from the porches

humpty dumpty had a great fall

I feel really lucky that I have a photo or two of Humpty Dumpty because that was the third grade writing lesson I taught today.  The children in Mrs. Blanchard's third grade class wrote their very first narrative; and from what I read, they will do fine in fourth grade. 

One paper I showed the students lacked elaboration.  Wonderful!  Just right up my alley.

The lesson:  So where exactly were you and Humpty sitting when he fell off? 

Student:  On a brick bridge.

Me:  And what were you talking about on the brick bridge?

Student:  Our favorite food.

There was a daddy volunteer in the classroom and he shouted out his favorite food . . . BACON!  So that's what we used in the paper.

(Obviously, not a brick bridge)

I had heard third graders...eight and a few nine year olds, lacked precision of vocabulary words, so that became my mission. 

As the story progressed I elicited words from these students about what would cause Humpty to fall off the wall. 

A wind. 

Yes, a wind; but what kind of wind. 

A whoosh. 

No.  Not a whoosh, but a gust of wind that sent Humpty flipping backwards and landing in the grass.

I do love the eight/nine year old mind.  I read several papers today, and most of the children chose food such as peanut butter or cheese to put Humpty back together again. 

That's when I asked the teacher, "What time do you have lunch?"  Unfortunately, not until 12:30; and here it was ten o'clock in the morning.  (I can tell hungry children by what they write in their papers.  I think they were about ready for a snack. . . . and the daddy volunteer as well.)

As the third graders brainstormed about how to put Humpty back together again, they presented me with another teachable moment.  Buy peanut butter and spread it on with a knife!

Well, folks, that won't work.  Kids are NOT allowed to carry knives because they are kids. Then one child said he would pull a spoon out of his pocket to spread the peanut butter on. 

YEA KID!  A teachable moment!

Then I stood up and said, "I'll give you one dollar if you have a spoon in your pocket!"

Poor little third graders.  Some of them even felt in their pockets . . . but no one produced a spoon.  Therefore, we had to use two fingers to scoop out the peanut butter to spread on Humpty's cracked body.

In the end, the JIF peanut butter was smoothed on Humpty Dumpty and he headed for the brick bridge again.  (That's a circle story, by the way).

 

rehab wetlands

I walk the path into the wetlands at Shands Rehab.  I keep my eyes wide open for critters, especially long, slinky ones.

Nothing much is happening along the path during February; but it will soon.  The birds were all a-twitter.  Truett told me today, "Boy, those birds are LOUD!"  I thought about trying to imitate the bird sounds; but I just couldn't.  There were so many bird sounds...the hawk...the  pileated woodpecker...the crows...and birds I didn't know.

I can take only so many photographs during this time of year before spring really happens...before mosquitoes flock to my legs and arms.  So I am happy right now just photographing February images of the Rehab Wetlands.

this is who I am

Today I volunteered to teach writing at Fort White Elementary School.  I had a few minutes to kill before class, so I detoured down one hallway.  There I saw my friend, Alice.  Alice retired several years ago; but has since been rehired as a tutor.  Then I saw my friend, Verlene.  Verlene retired several years ago; but has since been rehired as a tutor. I know my friend, Tarie retired a couple of years before me; and she, too, has been hired to tutor.

My friends and I hugged and reminisced today.  We talked about the good old days and "remember when".  But, the most important thing we agreed upon was: "This is who I am."  And we pointed to the children sitting at the tables, ready to have an educator make a difference in their lives.

I did teach that writing lesson today and it went well.  But this afternoon I realized that my conversation with my "retired" friends identified who we are and who we will always be. . . Educators.  What a wonderful profession!

This is who I am. 

 

the wind

Yesterday Truett and I took a drive to Lake Butler to find the lake.  I was hoping to take photographs of birds at the lake.  But, along the drive to Lake Butler, I was aware of how strong the wind was.  I literally had to keep both hands gripped onto  the steering wheel in order not to let the wind carry me off the road.

I never paid much mind to the wind until I moved to Fort White in 1973.  Growing up, our children voices were louder than the sound of the wind blowing through the trees.  Living in cities, honking horns and sirens drowned out the sound of the wind.

Yesterday plowed fields were being whisked across the country roads.  I pulled off the road to photograph the wind . . . well, the effects of the wind.  Grasses that usually stand as tall as soldiers waved and bent to the earth.

Spanish moss flew sideways instead of hanging straight down. 

I love the sound of a strong wind.  In 1973 I was sitting on a friend's outside stoop and that was the first time I heard the wind.  I listened that day; and ever since I try to go outside when a strong wind is blowing.  Mom and I sit on the front porch in the afternoons and watch the tree tops swirling and curling, bending and reaching when there are stong winds.  I remind Mom, "Don't talk.  Just to listen."

I love a good wind . . . but not always the effects of the wind.

junkyard hodgepodge

Normally, when Truett and I drive to Lake City, we take Hwy. 47.  Yesterday, I told Truett I wanted to go on Hwy. 41 because I wanted to photograph a junkyard that has always intrigued me.

I don't know who owns this place; but everytime I drove past this junkyard, Truett had to remind me to keep my eyes on the road.  All along my curiosity had gotten the best of me, so yesterday, I pulled off the road to wander among the hodgepodge of items.

These items are not safely locked behind a fence.

 

They are placed right along the right-of-way.

Everything from a wooden horse to . . . 

a purple and gold cow.

A sailor. . .

and a blue gorilla.

Behind the fence, with the rifle on it, I saw more items as far as the eye could see.

I saw no price tags and I saw no people willing to emerge to ask if I wanted to purchase anything . . . or to yell, "Get off of my property!"

I may be assuming this is a junkyard.

It may be a valid business; and if so, where are the price tags?

There is one thing I do know:  A rabbit said I was welcome to browse at the junkyard.

 

blowing cookies

My second day of volunteering to help nine-year olds with writing went well. 

The students were given a prompt to write to:  Remember a time when something funny happened.  I scanned three narratives and blurted, "What's wrong with you people?  One paper has someone choking on a lollipop.  A second story is about someone blowing cookies out of his nose and his nose is still wet.  And the third story is about someone spilling milk."

It's funny.  I had forgotten how the fourth grade mind works and the things they think are funny.  Now let the lesson begin:

"Who remembers what I told you in assembly about writing stories?"  No one spoke up, so I gently reminded them once again, "Get outside in nature so action can take place.  Get out of your house in your stories!  And above all, do not write about disgusting things for the state writing test."

Then I outlined my narrative. 

I am at the beach with my best friend, Bobby.  I noticed the students were beginning their narratives with One hot day . . .or One cold night. 

"Begin with stories with dialogue.  Rope that audience in right off the bat!" I told them.

    "Ouch!  Ouch!  Ouch!  Bobby there's something on my toe!"  Bobby sprinted through the sand and started laughing hysterically as I stood their with a crab the size of an Eggo Waffle latched onto my toe for dear life.  

Then I modeled two ways I could get the crab off my toe.  First, I shook my leg and finally collapsed to the ground; but of course that failed.  Meanwhile Bobby and I laughed so hard our sides hurt.   

Next, Bobby tried to pull the crab off of my toe, with much yelping on my part.  Eventually, Bobby pulled the crab so hard, he went flying backwards into the sand, crushing our sand castle.
Finally, a seagull swooped down, grabbed the crab in its mouth and lifted off, leaving me with a toe that looked like a strawberry.  And that was the day something funny, but painful happened.

Way better than blowing cookies out my nose, don't you think?

 

run from the bulls

Today I had the pleasure of teaching fourth graders at Fort White Elementary School for forty-five minutes.  I don't know how the children felt, but I had fun!  Here's how the narrative story teaching went:

Me:  Stay out of the mall in your stories.  They are generally BORING!  And not only that . . . GET OUT OF YOUR HOUSE INTO NATURE SO ACTION CAN TAKE PLACE!  BOYS, GO CLIMB A TREE OR SOMETHING!  HECK, JUST JUMP A DITCH!  AND GIRLS, JUMP THE DITCH, TOO!

I use a model of teaching narratives that is easy to remember: CSP123.  (Character, setting, plot, (1)attempt to solve the problem, (2)another attempt, and (3) problem solved. It's an easy formula; but definitely has to be developed to work. ( I do not claim this formula; but it was taught and I liked it for the nine-year old brain; therefore, I use it).

Me:  So, you have all had a special time with a friend.  Think about the most exciting place that would be; but, you do know it won't be the mall or in your house playing video games.  Right?  Right!

And then I modeled most of a narrative.  I was thinking of the circus, but a teacher suggested the fair.  So, the fair it was.  

Characters:  Me and Bobby  (I always used my imaginary friend, Bobby, when I modeled stories.  It was just easier; plus, boys bring a more risky excitement to a story.

Setting:  The fair

Problem:  One teacher suggested the cows got loose.

"Cows?"  That was really hard for me to wrap my brain around it, but eventually, I was able to adapt.

And the teaching began.

"Don't begin your story with 'One hot day."  I told the children.  "Begin it with dialogue!  Catch the  reader's interest right off the bat!"

So I modeled.

"Bobby, look over there," I shouted as I pointed to the agricultural corral.

Natural reaction here, please.  What would Bobby do?  Of course, Bobby turned his head and looked toward the corral.  And then the action began. . . the problem . . .the plot.

Well, wouldn't you know it.  Five, huge black bulls crashed through the corral gates and chased Bobby and me.  Of course we discussed dialogue, such as, "Run!"  One child said "Cheese and Crackers!"

Now that was a teachable moment.  "What?  What do you mean Cheese and Crackers?"  The scorers will not know what you mean by that.  I taught forty-six years and I don't know what you mean by that . . . and the FCAT scorers are older than me . . . that means they are older than dirt!"

Oh, how I miss teaching!  Oh, how I loved teaching today!  Well, anyway we had five huge, black bulls chasing me and Bobby in the story and we had to find a way to solve the problem.  One person said we could hop on the ferris wheel at the fair; and of course, I said, "Well, you might as well be at the mall because there is NO ACTION on the ferris wheel!"

Poor sad, sad, sad, fourth grade faces.  But, they got over it.  Then one bright young fellow said, "Hey, we could jump a fence!"

"Brilliant!" I blurted.  So that's what Bobby and I did in the story; however, Bobby sailed over the fence; but my pants got snagged, so we had a bigger dilemma.  "Help me!"  I wailed.  Of course, Bobby raced back and unsnagged my pants and we eluded the bulls.  (Whew!)

In the end, one fourth grader suggested we run to the hot dog stand, which was wonderful because the five, huge black bulls charged the hot dog stand, sending hot dogs flying into the air.  Plus, a few bulls snapped them up in their mouths.  Meanwhile, Bobby and I stayed crouched behind the hot dog stand.

Finally, we heard sirens and the SWAT team came and corraled the five, huge black bulls into a corner and we were saved.  I think Bobby and I learned not to wear red to the fair again. . . EVER!

Now do you know why I love teaching so much?

And then I came home and began my life as a care-giver.

 

 

ecstasy

I'm posting photographs of my Japanese Magnolias because our "spring weather" here in North Florida is about to take a nose dive.  Our red buds, azaleas, camellias, and tiny white and purple low-to-the-ground living wild flowers are in full bloom.  I saw tiny buds on our dogwood tree that seemed eager to pop open; but I hope they wait because frigid temperatures are on the way for this weekend.

I am making progress in regaining part of my life back. 

Yes, I am. 

Today I played nine holes of golf with a couple of friends.  It has been months since I played golf; and I clearly anticipated me being "the biggest loser".  However, my friends, Lucille and Brenda, and I played best ball.  That really took the pressure off of me because we weren't keeping individual scores.   Therefore, I was relaxed and at ease. 

If you are a golfer, I have a word of advice for you.  After the fifth hole, when your friends compliment you on your fantastic putts or relaxed drives . . . well, stop them before they start the compliments; because that is when your golf game goes to hell in a handbasket. . . just like my game did today. 

But, in the end, it didn't matter.  I got fresh air.  I got exercise.  I was with friends.  And I took deep breaths. 

Tomorrow I will volunteer at Fort White Elementary School in a fourth grade classroom teaching writing. 

And I will call this ecstasty!

 

listen fast & let the show begin

On May 26, 2010, I locked my classroom door, let out a big sigh, and said good-bye to 46 years of teaching.  I was thankful to lock that classroom door.  My mom had been diagnosed with cancer and my new life was to be her caregiver.  Teaching got in the way; plus, it was my retirement year anyway, so I was more than ready for my new role in life. 

Mom got better.  She is well in remission from her cancer; but 2011 brought my biggest challenge of all.  Truett had a tumor removed from his auditory nerve. . . and you know the rest.  I nearly had a breakdown, but started counseling and am learning how to regain part of my life back.

Today, February 3, 2012 is the day I recaptured my essence.  I was asked to speak to the Fort White Elementary School students about how to pass the Fourth Grade FCAT Writing test.  Here it goes:

You have to listen fast because I am about to tell you a year's worth of everything you need to know to pass FCAT Writing!  Plus, keep your eyes on me because I will teach you some basic sign language along the way!

Okay?  Did you see the sign for okay?  If not, you REALLY need to pay attention!

For forty-five minutes I engaged the students.  They were up.  They were signing.  They were shouting.  They made a human thunderstorm . . . and I wrapped up a year's worth of teaching writing in forty-five minutes. 

I was in seventh heaven as the show continued.

For forty-five minutes I recaptured my essence; and in the end I was light-headed and dizzy with PURE JOY!

Thank you, Fourth Grade teachers for inviting me to speak to your classes.

PS.  Set up that schedule for every Friday. 

Not for the kids. 

For me! 

 

 

my therapeutic walk

I awoke this morning, and as I climbed out of bed, I realized my feet hurt.  My legs hurt.  My body felt like I had been run over by a semi. 

And then I remembered yesterday's walk at rehab.  My therapeutic walk.  This is how it started:

Craig opened the rehab door and called Truett's name.  "Good-bye," I said and gave Truett a quick peck on the cheek.  Then I exited out the automatic sliding doors. . . irritating doors that open with the whisper of a breath if you are close enough.

I looked to the wetland area next to rehab and thought about grabbing my camera from the back seat of the car and scanning the wetlands for hawks or creatures.  But then I thought, "No.  Use this time for a therapeutic walk. . . and then reward yourself with a mocha from Starbucks."

So I headed to the city block, as I call it, and decided to walk.  It would be good for my mental and physical health I rationalized.  In the meantime, I saw a man walking on the path towards me, so I decided to walk against the grain. . . I decided to walk in the opposite direction.

Slap! Slap! Slap! 

Pound! Pound! Pound!

My feet  beat a path around the city block. 

But then I realized the man was approaching me on his walk around the city block.  "What do I do?  Do I keep my head down?  Do I say 'hello'?  Darn.  I should have gone his direction and then I wouldn't have any anxiety.

Lap one complete.  I didn't look up at the man.

Lap two.  He smiled and I smiled.

Lap three.  He said,  "It can't get any better than this." 

"Yeah," I answered and thought, "Oh, yes it can.  I can be drinking a mocha about now."

I know this sounds ridiculous, but I did not want this stranger to think I was a wimp . . . a pretender. . . so I sped up my pace to match his.  I estimated where we would next meet.  Either by the cordoned-off live oak tree, or by the park bench, maybe even by the trash cans across from Starbucks. 

I don't know.  Crazy things cross your mind when you are exercising.  I mean really exercising.  I mean really pounding the pavement to keep up with some stranger pounding the pavement in the opposite direction in a city block.  

I felt this man was pushing me.  "I can't quit,"  I thought.  "He will know I am an imposter.  He will know I'm a novice.  He will just know who I am."

So I kept on clipping.  (I like that word.  Truett said how was your stroll and I almost slapped him).

In the end, my time was up.  I got no Starbucks Mocha.  I collapsed in a chair in front of those stupid doors at rehab and I exhaled.

Ahhhh!  That felt good.  

"Was that GOD walking opposite me? " I wondered.