from the porches

the camel

I read today's Gainesville Sun "Speaking Out" article written by Dan Boyd, Alachua County's Superintendent of Schools.  You should read it as well: Did camel riding help lower FCAT Writing scores?  I applaud Mr. Boyd.  Evidentally, someone in education told him the writing prompt for fourth graders was not a good one.

I served on "Bias" committees with the State of Florida Writing Committee for years.  In our committees we discussed bias, prompts that were biased, etc.  We were eager to toss anything that might not be relative to our Florida students, such as climbing the Alps. ( (I made that one up.  I really can't remember the ones we tossed; but our committee played fair and square and thought about our children and their background knowledge in order for them to be successful in their writing.)  We were not out to trick our students.  We only wanted to write prompts that our students could relate to.

Sometimes, new committee members appeared demanding tougher standards based on conventions; ie, punctuation, spelling, commas, etc.  I always had a strong voice to squelch the Type A personalities on that committee, urging expression because I knew conventions would kill the FCAT scores.  And obviously, this year, they did.

However; in our committee work, our teams would spend hours and hours deciding if a question was biased.  We looked at writing prompts and weeded out those that our Florida children could possibly fail at; like the one obviously given this year to our fourth grade writing students: Write a detailed essay about a camel ride. 

I probably think this was actually a narrative prompt; but, nonetheless, what in the world do our Florida children know about riding a camel? How about riding a horse or a bull?  Hey, how about riding a four-wheeler? Anything except riding a camel!

I believe the FCAT committee failed our children!  They are very lucky I was not on that committee when that decision was made!  This year's prompt was indeed a travesty!

turkey what?

This afternoon I looked toward the above ground swimming pool from my side porch and shouted, "We have wild turkeys at the pool!"

Well, stupid me!  After looking closer. I realized those birds were not wild turkeys!

 
No!  I had five turkey vultures eating something from my yard.  I really wanted these birds to be wild turkeys; but, the more photographs I took, I had to acquiesce. 

These were not wild turkeys.  They were turkey vultures!  Gross!  And then I wondered, "What in the world are they eating?  Molly, my yard cat?  Oh, no!  Could it be that horrid black and white male cat that inseminated every female it could do it to?"

Alas!  These five vultures were not wild turkeys roaming my property pecking at insects.

These turkey vultures were devouring a squirrel. 

And then I thought about Molly, my yard cat who is a wonderful hunter. . . and then I thought about Tippy, my favorite squirrel with the white tip on her tail.

I said a silent prayer for that squirrel that the vultures were eating not to be Tippy; the only squirrel Mom and I have ever named. 

So I walked out to the turkey vultures and realized, the squirrel carcass was not Molly; and I felt all better. I even felt all better that it was not the mangy black and white daddy cat that inseminated all of my female kittens for years.

In the end, I had no choice but to release two barking daschunds into the fenced in area to frighten the turkey vultures off of our property.  

I really wanted to see five wild turkeys.  But that didn't happen. Nope.  In the end all I got was "Yap! Yap! Yap!" from two wonderful dogs! 

conventions come with age

I am greatly disturbed by our State Board of Education's decision to lower the FCAT writing score from a 4 (out of 6 point scale) to a 3 in order for more students to pass the FCAT Writing test.   Their reasoning during a special emergency meeting was:  Too many Florida students will not make a passing score; thus, they cannot graduate.

 FCAT, otherwise known by students as "Florida Child Abuse Test", has been a mindboggle from the start.  I served on the FCAT Writing Committee for years.  Our goal was to get students to express themselves either through a narrative or expository writing format.  Many concerns were cited during my tenure on the state writing committee.  For example, formulaic writing.  I must agree.  When I read my own students' writings, they sounded like robots.  First, next, last, in conclusion.  BORING!

I served on the Florida State Writing comittee when a decision was made to give only narrative prompts to fourth graders in order to eliminate those robotic voices.   So, during my last two years of teaching, I stressed narratives.  Creativity! 

 Well now, here we are in 2012 and the State of Florida has lowered its standards.  BOO!  Our children met the goals in writing for years.  I am so proud that my local school surpassed the state's FCAT writing test for many years.  Now, the state is backing up...relinquishing the high standards?  

Here is my opinion.  I've taught third, fourth, fifth and sixth grade, plus at risk students.  Conventions; ie, spelling, punctuation, quotation marks, etc. is achieved at a certain brain maturity level.  I understand that more focus was put on the conventions this year; therefore, our Florida students didn't make the grade.

So what does the state do?  Lower the standards at the end of a school year so our Florida students can graduate.  Surely, other states must be laughing at Florida about right now. 

I believe the State administrators need to study child psychology and brain development and create a test based on brain maturity levels.  This is truly embarrasing to me as an educator after our students proved over and over again that they could write!  Conventions come with age! 

metamorphosis

I'm keeping my grandchildren for a sleepover tonight.  Somehow, I thought I had them for two nights, but I am mistaken.  Anyway, after supper tonight it was time for baths.  Oliver took his shower first and then completely covered himself in a towel on my bed. 

"Nana," he said.  I am a cocoon."  And pretty much he was except for that inkling of a pink toe.

"Hold on, Oliver," I told him.  "I want to see the whole metamorphosis of a beautiful butterfly."

And another leg appeared.

And finally, the beautiful butterfly!

 

JFK funeral

The other day I was at my psychologist's office and picked up a People Magazine.  There was an article written by Jackie Kennedy's bodyguard.  As I read the the article, I was rocketed back to 1963, the year John F. Kennedy was assassinated.

My first husband and I were students at the University of Tennessee back then.  I was doing an elementary internship in third grade at an elementary school in Knoxville when the news broke about JFK's assassination.  I remember it well.  The principal rapped on my classroom door, entered, and then whispered, "The President has been killed."  She then looked at my third graders and told them. . . and they clapped.  Eight year olds, back then, did not know what assassinated meant.  So that became a teachable moment.

What a shock!  There was nothing I could do.  Nothing the nation could do at the time, except mourn the loss of our President.  Immediately, life stood still.  Businesses closed.  Schools closed.  The Nation was in shock.

My husband and I, and our closest couple friends, decided to attend the funeral of John F. Kennedy.  We packed the car, loaded up and headed for D.C.  When we arrived on the day of the funeral procession, Sandra and I changed from pants into our black dresses, black hose and pillbox hats, with black veils covering our faces.

We stood along Pennsylvania Avenue that day.  We watched the funeral procession from ten feet away as  Charles DeGaulle, Jon Jon, Jackie Kennedy, Bobby Kennedy and other dignataries walked that Avenue.  We cried that day.  Our nation cried that day.

Later we visited the Capitol's Rotunda and touched the casket; and the following day, we visited the grave site.

I told my fourth grade students in Fort White this story once and had a parent tell her child that I lied.  She said I wasn't old enough to have gone to that funeral.  Well, I guess I have to give the credit to Mary Kay products because I was there.

Check out this video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8LmBGiEURA&feature=related

 

 

remembering: sophisticated drink

 

 

I was talking with my twin on the telephone recently and we started remembering our younger days.  After sharing several stories with Sherry, I asked, "Do you remember my first drink...my first alcoholic beverage?"   Sherry laughed and said, "I'll never forget your first drink.  And then she added, "That night we laughed so hard we cried."

  

This is how the story unfolded:

I had moved to Louisville, Kentucky after my divorce from my first husband.  Sherry was seperated from her husband for a few weeks;  so we moved into an apartment together on Knob Hill. We both had jobs; but times were tough, much like in today's time.  We lived paycheck to paycheck, with little left over for entertainment. 

Sherry and I were not  "party people".  We were good, moral, Tennessee girls looking for one night out on the weekend so we could feel connected with real life happening out there in the real world...a world that I really didn't know anything about.  However, we did know one thing.  We wanted to feel special and sophisticated. So we decided to go out to dinner at the Standiford Airport in Louisville, Kentucky. 

 The airport restaurant was not a raucus place.  Interesting people flying to and from excotic places might be dining in the restaurant; plus it wasn't far from our apartment so the costs were low.  That one particular Saturday night Sherry and I put on our Sunday dresses and high heels and off we drove to the airport.   

 Candles flickered throughout the restaurant much like lightning bugs in the woods on a dark night.  A lone pink flower perched upright in its glass vase, looking all pretty at us.  Soft background Marvin Gay music filled our ears.  Lovers were dotted throughout the restaurant.  One night stands huddled in the dark recesses of the airport restaurant.

Pretty soon, Sherry  asked, "Would you like a drink?"  I thought about it for about ten seconds and said, "I've never had a drink.  I don't know what to order."  (I was 27 years old, for God's sake!  See how goody two-shoes I was?)  Then I told Sherry to order for me.  So she did.  She ordered each of us a screwdriver.  People that's vodka and orange juice!  But somehow, in my mystical state of mind I saw it as a pretty drink.  Did it have a pink umbrella in it?  I don't remember. All I remember was . . . it was pretty.

 

My drink was placed in front of me and my heart fluttered slightly.  The drink was soooo pretty with the two tiny straws jutting out of it.  "Here goes," I must have said.  And I bent my head down to sip from the two tiny straws; and then you will not believe what happened!

 

When I jerked my head up, those two tiny straws were stuck in each of my nostrils!   I am pretty sure I looked like a walrus, because I felt like a walrus with two tusks jutting from it's snout.  Then Sherry and I started laughing.  We laughed so hard, tears rolled down our cheeks.  We don't remember the steak we ordered.  We don't remember another single thing about that sophisticated night, other than laughing. 

I do remember one thing, however.  I didn't feel sophisticated, and I made a memory that has lasted for forty-four years, give or take one or two.

welcome home, mom

Welcome home, Mom.

I so enjoyed your stories today.  The story about sitting beside the man on the flight to England who bought your daddy's farmland for a business enterprise.  That's almost like winning the lottery; except there was no money involved for you.  What is that about?  The odds were probably thirty million to one?  Do you agree, Sam?  But, it did happen to you on your flight to England. AMAZING!

I have no other pictures, so I will show the same one.

By the way, you do NOT look 88 years old in this picture.  Just saying.

I loved hearing about how you and Susan named the chickens that visit her property.  What are their names now?  Betty?  Gladys? Irene?  and Penelope?  I  am so proud of you for naming the visiting chickens.  Why didn't you name the pheasant?  You know.  The chicken with the long tail?

While you were away, I noticed one of our mailboxes had accumulated a few leaves in  P.O. Box 242, Advent Glass Works mailbox.  The handle has been ajar for weeks; therefore I had grown  skeptical. 

I didn't know if there was a spider building a nest in there, or a squirrel, or possibly a snake.   YIKES!

Therefore, over the past few weeks, I have  feared opening that mailbox.

Dear Mom, if you had been here, I would have expressed my feelings on this issue.  This past week, while you were in England, I noticed a huge  gathering of leaves in Mailbox 242.

So yesterday, I opened the 242 mailbox and a sweet little wren fluttered out of her nest.  Ultimately, I taped a sign on the mailbox that read, "Put this mail in Box 240."  I am hoping our mail carrier will carry out my wishes.

Pretty soon I will drive you up to that mailbox and we will try to see the tiny house wrens that have nested in P.O. Box 242. 

Mom, I know you would have liked my daily story to you from the porches; but you were not here ; therefore, I'm telling the story to you now.

dear mom,

Dear Mom,

You would love the color around here in North Florida.  The purple phlox and coreopsis are "eye-popping"!

I saw an eagle between here and High Springs yesterday.  But, today, the eagle was flying over our property.  You would have thrown up your hands and gasped!  And we would have named it.

I am near the end of the C.J. Box book.  I'm down to the exciting part.  I'm like you.  I'm not rushing to the end of the book because I don't want it to be over because then I will have nothing to read.  Soon, I'm purchasing every C.J. Box book known to mankind; and I will never, ever, ever lend them out for others to get addicted to!

Those puppies.  Oh, my word do they miss you.  I've been sitting on the couch with them in front of the TV while Truett naps.  I'm also making every effort to be their surrogate mom.  Wait! I am their mom.  How come they love you better than me???

Of course, Roger rules the roost and Punky is his side-kick.  Clay will be going back to Lake Butler this week.  Rehab appointments as usual, as well as Lion's Club.  We're hoping to see Merry Jennifer, Sam and the grandchildren this weekend. 

And, most importantly, I miss you!

Sincerely,

Merry

 

 

 

 

i didn't know

I didn't know how hard it was to have my mother leave for England today.  My friends said, "Oh, now you will have 'free time'. 

"Free time?" 

Mom is easy.  She is not "free time."

About a month ago, Mom and I were sitting on the front porch, as usual.  Of course, she was re-living her cancer stories and I had had about enough. 

"Mom," I said.  "Why don't you visit Susan in England?"

"Do you think I could?" she asked.

"Of, course!  You've been in remission for a year.  You're as sharp as a tack. Of course you can do it.  Even though you are two years shy of 90, of course you can do it!"

And that settled that!  Thanks to Susan for arranging wheelchairs and luxury seating!

So, today, April 20, 2012, I drove Mom to the Gainesville airport for a two week visit to see Susan and Larry in England.

I didn't know how hard it would be for me.   I didn't know how empty I would feel after I came back home. 

I just didn't know.

I went to the porch around 3:00 p.m., as we always did.

I sat in my rocking chair and watched for birds; and then then I looked over at Mom's rocking chair. . . and I broke down crying.

My mom is my best friend. 

I realized I have to change my routine  while Mom is away so I don't fall apart.  Mom and I sat on the porches every day from 3:00-4:00 p.m., right before I began supper.

I tried my best to love the puppies today.  But, they would not settle in with me.

I didn't know how hard it would be to have my mother leave.

I just didn't know.

 

 

the miracle & the tag

A couple of weeks ago my mom had me look at a skin tag just below her right eye.  "What is it?  Do you think it's a cancer?" she asked.

Oh, Lord.  I knew that this skin tag caused by skin irritation would become a problem.  I showed Mom information I printed from the internet.  Skin tags are often caused by friction . . . and um, my mom spends many hours a day resting in her bed.

Finally, I called her Dermatologist, who has removed cancerous cells on Mom before, and I made Mom an appointment. 

Mom leaves for England on April 20, so I knew this problem had to be resolved.  The worrying and worrying about cancer got the best of me, plus the skin tag had become bloody red.

Finally, I called my daughter, an Oncologist, and asked, "Did I do right?  Should I have gotten Mom an appointment with Dr. Lynch, her Oncologist, or should I have made an appointment with her Dermatologist?"

MJ conceded that I did the right thing.  If, in fact, this skin tag was cancerous, the Dermatologist would remove it.

Well, lo and behold, a MIRACLE happened today!

Mom rushed to the kitchen shrieking, "It's a MIRACLE! The thing is gone from my face!"

Thank you, Jesus!

Now, I will cancel Mom's Dermatologist appointment.

Do you think I should tell Mom not to lay in the bed all day, irritating her skin?