-cracking guy he used to be. Not many, but a few. His wife was as gracious as ever, but she was tired. I could see that caring for him--including some specific care every few hours, night and day, and multiple trips to the ICU and regular hospital rooms and doctors' offices over the last few months--has been wearing. Their home boasts a wide bank of windows that reflect the mountains to the east in the lake below. We sat and talked and watched as the sun set behind us and the city across the lake slowly lit up, like stars on the ground. It was a warm place to be, in so many ways, and made me think about friends and shared experiences and the fragility of living. The light faded from the sky as we watched, and the lights came on as we watched, and there was nothing we could do, any of us, to make it any different.