Chatterbox In The Feed Room

Thoughts on O'Bama's Speech In School

2009-09-08T10:44:00.000-07:00

Okay . . . I'm not quite as a-political as others, so I don't always grasp why people get so hot under the collar. The AP summary of O'Bama's speech today seemed objective. And I liked what I read, especially the last two paragraphs:

"Whatever you resolve to do, I want you to commit to it," Obama said. "The truth is, being successful is hard. You won't love every subject that you study. You won't click with every teacher that you have."

"At the end of the day, we can have the most dedicated teachers, the most supportive parents and the best schools in the world, and none of it will matter unless all of you fulfill your responsibilities," the president said.

I am not intentionally taking this out of context--at least NOT on a conscious level. I "get" that Duncan screwed up in the way it was presented, but I cannot fathom why anyone would want to prevents students from reading or hearing this. I just don't see any other agenda here; in fact, I feel like it's high time someone in his position told kids that. If I were still teaching in high school, I'd probably put that last quote on my board and ask students to write an essay explaining what they were doing to fulfill their responsibilities.

I don't care a bit for politics--one side is just as "bad" or "good" as the other, but I am still an educator, and I liked this.

On Flip-Flops, Weddings, and Merry-go-Rounds

2009-07-19T06:19:00.001-07:00

The subject of weddings—and the bridal accoutrements came up recently in conversation with a friend. She described the footwear worn by bridesmaids at a recent wedding attended by her mother. Neither she nor her mother was impressed, for the women of the wedding party had all worn flip-flops. My friend did not smile; her brow furrowed slightly; her mouth formed a straight line. Surely I must agree, else she would not have shared her view. Ummmm.

You know . . . I kind of think flip-flops are fine for a summer wedding. I knew one bride who wore fuzzy white flip-flops so she wouldn’t appear taller than the groom. Perhaps they don’t go with a formal dress, but then, none of the females in the either processional or recessional had fear of falling. Perhaps they were nervous; in a serious ceremony, in a locally famous chapel perhaps wearing flip-flop was a fun, silly way to take the edge of the tension. No doubt they had their toes “done.” That would have made a unique photo-op and give the bride and her “maids” something to smile about in years to come—whether the marriage lasts or not. I can think of many reasons the flip-flops could be appropriate.

As for the bride and groom’s reception, they planned to stay up and party until they left on their honeymoon—why not? No doubt they have had a connubial relationship that has culminated in their wedding—that seems the going trend these days (not a bad way to reduce the number of future divorces, one hopes). More often these days the honeymoon is just a vacation that gives the newlyweds an opportunity to enjoy the glorious, hedonistic release of hormones. Not only that, but many newlyweds find themselves so happy and excited after becoming “Mr. and Mrs.” that it’s impossible for them to be calm at a decorous and formal reception, followed by an equally ceremonious escape. Why not stay up, celebrate with family and friends, and leave later for their happily ever after?

The choices of the couple at the wedding I attended Saturday were much more in line with tradition, and I have never seen a bride wear a dress more beautiful, that was more perfectly suited to her slender frame. Colors and trends being what they are, the bridesmaids wore brown gowns, that flattered each of them; they wore modest, heeled sandals, appropriate and dressy. The music during the ceremony was a pleasant blend. The song “I Loved Her First” that was sung by a would-be Garth Brooks as the bride stood between her father and the groom, brought tears to many eyes—not just my own. The best thing, though, was the look on the faces of bride and groom. Her eyes were on the man she loved the moment the back doors opened and she walked down the aisle, and his were on her.

In the aftermath, who can say which couple will be happier? Weddings are one-day wonders that take months to plan, sometimes cost a ridiculous amount, can be exhausting, and, for better or worse, change two lives forever. It is the way of our society; it is the yin-yang that pretends to assure stability to procreation and proliferation of the human species, and some marriages I’ve seen really and truly do end “happily ever after.” So do flip-flops, parties, and tradition matter as much as the rest of their lives? The point in life is to live, to take a chance, to grab the gold ring while it’s offered. The carousel doesn’t go on forever.

Be Careful What You Ask For . . .

2009-02-18T10:38:00.000-08:00

. . . you just might get it.

That's a familiar warning and a true statement that led to this discovery: I DIDN'T REALIZE THAT CHANGING THE TEMPLATE WOULD ELIMINATE MY WIDGETS!!! ARRRGH!!

That said, I'm back to blogging, folks. With a little help I have a new wallpaper for this and my other blog, so . . . by all means, tell me what you think. I agree with Nancee that the previous one that was here made reading very difficult. This one may be difficult as well, until I go in and change the font format, etc. I tried to find a wallpaper that seemed more in line with the title of the blog; I'm happier with this one than the other . . . for now. But as you all know, I just can't stay still very long.

I promise I'll be back again, SOON. In the meantime . . . I'll be grading essays.

Food, Glorious Food!!

2008-10-05T18:13:00.000-07:00

This came from one of the best blogs out there, www.danandsally.com, written by one of my former students, soon to be a real, honest-to-goodness-writer, Sally Parrott Ashbrook.

Here’s what to do:

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating. I wasn't able to cross it out -- but you'll figure it out!

The VGT Omnivore’s Hundred:

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea (mmmmm Chinese medicine) Never heard of it
3. Huevos rancheros -- know what it is, never tried it, but would like to
4. Steak tartare -- no, no, no
5. Crocodile -- ate gator, but no crocs -- note I spelled that properly
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp - gag!!
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho ??? That's food???
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle ??? bet that's not chocolate . . .
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns (these, and other delicacies of dim sum, are among the top foods i miss)
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche -- want to
28. Oysters
29. Baklava30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam Chowder in Sourdough Bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar (BLECH!!! no,no,no)
37. Clotted Cream Tea (Clotted cream is a food of the gods, truly, but I have never had it in tea -- agree!!)38. Vodka Jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat -- curried? why would you eat a combed goat?
42. Whole insects (no, no, no)
43. Phaal (waht the hell???)
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whiskey from a bottle worth $120 or more (NO drink is worth that!)
46. Fugu (well, fugu you, too!)
47. Chicken tikka masala (Take out the middle word and it's wonderful)
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut (I am from Georgia, after all)
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads (no, thank you very much, no)
63. kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost or brunost
75. Roadkill (even though it may be tenderized -- NO)
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang Souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom Yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. 3 Michelin Star Tasting Menu
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse (NO!!)
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

To Coordinate--or NOT Coordinate: That is The Question

2008-09-15T10:22:00.000-07:00

A friend called this week-end, asking me what I thought of the position of English Coordinator that she may or may not be considering. woo-hoo. Here we go! An opportunity to rant about education!

First, let me explain that one of the FINEST administrators I ever worked for was not a principal; she was a Curriculum Director. She worked herself to exhaustion and worked us to exhaustion to benefit the students of Jasper County. I don't know that we appreciated her as she should have for as long as we should have, but I do know that when it was time for her to retire we all hung our heads and wept. There would be no one like her again. In larger counties, I understand that there are such things as English Coordinators; I'm glad. I wasn't sure what I thought of it at first, but . . . in recommending someone to talk to the would be Eng. C. in a nearby county, it is to our former Curriculum Director she had been directed--not only by me, but others who know both women.

Our former Curriculum Director may not know SPECIFICALLY about the role of English Coordinator for a county, because in Jasper, her title was Curriculum Director, but I have no doubt she would be able to give history, background, etc. for the Engl. position, as I'm sure he role as Cur. D. overlapped and supported Engl. I won't beat a dead horse, but . . .I'm all for such a person who knows what is going on at all levels of Engl. For YEARS and YEARS, we at the high school level were encouraged to get students to think, especially out of the box, as well as prepare them for the standardized tests. Looking back NOW, it seems that we were simply getting students to write for a variety of occasions/purposes. That's educationese speaking today--but I think , too, that MLJ's heart was in the right place. I don't think she wanted us to make writing so much of a specified duty or chore that the pleasure was taken from it. She knew the value writing could have. When she began our writing program, again MANY years ago, she forbade us -- not just Engl. teachers, ALL teachers -- to use writing as a form of punishment and deplored it as busy work. I was with her 100% on that. We worked, struggled, still struggle with grading so much writing [I do], but we worked and the writing program flourished. She tried guest speakers on writing, the Ga. Poetry Circuit, I think, poets, etc. to inspire and help us. She -- and we -- were proud of the steps we had made. Then, when Drew was in 5th grade, he had a teacher to set us back as many years as MLJ had brought us. I tried SOOOO hard not to complain, to keep my mouth shut--and when I exploded, I exploded all over her, her principal, and MLJ. Sitting here, typing, I still feel the anger and would cheerfully snatch that woman bald-headed. At one point after I emailed MLJ, I had a moment to speak to her, and then I found out she was holding a mandatory workshop for the Washington Park teachers. [It wasn't just Drew's teacher alone, apparently.] Bottom line: for once, it was not the high school teachers who had dropped the ball; this time, the fault was in the lower grades and it was shamefully apparent. THAT is the sort of problem I would like to see erased and that I think an English coordinator should be able to rectify.

We SHOULD NOT condemn teachers who have come before us, who have tried valiantly to teach students, not unless we have some sort of verifiable evidence. We defeat ourselves when we condemn those who are just as hard working as we are. There are inevitably some years that will be better than others, and some teachers will out-shine others, BUT . . . [heaven help me on this! I never thought to say it!!] the state's GPS is designed so that there is a definite, defined, designated curriculum at every grade level. It's specific. It's minimum. It's basic. If ALL English teachers in a system [county, perhaps] were aware of those basics of what was to come before and what was to after his or her classroom, it would be an enormous step. How hard could it be to devise a table/chart to indicate . . .?

In what grade are students supposed to learn subject-verb agreement? How often -- that is, what grades -- is that reinforced? Are we all using the same terminology, at least within the system? If nothing else, the GPS has given us a standard terminology as well--we may not like it, but if we use it, and if someone . . . that would be the English coordinator . . . makes sure we are familiar with it, we can speak on the same level. It would be better than making fun of, "Look, look! It's more teachers, more teachers in first grade. First grade. See, Spot?" At the secondary level, we get on our high-horses sometimes and forget just how hard it is to use those building blocks at the elementary level.

An English Coordinator is an excellent idea. It would be a truly important position to impact the entire county. As a certain science teacher told me once, the reason they failed the science part of the graduation test was because of the English department. "Students can't read. It's not our fault they fail science." I was too stunned to say anything. I couldn't even get mad; I was too . . . too into the logic of the statement. So . . . rather than slap her, outright, which I desperately wanted to do, I went back and tried to make sense of that part of her brain that said that. And I decided there was logic in the statement. What she meant was that students didn't know the terminology, vocabulary, formal English that the standardized tests presented. Science, however, had not focused so much on the reading; they focused on the content. I don't know if they ever understood how important teaching students how to read scientific articles could help. After a great deal of time mulling over what she said, I sent an email to my principal, telling him why I thought Engl. was doing so much better than Science and even made suggestions on what might help. I tried to make clear that I never wanted my name mentioned; if some of the strategies seemed viable, fine. Send them, suggest them, without mention of me. We dont' do enough of that--we don't do enough of anonymous teaching tips. Everyone wants to be the best or better than . . . so no one wants anyone to know what his/her "secret" is. Heaven forbid WE make a suggestion or accept one. If we could put egos behind, it might help.

Even in GPS. If secondary teachers could/would listen to some good elementary teachers and their ideas for projects, etc. they might find a way to adapt them. The projects MAY, indeed, be elementary, but the CONTENT is what the secondary teachers can fuel them with and make them . . . amazing. IF they are not so caught up in the "performance item" mentality and not fed on the belief that one must have projects going from the beginning of a unit to the end.

Looking back, which is so easy for me NOW, lol, the whole notion of a literary magazine was nothing more than a writing project. It was performance based. It was HUGE--well, it was to me; I loved every minute of it. But more than that, I think it had meaning--and I think it was worth something. We're seeing too many projects now that are meaningless and that had not fostered critical thinking, just elmer and crayola. I would rather see two minor projects in a semester, with a kick-butt "performance item" in addition to an exam, than a mathematician's face on a McDonalds' happy meal box, with stats around it. It was cute; we even took the proportions and tried to make the box come out as directed. It looked like something put together by the makers of Quasimodo, which was all the more evident when placed beside those happy meal boxes that had been traced out from the original. {duh . . . oh, yeah . . . all students can learn.} Know what my son learned from this project? That next time, instead of learning to double 3.25 inches, it would be better to just copy a template. No thinking required. ARGHH!

I know . . . I know . . . I digress. Still . . . I think the position of English Coordinator could be a huge benefit . . . especially to the kids--and maybe teachers, if they're not afraid to learn.

Last Week's Rant

2008-08-25T07:25:00.000-07:00

I'm a week behind on rants. Last week I really meant to rant on how much I hate stupidity. I don't mean folks that are uninformed; I mean folks that are just plain stupid--and sometimes I think middle Georgia has an over-abundance of them. They will never be on the endangered species list. I can see it now; someday . . . years from now, after the Singularity*, the only PEOPLE left will be the stupid ones. The intelligent people will have incorporated their minds, their consciousness into computers and they, themselves, will evolve and have their own scientious being. Then someone with a blinking brain cell will come along and unplug the computer. He or she will probably be saying just what a radio caller said last week: "It just ain't like America no more. We wuz more like America back in Roman times. It's done got too commercialized now."

Most of the time I feel that communication is far more important that correct English, but only when communication is combined with COMMON SENSE. That ranks right up there with the student I had last year who liked to sit on the front porch, in a rocking chair and "watch the horizon set." Heaven help us all!

*SINGULARITY -- if you haven't heard of it or don't know what it is, type it into Google and take a look. You might be surprised--possibly thrilled or terrified.

Mark Twain Would Love It!!

2008-08-20T16:02:00.000-07:00

Even watching the video on utube, one could almost see the gleam in Matthew Whitton’s eye, with his partner in crime, Rick Dyer, nodding in agreement as Whitton recounted the tale of their discovery of Bigfoot in the north Georgia mountains. (They looked so delighted with themselves, and [to me] they bore an uncanny resemblance to Jeff Foxworthy and “Larry, the Cable Guy.”) Watching those two, it wasn’t hard to imagine them in a deer camp, telling the story to an appreciative, down-home audience. Not that the audience would likely have believed them; chances are that “down-home” folks might have noticed the grin that wanted to spill out of Whitton and Dyer or the overly sincere tone in the 21st century equivalent of Tom and Huck.

Today, we learn that a Las Vegas promoter and Bigfoot aficionado, Tom Biscardi, paid the men $50,000 for the “corpse” only to discover that the rubber suit that was Bigfoot contained all manner of animal remains. Apparently the Rubber Suit Bigfoot was an omnivore. But Biscardi isn’t laughing. According to FOXNew.com:

It's possible that fraud charges could be filed against Dyer and Whitton, as Biscardi seems to want, though it's not clear whether it'd be a criminal or civil case.
"[Biscardi] freely gave them the money," noted Jeffrey Turner, police chief of Clayton County, Ga., who fired Whitton as an officer Tuesday but couldn't locate him to inform him of his termination. "It'd be a civil matter."

The website goes on to say:
It may be difficult for Biscardi to claim he was defrauded, as the "24-Hour Sighting Hotline" number posted on Dyer and Whitton's Web site, BigfootTracker.com, asks for tips related to "leprechauns, unicorns, large cats, dinosaurs," as well as "Jimmy Hoffa or Elvis."

Mark Twain once told a story about a man named Smiley, who raised and trained a jumping frog that could out-jump any other frog in a place called Calaveras County. Smiley would snooker unsuspecting men into betting on a jumping contest, knowing that his frog, named Dan’l Webster, would win every time. One day, a stranger came to town, appeared sincere, down-home, straight-faced and agreed to Smiley’s contest—if Smiley would fetch him a frog. Smiley readily agreed. When he returned with a fresh frog and set him down with Dan’l Webster, he was heart-broken when Dan’l repeatedly gave a heave and landed on back on his haunches. It was after he had lost the bet that Smiley discovered that the stranger had filled Dan'l with buckshot. It is one of the oldest stories, one of the oldest themes: The Trickster Tricked.

Sooner or later the duo of Whitton and Dyer will be found, very likely prosecuted, possibly serve jail time. I would have to agree with Aunt Polly and the Widow Douglas that the boys shouldn’t lie like that, and should be punished, but . . . to be honest, I can’t find it in my heart to condemn two country boys for putting one over on the city slickers.

I suspect that Mark Twain is somewhere in the Great Beyond, clad in his white suit, in his rocking chair, pipe in hand, laughing, hoping Whitton and Dyer have "lit out for the territory."

Adventures with an Alien

2008-08-15T04:25:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, a highly esteemed colleague and I were discussing books [as English and literature teachers are wont to do]. She has read twice the number I have, and my own teaching paled in comparison to her dedication, seriousness, and intensity. In one of those moments she asked, "When you were a child, what book was it you read to pieces?"

"Pieces?"

"Yes. We all had a favorite book. I remember reading and re-reading Huck Finn until the covers of the book fell off and the pages fell out," she laughed. "What book was it you read?"

"Ummmm." I blushed. "I don't remember." I lied. "There were so many." Riiight. At the library, maybe; not at my house. My parents didn't know about the library, nor did I until I was in eighth grade. There were no bookstores on the red clay road when I lived, in the rural town we went to religiously every Saturday evening to get groceries,and the idea of driving anywhere to get a book would have been ridiculous.

"When I was seven, I asked for The Shirley Temple Storybook, and got it for Christmas," I said. "My Dad read me the stories, 'The Emperor's New Clothes,' 'The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,' 'Rapunzel' . . ."

"Yes, but what book?"

Big sigh and confession, "I didn't read books for a long time. I read . . . comic books. I read Action, Adventure, Superman. Superman was my hero. I went to the dime store every Saturday and bought two comics for twenty-five cents, read them all week and went back for two new ones the next Saturday. I read DC comics."

The look on her face was . . . interesting. That was not the answer she expected. I have a master's degree in English for goodness' sake, was dept. chair at the high school where I taught, had initiated a literary magazine, coached literary events. Comic Books??

Comic Books. One of the worst things my mother did when I went off to college was to throw away my trunk full of comics, along with the original Barbie and her original friend Midge. {Either of which could actually allow me to retire now.} I could stand losing the dolls, but the comics . . .!

They were my road to the stars, to the ideals that were important {"Truth, Justice, and the American Way"}, the escape from cow manure and kudzu. They were the accessible resources at hand, and I loved them. Not only did I know the effect of green kryptonite on Clark Kent, but the effect of red, blue and gold kryptonite as well. I knew the significance anyone with the initials L.L., and the origin of his suit {Martha Kent made it from his blanket--technicalities of its invincibility and color were explained that way and its ability to "grow" with the "Man of Steel," if not how she was able to sew it on a man-made machine.}

There has lately been a re-birth of superheroes, and I found myself in a passionate discussion with my son, who is not impressed with the super-human heroics of Superman or the Justice League or the X-men. Before I realized it, I was lecturing about the similarities between our current heroes and those of Greece and Rome--Odysseus, Achilles, explaining that we have always had mythic figures and the stories that go with them--we just don't recognize them for what they are any more.

In looking on Amazon, I discovered two books that I'm devouring: The Philosophy of the Dark Knight and Truth, Justice and the Socratic Way.
It seems I'm not the first to recognize the value in comic books or in comic book heroes. Looking back now, I realize less embarrassment in my confession of having been a devouted comic book fan. I was reading and absorbing stories, identifying character traits, noting character foils, recognizing themes and patterns, developing vocabulary, learning to "see" the story in my head as I read.

I doubt any one would have taken me seriously thirty years ago if I had wanted to do a dissertation on Superman as the modern Odysseus and it's a mite too late for that now. Still . . . there is some comfort in knowing Superman is still around and that Randy Travis' song still rings true:

Your heroes will help you find good in yourself
Your friends won't forsake you for somebody else
They'll both stand beside you through think and through thin,
That's how it goes with heroes and friends

STR & W

2008-07-29T08:32:00.001-07:00

The exclamation point is to let you know that STR&W is alive, well, and beginning to thrive. Jim arrived with Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar ?? which led to a brief discussion, one that we need to propose to the entire group. Jim and I both wondered if there aren't some non-fiction books that could be "group worthy," as he phrased it. I don't think either of us mind if we keep it strictly fiction, but certainly the entire group needs to "be in on" whatever the decision is. These were the parameters we initially set, though they may be modified:

Purpose/Description/Manners of STR: A varied group of readers who want to learn and grow by reading, meeting, discussing, and sharing ideas and perspectives. We agree to make our best effort to complete each book before meeting and agree to disagree, which is part of the fun of sharing our ideas and perspective. If an individual proposes a book, (s)he is responsible for "leading" the group on that book, which primarily means that (s)he asks the first question. In past sessions, one question/idea usually leads to MANY. Readers are asked to bring ideas, questions, notes, comments from their reading that they would like to discuss within the group.

What we read: Current/contemporary fiction that is thoughtful and thought-provoking, well-written, accessible, and one that lends itself to discussion.
What we avoid: "classics," history, heavy science-fiction/fantasy, specific genres (e.g., horror, mystery, romance), unless the book itself offers ideas for discussion; members have requested we avoid Stephen King {yes, my heart broke, but I abide by "agree to disagree, too"}, Tom Clancey, Clive Cussler, non-fiction, major battles, & books of more than 500 pages (in order that we complete the reading in a timely manner).

After a brief discussion of our recent books, we determined meeting dates--the 4th Sunday of each every other month--and concocted a very short list of books. Please, please send me any book titles that you believe we would do well to read and discuss:

24 August - STW - setting our purpose; sharing work; suggesting resources -- all in a supportive manner [no butt-kicks]

28 Sept. - STR - The Road AND The Gathering - Both suggested by Matt Shelton (almost all of us have read The Road, and we still have not discussed it!!)

26 Oct. - STW

23 Nov. - STR - The Kite Runner (subject to change; requires group approval; suggested by me) Note: STW this is NaNoWriMo--we might want to give it another shot, what do you think?)

28 Dec. - STW

Up-coming books for 09:
The Great Fire - suggested by Karen
Snow Falling on Cedars - suggested by me
a later work by Graham Greene - suggested by Jim
non-fiction ???
OTHER IDEAS !!!!

By the way, all of you know how well I see, so I may have some incorrect dates; just let me know; they should all be the 4th Sun. of each month. We agreed to begin with writing, in order for everyone to read The Gathering. I'm really looking forward to both groups--Small Town Readers and Small Town Writers. Now, to digress:

As sometimes happens, we wandered off the beaten track Sunday, when Jason suggested we should take a look at baby sloth videos on U-tube. Sadly, Jim, Drew and I were all amused by the suggestion, eventually leading to quite an interesting pose and interpretation by Jim, Drew's notion that, "We are sloth," and my addendum that we should adopt "Save a Sloth" as our "cause." We thought we were being funny. With apologies to Jason, I took a look on the net this morning and lo, and behold, there is already a foundation called "save a sloth," and, in fact, there is a huge difference between the sloth bear and the three-toed sloth. Both have been treated cruelly, however, and saving either is important. As Native Americans have long noted, it is wise to pay attention to the animals, for often what happens to the animals, also happens to man.

After following up Jason's suggestion, I learned a great deal more about the three-toed sloth: that they are, as we all suspected, the slowest creatures on earth and found in Amazonian trees. The word "sloth" means "lazy ones" but South American natives disagree and content that "their deliberate slow movements are 'bien calculado,' well calculated, each movement done so thoughtfully, as if they could never err in their decision."

A little more reading and watching made me think that the sloth would be a perfect mascot for STR&W. lol And, should we decide to adopt any cause, perhaps we might look to animals. I tend to agree with the Native Americans.

Here is a bit more on sloths and the video websites:

"The 3-toed sloth is nearing extinction entirely because of man: they are hunted for food, yet they do not provide any nutritional value. Only by giving the sloth value is it worth more alive than dead. . . . "

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-2178024630372093883

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-2142336584931941744&q=&hl=en

I could likely continue this terribly long email, so forgive me. As most of you know, I enjoy nothing more than the sound of my own babble. I'll be dropping sending you all emails from time to time. If you haven't checked out GoodReads, I urge you to do so. In my next email, I'll be sending out blogs for you to take a look at that I think you might enjoy.

"Read not to contradict or confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tested, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested." - Bacon
May all your moves be "bien calculado" -- aiken

Exposure

2008-07-07T15:54:00.000-07:00

Over the years I have taken classes to Andersonville Cemetery, the CNN Center in Atlanta, accompanied another fearless teacher on a real road trip to Virginia and Washington, and just this evening, ushered my English 1101 class around the corner to the Arts Complex Theatre at Macon State College.

We left the classroom, with most of us not knowing who Tony Hale was, what sort of sit-com "Arrested Development" might have been, or with little interest in the field of acting. For an hour we listened to one man's experience in the arts; we heard him explain why New York had more potential for a beginner in the field of acting than L.A.; he shared with us his obvious passion and enthusiasm in a job he seems to have done well. In regards to acting, he told us that one of the most important things he learned was not to judge the character he portrayed.

In regards to being a human being, he shared perhaps something we could all take away, whether we are actors, artists, or simply retired teachers. He said that it was important to be "content in the moment." Be aware of the present. Be content in the way life is now. His lesson came from his experience in living his dream. Hale enjoyed New York, obviously, but . . . he wanted a sit-com; it was his dream. When he
achieved that dream, when it became REAL for him . . . it didn't satisfy like he thought it would. Hale said that if he could go back, if he could re-do any portion of his life, he would just be more aware of the supportive community he had in New York and he enjoy his first year of working on "Arrested Development."

What each of us carried away from the exposure to someone open with his work, I couldn't say. That is as individual as each of us, but if we allow ourselves to get out of ourselves, we might gain a great deal--exposure is not so bad.

ANYTHING and EVERYTHING

2008-06-30T18:49:00.000-07:00

"How you do anything is how you do everything." ~ Zen Saying

I like this quote because I've found, for the most part, that it contains truth beyond measure. Take for example one of my dearest friends and former student. We'll call him . . . Tim.

There were some of Tim's classmates who loathed his acerbic wit. He simply did not waste his time or his breath on foolish people who had no idea what they were talking about. Hot air held no fascination for him and he didn’t suffer fools, gladly or otherwise. Then there were those who despised him because he had the audacity to not only make good grades in classes he enjoyed [English and social studies], but in science and math as well. He had few of the redeeming qualities that many of the popular would appreciate today. He liked his parents and his younger brother and he adored his baby sister. He enjoyed parties but he wasn't a "pot-head" or "smoker," as they are called sometimes today & usually didn't drink. He wasn't a football player; he was a band member and spent his leisure time in dual pursuits of reading voraciously and writing.

Yet he was not shunned. He had loyal friends. Perhaps it was because they knew how hard he worked with his Dad, paving asphalt, in the summer, sometimes Saturdays. It was a hard, hot job and no one worked any harder than Tim to prove he was there because of his ability, not his dad. He never intended to collect an easy paycheck. Truth was, it wouldn't have worked if he'd tried. His dad wouldn't have been satisfied with a lack-luster, second-rate job.

After graduation, he attended Berry College, in Rome, Georgia, which was not only beautiful but Berry had a work program. During those years, Tim learned house painting, alongside his double major of English and history. It was a smart choice. After he married his college sweetheart, an incredibly beautiful and wonderful young woman named Andrea [see The Andrean Curse], he chose to wait to pursue his masters degree. Instead, he sent Andrea back to graduate school, supporting her with his skills as a house painter along with a wide variety of other jobs--from bookstore sales' clerk to furniture salesman.

Although we kept in touch, I didn't think too much of the house painting until we came to live in a hundred year old house. As with any older home, ours was in a constant state of repair. First the roof had to be replaced. [The roofers stripped away three full roofs--black, brown, green and removed two large black snakes before uncovering the original timbers and re-roofing properly.] It took time and was a mess, but we had a strong, sound roof when they were done.

The next step was painting the house. Luckily, we thought, a friend had a friend who could "do it cheap." It was cheap, alright, and it became obvious in only a couple of years that it would have to be repainted. We groaned at the thought of another bad paint job.

Enter Tim. He consulted with me on paint colors, tolerated my questions and made suggestions. He didn't lose his patience or call me an idiot--he had learned diplomacy. He only laughed, shook his head, and said, "Well, you could do that, but if you use this color, to create a dark foundation, it will do a better job of complimenting the main body, rather than the barn door red you had in mind." (I don't think I had chosen a barn door red, actually, but it was almost that bad; the final color we went with was a very dark teal, called “mallard”.) I was looking forward to seeing the final result. Little did I know what it meant to have a trained house painter.

First, the old paint had to come off--all of it, if possible. A one man job meant that would difficult, but Tim stripped the paint down to the bare wood--a wooden house, well over 3000 sq.ft. meant that it would be a time-consuming, tedious job in the heat of the summer. He used water pressure on the loose paint and a scraper for the stubborn spots. People watched, waited, wondered when the new paint would go on. But Tim wasn't about to put new paint on boards that needed to be caulked as badly as these; the gaps between the boards in some places impressed him & he seemed to consider it a personal challenge to fill them.

After one particularly long day, he came in, sat down, looked at me and said, "I want to know just how much you save on heating this winter. There is so much air conditioning going out that I can feel it; I can imagine how cold it is in the winter, with the wind blowing in." I mentioned that the previous owner had put in insulation. He looked as me as one might a five year old. "NO," he said. "He may have told you that, and you may have believed him, but there can't be much insulation from what I'm feeling." I stood corrected. After he'd caulked almost every board on the house, he was ready for the primer coat. I can't remember now if it were one or two coats of primer and then the two coats of Sherwin-Williams. By the time he finished, he'd replaced facer boards, a rotten window frame, pulled nails, built bases for the front posts, and drawn the attention of people who drove by, just to see how the house was coming along. He had done far more than anyone in that neighborhood had ever seen. Some didn't see why he'd gone to all that trouble--until they saw the final product. Even the skeptics had to admit it was worth the trouble.

Tim could have taken the short cuts; he could have finished quickly; the job might have looked good--at least for a while. No one would have ever said anything. We would have blamed the paint--or the weather--or the trees. No one would have thought it was the house painter. But he would have known. And he would have known the details and the right way a house was to be painted and protected if it were to weather the seasons in the South.

He should finish his dissertation in history before long. It might not have taken him as long as it did, except for his scrupulous attention to details and the same meticulous exactness to near perfection that has always characterized his work, whether painting a house or researching a paper.

When I teach a formal essay or the research paper now, I use house painting as my analogy. Writing can be quick but seldom well written by words slapped on paper without much thought. The details, illustrations, specifics all take time. Support has to be thoughtful, well chosen, and the transitions relevant, not just convenient. Syntax and diction should reflect the author and even in a formal paper, his or her voice should be distinct. It's not easy and few people are willing to do the job properly. Few are willing to do their best. What does it matter? they ask.

"What does it matter?" I reply, thinking of Tim, standing beside the house, caulking gun in his right hand, wiping his brow with his other one, his t-shirt wet, stuck to his skin.

What does it matter? At one time I tried to explain; now, I just say, "How you do anything is how you do everything."

Poem by Max Ehrmann

2008-06-30T16:02:00.000-07:00

Following is my favorite poem, EVER. It's not great literature; it's just the basis of my life:

Love and Faith
by Max Ehrmann

You are not poor if you
love something, someone,
humanity maybe, and have faith
that you will somewhere,
sometime be satisfied, though you
know not how.

You may even feel that your
sorrow is but a school to teach
you the virtues of sympathy and
gentleness, that will avail
you hereafter, though you know
not where.

I am not always on the highway
that leads to this hilltop,
but I have seen the lighted road
stretching on and on;
sometimes I have even fancied
that I saw the windows of
the castle all aglow.

And I have hastened my steps
to be in time for the feast,
and taken counsel of my courage
lest I falter and fall on the way.

May I keep this vision of
the castle ever before my eyes,
and a belief in my heart
that the journey is worth while,
and the castle and the glow
in the windows not all illusion.

My First Rant of the Semester

2008-06-30T14:57:00.000-07:00

ACTUAL Student Question from this semester:

what do we have to find literary resources for , is it for the old testament or for Gilgamesh. Is this for a grade ?

I tend to go off on rants when someone asks me if "this is for a grade." Grades have little in common with thinking, learning and applying knowledge. One could memorize the list of presidents or the books of the Bible and know little of the terms served by each president or comprehend the content of the respective books. There must a knowledge base to any study, a basic grasp of general information, terms and vocabulary, a literal understanding, a what-is-it-about knowledge. One hopes that interest and curiosity and the ability to make connections between reading material, however ancient, and modern day is not just the prerogative of scholars or academics. Our lives are about connections, about linking what we currently know, see, experience with what we learn. The greater the connections we make, the more active we are in seeking connections, the richer our lives are, the more meaningful class will be, and . . . the more we will learn. And learning frequently leads to better grades.

This is an important assignment. Is it for a grade? Not every one in a group addresses the class when we cover material, answer questions, respond to reading selections. In order to give everyone an opportunity to gain credit for class participation, I made this assignment and will likely make more of these assignments as the semester progresses. It takes a smidgen of effort and requires thoughtful connections. Both are important.

Now, in regard to the first part of the question . . . in Western literature, authors frequently use allusions, references to literary, historical, or Biblical works. It is often vital to understand the allusion to fully understand the literary work. Examples: The Ark of the Covenant was a very real artifact that Hollywood built an entire movie and character around in the Raiders of the Lost Ark. John Steinbeck explored the extent of the Cain and Abel story in East of Eden. Sarah Gruen's recent bestseller, Water for Elephants, has some basis in the story of Jacob. Why Bad Things Happen to Good People is not an original self-help book; there was the story of Job, a pretty good fella it would seem, from the account in the Old Testament.

I am not asking for an inexhaustible list; I'm asking for 4-5 Western works that allude to the Old Testament. You need to be able to discuss the allusion and its importance to the work. There IS a purpose behind this assignment, and yes . . . it will be incorporated into your grade.

By the way, blog readers, you should be proud of me . . . I said nothing about the manner in which that question was written to the nameless student who submitted it. I said nothing about the lonely comma, sitting in the middle of the sentence, the lower case that began the question and continued in his/her referencing the Old Testament, the poor sentence construction indicated . . . I gritted my teeth and SAID NOTHING. I would have died before I ever presented an instructor or professor with such a question, much less phrased it like a middle schooler!! No problem any more. Just write it poorly, indicate that learning and thinking is NOT critical and hey . . . it makes my job that much easier! Get a clue! Buy a vowel!! READ A BOOK!

Morning Conversation

2008-06-23T13:09:00.000-07:00

ORIGINALLY POSTED IN FALL, 2007

He sat there, complaining as always before he went to school. Normally, I counter his logic and words. This time I was listening:

"I hate the way teachers give us one project right after the last one. We don't get finished with one before they give us another one. Isn't there something in the handbook that says teachers can't give us but one project at the time?"

"No, son. What's wrong with projects?"

"Nothing, but . . . we're doing them ALL THE TIME. Are the teachers just never going to teach us again? Are we going to do projects forever?"

"What's wrong with projects?"

"Nothing, in the right class . . ."

"Like Mrs. Johnnie-Sue's class," I offered, referring to one of the computer apps teachers.

"Yeah. Projects make sense in there. We learn the skills and then we have to create something. Those projects make sense."

I began to see where he was going. "You mean you're having to do more projects in your academic classes."

"Yes. We can't just LEARN any more," he complained, albeit obliquely.

Ahhhh. So we had quite the meeting of the minds. "You know, Drew, teachers are being told they must teach that way. That's how they are being evaluated. And instead of taking a moderate, balanced course, they've become extremists; at least, many of them feel that's what they must do. It's ALL or NOTHING!! The state makes demands, the kids are tested, and we have to find ways to improve TEST SCORES!" I railed.

My mama would have said, 'There's sense in anything,' by which she would have meant that it would be a good thing to examine the new fads and methods and strategies and linger a bit over the old ones. She was a child of the depression; she wouldn't have thrown out anything--including the teaching she'd already done. The state is big on what it demands, what it wants, and what it expects teachers to do--use visual learning, teach the standards, encourage cooperative learning, but when it comes to test time, students are individuals on their own! NOW I remember one of the main reasons I LEFT!

I was beginning to work myself into a passionate rant. "Drew, let me make sure you understand one thing: Not everything is good because it's new, and not everything is bad because it's old. Examine everything before you accept it or adopt it or before you throw it out. Projects are only as good as the information and preparation that sets them up. And you need both. Learn all you can."

My brain still churns from the discussion. I had begun to think there was little or no feeling or passion left for teaching, for education. No, the right buttons just had to be pushed.

One of the contemporary quotes in education is: "If you always do what you've always done, you'll always get what you've always gotten." The assumption is obvious: a teacher couldn't possibly be satisfied with the results she's gotten from her/his students. And sometimes that's true. I had an off-year once and juniors made only 89% passing on the writing portion of the graduation test. I nearly died of embarrassment; I was mortified; humiliated; shamed; depressed--but they damn well did a whole lot better that spring--they might have been afraid NOT to! Nevertheless, the rest of the years in the public high school my students did me proud, scoring at least as well, usually better than the surrounding counties and at least as well as the average state scores. This continued even into the EOCTs over American literature. Continued til this year [2007], in fact. When scores came in and I did the math, I felt that same sense of how did I become so ineffective? I had had difficulties with that class all year, but when the percentage passing the EOCT in Am. Lit. was only 76% I KNEW I needed to be OUT of the classroom. My students were 5% off the state average of 81% passing. I was certain my days were over. I was old. I couldn't "cut the mustard any more." I had hit the state GHSWT average of 93% and the GHSGT Language Arts average of 98% passing, but . . . the EOCT was appalling.

It didn't matter to me what other departments or other teachers in the school had gotten; I was only concerned about mine. As selfish as that sounds, I had always taken pride in my students' abilities and skills. When I left, "retired" I felt a relief. In retrospect NOW, I think I can finally forgive myself of the 76% passing. It was NOT a stellar year, but then . . . I'm truly not sure what I could have done to have made it better. I realize I did all that I could do, and, knowing the group of juniors this year, I believe the difference will show when their test results come back this time next year. It's NOT always the teacher.

A couple of weeks ago I received an email from one of those former juniors, now a senior. It should have buoyed by spirits; instead, it completely broke my heart. A portion of it read:

In class a few days ago she asked us to tell her about one person who we saw as a hero (I think that was the assignment...its was along those lines nonetheless) and Shey, Paige, and I all wanted to say you. But we were afraid that it would make her feel bad or as if she could never do anything to make us love her just as much even though we all know how impossible that would be. . . . My senior year is seriously flying by. I just wish that you were here for me to share it with. I'll talk to you later, much love,

Suddenly, 5% doesn't mean so much to me.

As for those teachers using those projects followed by projects, etc., I hope they realize that not all students will gain from them, and that while they may be pleasing the administration and the state, those students will still be taking standardized tests individually, on their own, and eventually, they will be asked to THINK on their own as well.

There's another old cliche that works sometimes, too; I'd almost forgotten: If it ain't broke, don't fix it. Even Emerson might agree with that one.

If I Were a Radio Station

2008-06-19T09:50:00.000-07:00

. . . I would say, "Welcome to Chatterbox in the Feed Room; we're live and back on the air!"

I've changed to a different venue where some blogs are public, some private, but I welcome your comments. Chatterbox is my "public" blog, the one I'm most willing to share with everyone from current students to friends . . . and . . . well, no. There are NO relations I want in my "Feed Room." (Which is to say, humor and honesty will always be the trademarks of any writing posted.)

I've missed blogging, I must admit; but I'm short on creative titles . . . the primary reason it took so long for my fingers to find the keyboard -- that, and, like a snake sloughing its skin, I've outgrown my previous Troll Witch persona. It was as painful as it was inevitable, and, though it was the right move, evolution comes slowly;and, God willing, I shall continue to evolve. Now . . . the title . . . Chatterbox in the Feed Room. :^) It's no stranger than one of my other favorite blogs: SalmonandGrits, AND it's not part of MySpace or Facebook. I become too distracted by those to read blogs. I've tried; sometimes it's the pictures, sometimes it's the disclosures that people reveal that I would just as soon NOT know.

But back to the title: Chatterbox in the Feed Room. *sigh*
I suppose in some bizarre way I owe every teacher I had an grammar school a thank-you note--not so much for what they taught me (since 90% of all learning is outside the classroom) but for the days I spend indoors, during recess, writing the same inane sentence over and over and over: "I must not talk in class." It was called CHATTERBOX back "in the day" and it was much cheaper than allergy tablets. In fact, it was not until high school that I knew I had allergies. In grammar school I stayed in CHATTERBOX so much I never got outside to play. Of course, until I got glasses, late in first grade, the playground was not so much fun. I never had very good large motor skills (I learned to ride a bike when I was 13.) and consequently, if I ran, jumped from a swing, came down a slide, hopped off a seesaw, I usually ended up on my knees. It became fairly customary. I still have the scars to prove it. Sometimes I caught myself with my hands as well; I seemed to be the most uncoordinated kid on the playground. Until I got my glasses! Then . . . I could actually SEE where I was going . . . as I fell on my knees and hands. So . . . CHATTERBOX was not so bad. Writing wasn't either, although I did get tired of the same sentence. There was NO imagination in it at all. I knew I talked too much; that was evident on my report cards . . . couldn't they find something interesting for me to write? Nope. I MUST NOT TALK IN CLASS. It wasn't like we didn't both (the teacher and I) know I'd be right back in there, after a couple of days' pardon.

Things haven't changed too much, except now I've put myself in CHATTERBOX -- and I can write all the sentences, of any sort, any length, any design I like. :^p
Now . . . the Feed Room. Oddly enough, it doesn't refer to my kitchen. I went to work when I was fourteen at a local dry goods store; I worked 12 hours a day on Sat. and 10 hrs. a day through the week. I was paid 50 cents an hour and was happy to get it. When I wasn't working at what was commonly called the "Dime Store," I was home; if it was summer, I was home cooking, keeping house while my mother worked, and "hanging out" with my dad "getting up" the cows from the pasture and walking them to the barn where they could be milked. In the afternoon I was expected to stay at the barn, with my dad, until my mother picked me up. Until you've spent long days in July without a fan, with the aroma of fresh manure pervading the air, the stillness of the heat broken only by the occasional buzzing wings of a fly or wasp -- only then can you appreciate the overhead static of flourescent lights and the tap-tap of the keyboard. By the time I was fifteen, the owner of the barn [not my folks, by the way], had built an adjacent feed room to the barn. I sat on the feed bags there, shaded from the direct sun, and read to escape the summer head, the red clay, and the boredom of borderline poverty. My dog and my imagination were further company, and when the owner of the farm added a wall creating himself an office, I was allowed to go inside and sit at the desk to read. But I didn't. I wrote. I never told anyone--except my dog--because no one really cared, as long as I was safe and out of trouble, my parents were happy.

If I tired of writing . . . I could always read.
Not a very auspicious start for an English teacher or college instructor, is it? Not one I would expect, at least. I should think an English teacher would have been surrounded by books during childhood, listening intently while her parents read stories and poems, and spoke of . . . Proust. lol CHATTERBOX was frustrating and embarrassing. The Feed Room . . . was unconventional.

Today, my office is much larger than the feed room was, but . . . I still escape into books when I can, and now I try to encourage other people to go with me. Oh--and . . . I still write, occasionally; but then, you figured that out now, didn't you?