It's been a while, and I'm really struggling.  I have always forced myself to teach, because I needed security, and a job where I knew I'd be consistently employed.  Sure, there were parts I liked - reading, and discussing stories with the kids.  Some of the students were great - delightful human beings.  Nowadays, I am depressed, and wishing I'd picked a different career.  I have to keep going. God help me.  I'm dying.

Thank You David, Danielle, and Kathryn

David, Danielle, and Kathryn,

You guys are the best! This Summer Institute has been so eye-opening and inspiring.  I feel this class has completely changed my view on how to teach, given me tools that I didn't recognize I had before.  I feel like I am just beginning on a journey, but I have the essentials to survive in my backpack.  (I am not really much of an outdoorsman)!  I  hope I can approach my students and this school year with the same enthusiasm and professionalism as the three of you have, and I hope I can awaken in them some of the joy and excitement you have reawakened for writing in me.

Really Long Writing Document (has almost all other posts already on it)

Shannon’s Writing Doc - I will try to type stuff on this from now on, but I’m really bad with technology.

Joy in my classroom???

teachers who influence me - why, when, where

Teachers who’ve influenced me have done things I liked, too.  My high school English teacher used to do fun writing activities - she was Jewish and married to a Catholic, and I used to babysit for her sometimes  Andrea Fusco - she gave me a diary when I graduated.  She always wore very “Englishy” outfits.  My 7th grade English teacher, Mr. Fouracre, was so nice, and he always had us do independent reading with an oral or written report, which was horribly scary to do the oral report.  In my professional teaching career, My first real boss, Betty Heiney, was so nurturing and supportive, in a “general of war” way - she came across very formally, but she was soft under her shell.  I have a picture of her from a Halloween dance as a general - she had a soda, but it looked like a beer. She always had my back, and let me order whatever books I’ve wanted.  I have been lucky to have contact with amazing teachers, and the ones that influence me are the ones I like to bounce ideas off of, even if they seem crazy.  My coteacher this year, Justin Coffman, and I would often bring in music into our lessons to “jazz them up” or make them more fun for the kids.  Introducing the intro to Romeo and Juliet using rap - for the entire chorus’s prelude - was a huge hit.  Using imovies to use quote identification or highlite major parts of the play was so cool, and setting them to hip hop music?  Genius  - these were Justin’s inspirations, and I was blessed to have him - we had a ton of fun, and I think the kids did, too.  The greatest s lesson I’ve learned so far is that I can still improve, but to believe in myself along the way.

Blogs

I hate looking through blogs because I am not very literate with this stuff.  I like the idea of having a place to post assignments and that’s about it.  I found Mr. B-G’s English blog with a bunch of assignments and his personal favorite quote, which, although I didn’t like it, was a cool idea.  There was a really good blog from Ms. Hogue’s classroom, and she had practice quizzes, assignments, and in general, good things.  I think there’s probably a lot of decent stuff out there, but sorting through the myriad of so so is time consuming.  Personally, although it’s old school, I prefer scanning worksheets and emailing them to parents, since it is easier for me.  I know there’s a way to do this on blogs, but since humans are creatures of habit, I guess I need to get a new habit.  For me, technology is one of the most frustrating things.

Creative Writing Poem

Alone, on a special sleepover night,
The familiar, I can’t-quite-describe it aroma
greets me.
I breathe in the “grandma’s house” smell.
The cantankerous doorstopper frog belongs -
ugly, yet perfect.
To the right, the TV is the divider, the Mason-Dixon line
between the kitchen and Formal Dining Room.

Here, I am a grandchild, a porcelain figure,
cherished as one of the ceramic dolls brought from Europe
during World War Two.

I am the one whose picture
is displayed in Grandma’s bedroom for all to see.

My shoulders relax,
My soul unbudens.
Relief at no responsibility.

The paradigm has shifted.
I am no longer the eldest of seven children.
For now,
There are no burbling “what-ifs”



Professional Development -
Personally, I would usually like to not have to go to PD days, but they are necessary, and once I get there, I usually get something out of them.  One of the days that sticks out to me was earlier this school year.  We had to get together with the other middle schools to hammer out tests that didn’t count for actual grades, but were more to be used as benchmarkers for us teachers.  The helpful things about this day were hearing different people’s viewpoints.  Other teachers and department heads collaborated to generate ideas for chunked writing tasks on specific topics.  I ended up learning the lesson that collaboration is always helpful, and two heads are better than one.  When I first began my teaching career, I got to go to a PD day that used packets of useful exercises that we, too, could then use with our kids.  I ended up getting a multistep packet for projects out of that one, that parents really seemed to like.

David’s Demo:

The activity was easy to do, fun, and clearly explained.  It was innately tailored to each individual, without being overly-planned.  Within the structure of the activity, there was total personal freedom of choice in what to write about, and how to do it, which was very gratifying.  You had to be interested in this, because you were in control of it, so it was almost automatically engaging.  This activity forced me to delve into memories I hadn’t thought about in years, and it was very satisfying. This made creating a poem a non-threatening experience, and one that would work well with students of all levels, on multiple layers of the spectrum.  I know I am looking forward to trying it with my classes.  This type of activity puts less stress on the teacher as the educator, and puts the responsibility for work on the learner.  The student MUST produce, or you only have yourself to blame, which I love!  Excuses don’t work, which is another great thing about this.

Suggestions -
have an example for kids to listen to before they start,
have the senses listed on the board with possible visual cues,
one or two ex’s of your favorite words listed on board

Day One Creative Writing

It is now 3:15 - we’ve done a lot of writing today, and it’s been fun.  

Writers that can incorporate humor in their writing are usually more fun to read, and that is something I want to work on.  Katie, my youngest sister, seems to be a master at this.  Some of her references are hard to get - she is so smart and intellectual.  Writing about how your parents embarrass you is funny - how we call my dad’s outdated, annoyingly shorter than the current style shorts, “nut huggers” a classic title invented by the wildly irreverant Colleen, is inappropriate, but hilarious, especially when we tell him.  He doesn’t seem to see the humor in it, though.  

His obsession with keeping the two by four foot “pond” going in the Florida backyard is also somewhat hilarious, and could be regarded using one of his favorite phrases as a “Pyrrhic Victory”.  Sure, he is currently successful keeping the koi fish and exotic fan tail sharks alive, but he has killed approximately five batches of said fish, and in the process, spent over $1,500.00  My brother Sean claims Dad is now operating at the cost of a small country.  Dad has the bad habit of “treating the water”, and in the process, overly medicating and killing the koi.  He often claims that finances are tight, and it is obvious why.  He continually wins the battle of the koi pond, and just as often, suffers the agony of defeat in the war of the wallet.  Most conversations with him center around the ridiculuosly small “pond” and how the native Florida wildlife, namely, snakes, are quietly poaching large numbers of the fish.  Dad always tries to kill the snakes in some dramatic way, and can always be relied upon, according to his accounts, to hurt himself in the process.  There is always a famous shovel he happens to have handy when he attempts to kill the snakes.  Does he think he’s a modern day St. George?  There are no more dragons, so he has to settle for snakes?  I don’t get it.  His favorite method?  He chops thier heads off, usually tripping on a rock and rolling his ankle in the process.  So far, I think two out of the four snakes have escaped, and there are probably others watching, weighing the chances of a sure meal.  I am waiting one day for the snakes to demand retribution.  I have tried telling him that, since the snakes are native to Florida, it is only fair that they get to prey on the spoiled imported koi - what can he expect?  He doesn’t care.  The emails he sends out detailing his attempted snake coups are, I think , somewhat exaggerated.   The proportion of snakes to kills seems a bit unlikely, and if his tales were true, Dad would have eradicated half the black snake population in the state of Florida.  But, since the snakes keep coming, they must have the upper hand.  

Dad is also obsessed with the yard, and the vegetation in it.  He loves discussing the numerous palm trees he and Isobel have bought for their outside, which is starting to look very much like Jurassic Park.  While beautiful, I sometimes wonder what will happen when all these palm trees mature.  Probably, they will provide a great habitat for the snakes!  Dad will just have to restock the pond more often.

I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised by the whole pond situation, though.  

Throughout our lives, Dad has not been a “Mr. Fix-it”, a point he would vigorously deny.  Growing up, we had many unfortunate projects thrust upon us that we “helped” with.  Partly I am guessing that having a family of seven kids was a source of readily available child labor, and it was for sure that none of us would complain.  Who could we go to?  The other part of this was that


Growing up, I truly think Dad thought of himself as a “handy” kind of a guy.  He would seem to get really excited about “building a closet” - the end result of which was a raw wooden frame, with the pole clothes hanger made out of a broom handle.  This happened at least twice.  Usually, these projects did not add financial value to the home. As the two eldest children, Maureen and I knew we would be first picked for family work duty, so we would often try to “be busy”. Sadly, our excuses never worked.  We would end up nervously holding two by fours, while Dad drilled screws into the wood, close to our hands, stripping the head of the screw, and swearing loudly.  One time, Maureen and I helped Dad put up a fence around the perimeter of our Oswego, NY yard.  Did I mention I don’t think Dad had ever done this before?  Of course, because we had to try to do it as cheaply as possible, we were doing it ourselves, manually - every step of the way.  The fence post-digger thingy gave the user blisters on the hands, whereupon one then switched to a shovel, followed by the ground being too hard, followed by swearing and the obligatory screaming session. The process was then repeated about twenty times.  I am quite sure the fence is still standing, in all its glory.  Someday, a curious person might happen upon a smashed level, which I believe was thrown over the fence because it did not “read straight”.  Straightness be damned.

Luckily, what he lacked in skills as a handy man, Dad made up for with his driving prowess.  For as long as I can remember, Dad has been what I would describe as an “aggressive driver”.  It is a miracle we are all alive, and Dad has never had an accident.  I remember being around 12.  I sat in the front passenger seat, as an old lady pulled out in front of us.  I guess she didn’t see the speeding bullet of our Chevy Cavalier.  Besides making the mistake of cutting off an insane person, the lady in the car in front of us had the bad luck of being about 95 and going 15 miles slower than she should have.  I experienced severe reverse G Forces as Dad slammed into a lower gear, narrowly avoiding rear-ending the geriatric, who chugged on, blissfully unaware of the locomotive behind her.  As Tom Petty’s “Live like a refugee”finished, Dad began to accelerate the way cooler mandatory stick shift car.  Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band started up.  “Waaaaahhh...Aaaaahhhh...Aaaaaahhhh” Along with the sound of the gear protests at being violently tested, there was a strange rocking motion in the car.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement.  I carefully reached behind me, where my sister Maureen sat, and poked her in the leg.  I carefully looked to my right, as we passed the car going 40 in the 55 zone, I got the distinct impression that we were doing at least 70.  I saw Dad repeatedly making a very strange exaggerated forward bobbing motion with his head, which became more pronounced with the acceleration of the car and the blaring of Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run”.  I felt Maureen’s finger poke my arm.  “Up your nose with a rubber hose!”  dad screamed at the driver of the other car.  Granny waved, and Dad flipped her off.  Naturally, he then asked God to forgive him.

”Maureen hazarded a seemingly suicidal question, “Dad, why are you doing that?”  No answer; he was busy playing air guitar.  “Dad?”  “What are you doing?”  

“What!!”

“Nevermind - I thought I saw a deer.”   

The car careened violently around a curve in the road, and then eventually slammed into our driveway, barely avoiding stalling out.  Dad finished the air guitar, added a drum solo, and exited the car in a blaze of glory.  The crowd went wild.
7/ 10/12  Morning Freewrite - outrageous story about yourself

When I was younger I felt I’d lived 1000 years.   Maureen and I used to fly at night, escaping monsters that chased us.  We would skim above grasping hands, barely out of reach.  Looking down, I could see a face of evil, and it was so close, the dread made me sweat.  Between steep, gravelly mountains, she and I would fly by sheer willpower, and I knew I had to have the strength to keep us in the air.  Powered by fear and defiance, we soared over a dark forest, seeing a flowing body of river with an abandoned convenience store and empty factory buildings below.  Alighting on a road, we stopped and looked around.  I surveyed the scene.  Along the river, there ran an abandoned railroad track with no train and a broken down bridge, suspended above dark water.  I knew I had been there before, but how, I did not know.  The sky was grey, in a perpetual twilight, oppressive.  Maureen said nothing, and neither did I.  

Telepathically, the thought passed between us that the monster was still coming, but when I went to lift us into the ground to fly again, my power was gone.  Together, we ran until we found ourselves at an enormous mansion.  The outside of the mansion was brick, and the same gray sky loomed overhead.  Trees with no leaves dotted the grounds.  Overhead, the sun shone, but the day was no lighter.  I knew the evil was coming, and it could see us.  Our only chance to get away was the mansion.  I ran up the front steps, and slammed the great wooden doors open.

Inside, there was a foyer with black and white checkered floor.  Display cabinets lit from within, held samples of scientific manuscripts, and small objects in jars.  The feeling of evil permeated everywhere.  Maureen and I ran to rooms connecting to rooms, and in one, we climbed into the car of a wooden roller coaster, which looked more like a mining car.  As far as I looked, the tracks stretched into blackness within the house, with no end in sight.  The cart started forward, moving slowly, of its own accord.  I hugged onto Maureen, but no sound escaped my lips.  Fear weighed my heart, but I was powerless to do anything.  We entered a room, and a metallic “Clang” signalled a sickly overhead light that showed blood on the four walls.  Instantly, I knew that the owners of the mansion were the bad people, and they were murderers we had to escape.  Besides ourselves, no one was visible in the house, but we could feel their black, shapeless presence.

The coaster chugging upward, then diving down into a series of rooms.  Each room was a miniature tortuous scare-cell, with the strange wooden rollercoaster connecting everything.  We rode the coaster into the different rooms, and I had to solve the mystery of why there was always the murdered body, that I knew the bad people had dispatched.  I knew they were around us, and if the coaster stopped, they would be able to reach us from the sides of the track.  It was terrifying, and the worst was keeping away from them.  I felt a fierce anger, the anger of survival well up in me.  I screamed, “C’mere, then!”  My fist swung out at the blackness, and annimalistic rage gave me inhuman strength.  My fear was gone, and with that, the coaster suddenly rolled into the foyer of the dark house.

I knew I had to go back and get the bad ones.  I was the  one in charge now, and like Jennifer Lopez in “The Cell”, it was “my world, my rules.”  I told Maureen to wait in the foyer, and dove back into the cart.

Character Development

Public Persona - polite, tall, smiling, introverted, put together, prepared for anything, makeup done “just so”, perfect

Private Persona -    passionate, insecure, unattractive, scared my life is passing me by, I’ll never be truly happy, don’t know what I’m doing in life or at work, not enough friends, if I die, what happens?  I try to be a good person, but I am still not good enough, I want to be madly in love, wish I could star in something

Fast Draft

The party was in full swing.  The keg was flowing, and the table was occupied.  Two teams, one at each end were battling for victory, lobbing orange pingpong ball into the opposing pyramid of cups at the opposite end of the table.  Loud rap music, DMX, blared from the stereo, as June stepped through the door.  She had walked over to the guy’s apartment building from her own, quickly.  Although it was winter, she wore a summer hippie dress, light blue, with a shawl-like grey sweater - soft and cozy.  She knew she looked good tonight - it had been a good hair day, and that carried over into the night.  Her black eyeliner and eyeshadow looked even better than usual.  Although she knew most of the people, and her good buddy, Dave Goodwin gave her a hug and a high five, June felt shy.  Some people knew what to say to everyone, and she so envied that.  Cup in hand, one of the guys filled her beer.  She scanned the kitchen for handsome guys, thinking, “Maybe there’s someone here. Luckily, I AM wearing “the good dress” tonight.”  Dave, already several beverages gone, was  the life of the party.  “Hey, kid!  Get up on this table!  We’re on!”  June felt instant relief, there was a perfect distraction from the mandatory socialization with random people.  Small talk was like a foreign language - but beer pong?  Now we were talking!  She and Dave high-fived, and June dipped down, aimed, and sank her first shot.  The beat of the bass pounded within her, and June felt the warmth born of confidence mingled with beer, flow through her veins.  Dave high fived her, and somebody pulled out a camera.  He hugged her, his short frame and waist-length mohawk at least a full five inches below her own head.  June saw the flash of the camera, and knew she had smiled a genuine smile.  It felt good to not worry how she looked in a picture.  Dave, a Peruvian Inca, was her safe-zone.  June could laugh, joke, trade filthy language, and never feel self-conscious.  They were kindred spirits, both lovers of the Adam Sandler goat skit.  “Quit dickin’ the dog!”  Dave’s equivalent of “hurry up” was a favorite phrase that he used even more when he was drinking.  June came back to the table.  They missed their shots this round, but the night was progressing.  June could tell one of the guys leaning against the wall with his buddies, Casey, was watching her.  Out of  the corner of her eye, she tried to surreptitiously check him out.  Hmmm... short, red hair, loose fitting jeans, skater sneakers, hoodie - typical New England college guy.  Pothead?  Probably.  And he was cute as hell.

7/10/12 How can we use SI in our classrooms?  

I totally plan on stealing these awesome guided freewrite ideas - the words turning into a place freewrite turning into a poem, the character inside and outside snippet, and even the joy thing.  These, I think are great, and trying not to worry if the kids will “get” it, because I have to just go with the fact that these exercises can apply to everyone at all levels.  I think even in a set curriculum, the guided freewrite ideas can easily turn into pieces for a portfolio - students could write as a character finding joy within a story or themselves.  

Big Idea - better quality writing through more fun assignments
Tangible - do the 7 min. freewrite every day?

anything more opinion forming and thought provoking

what was happening in the situation, for the teacher, and for the learner

The first thing that comes to mind where authentic learning took place is not necessarily the most academic.  I was working two jobs, deciding whether I wanted to continue teaching in the process.  I worked at a non-kill animal shelter, where many litters of kittens got dropped off, some of whom were still nursing and unable to do anything without their mothers.  One particular group had three infant kittens and the mother had freaked out and escaped.  I was shown how to bottle feed the kitties, and of the utmost importance of then taking a warm wet washcloth to stimulate their genitals, as a mother cat would do with her tongue.  The lady modeled this on one of the kittens while I watched.  I then had to bottle feed a kitty and stimulate him.  There was a small “poof” as liquid poo came out, and I knew I had done it right.  I was amazed.  I had no idea before this that mother cats did that.  The idea was that doing this stimulated the kitties body systems to get rid of waste.  Unless the mother cat licked them (or we used a washcloth) the babies could die.  (Internal septicemia / toxicity).  So I took the litter home and had to feed the three babies every two to three hours, and immediately after, stimulate them with the washcloth.  I also had to make sure they were warm and cared for.  

What does this (authentic learning) mean for my teaching?  This means that my students will ideally be able to go out on a limb with something they’ve never done before, and have success.  They will be able to learn a new skill (any kind) and be able to correctly apply it to their writing or their lives.  I must teach in a way I would want to be taught.  As a teacher,I have to put myself in the learner’s position - do the assignments the kids do, grade myself as I would grade the kids - on a similar scale - learn how I would want to be assessed.  Authentic learning means I have to think outside the box.



7/12/12
Annoyed Poem, or “Ode to Rude Intruders”

I get annoyed when you aggressively greet me and I want to be left alone - keep walking!!

I get annoyed when you talk to me after I have already walked past you in the hall.  
See me, walking through the door clearly marked “Restroom”???
Obviously
I am trying to get away from you!!

I get annoyed when you insert yourself into my day … EVERY day ...
and I have to be polite … grrrrr

I get annoyed at your insistence at making stupid suggestions that make no sense and everyone sees this!!
Hear that dead silence … take a hint!!

I get annoyed when you interrupt me in front of a bunch of people.
I want to hogtie you in a corner, as I smile nicely at you.

I get annoyed that you know about the pronunciation of the “Roget’s Thesaurus” -
and correct me in front of people!!
RUDE!!!
WHO CARES if I say “Rogets”!!
Como se dice
“I never took French”!!!

Dear sky blue,
you are more than really just sky blue.  You are sun, palm trees, and happy breezes on a warm day.  You are the smell of the ocean, the sound of the waves, the smell of tropical flowers.  If I want to take a nap in the middle of the day, you are there when I wake up.  You watch over me and caress me with your whispers.  I love you when I walk outside at night, and you envelop me with your soft air.  I feel so free - no sweater, and I am more than ok.  I love you when you rain warm summer rain, and thunder rolls above me.  Your gray face is also beautiful - you are ever-changing.  Your sunrises and sunsets can make me happy to be alive and you are simply beautiful.

Freewrite of weekend

THis weekend was kind of sucky.  I was really depressed from remembering my childhood, and then I had that horrible I shouldn’t have said all that on Friday.  What an idiot.  I called Maureen and told her everything, and she said,  sometimes you just have to say those things because saying them validates that they really happened and were really true.  It helped somewhat, but I feel unless you experienced it yourself, no one can really relate.  It was one of those what the hell and I doing with my life moments.  Of course my boyfriend didn’t understand and that was the icing on the cake.  I just want to forget this.



The difference between writing to learn and learning to write shouldn’t really exist, but it does.  If you are learning to write, you are exploring and developing yourself as a writer, honing your skills.  If you are writing to learn, you are using your writing as a tool, a way of “going deeper” with a topic.  You are flushing it out more, going more in depth.  These two styles are interconnected, I think.  

When you are learning to write, you get better over time.  You start off one way and end up another.  Your writing gets more interesting with feedback from people and peers.  You develop your voice as a writer.  

When you are writing to learn, you are taking a topic and running with it.  You control the direction you go, or how far down that path you walk through your writing.

Ideas about what to do for Writing to Learn

The most important idea I heard in this discussion was to come up with the meaningful stuff that I would want to do if I were a student, and then DO this with kids.  It will fit into the curriculum in its own way.  Come up with the assignment, then do it.  Tailor things to fit into the schoolyear, and have an idea at the beginning of what you want your kids to come away with.  If you have that goal in mind, and your assignments support this, things will fall into place.  

Baby Jesus in the Backyard

There were many formative years in my life, several of which took place in Oswego New York.  We lived, tightly-packed, all nine of us, in a three bedroom house on West Bridge Street.  Oswego is not a large city, and its main claim to fame is that it is home to SUNY Oswego, located on beautiful Lake Ontario. When our family purchased the house, it was the summer I had finished third grade and was heading into fourth.  

You might say that the seven of us kids were raised extremely Catholic.  In fact, almost all of us would now say, psychotically Catholic.  Amongst other things, we spent many years praying the rosary every night.  This was often followed by mandatory Bible study of some passage Dad would choose.  The lesson usually focused on not losing our immortal souls to the fires of Hell, specifically by avoiding pre-marital sex and wearing our Scapulars at all times.  This purposely scratchy “necklace” of sorts (discomfort helped to atone for sins)! was at best unattractive in school pictures, and at worst, awkward to have to explain to school peers.  A typical scenario often went like this:

Kid:  “What is that thing around your neck”

Me:  “It’s a Scapular, and you’re supposed to wear this so if you die, you won’t go to Hell.

Kid: “Ok.  That’s really weird.  You’re weird.”

Me:  (Sigh.)

It goes without saying that I did not have many friends growing up, and the nightly save-your-soul talks didn’t help our socialization in school much, either.  However, while scary, discussing the pitfalls of a life leading to Hell was a potentially interesting topic.  The lives of sinners seemed far more exciting and conducive to friendships.  However, as good children, we were supposed to be far more interested in praying the rosary and leading holy lives of example to others.  This included attending daily mass.  Personally, I hated praying the rosary and dreaded attending daily mass.  I was often so tired at the end of the school day that all I wanted to do was have a snack and then go to sleep.  The thought of going to church, eating dinner, and doing homework, followed by kneeling up and saying five decades of the rosary (50 Hail Mary’s, five Our Fathers, and five Glory-Be’s) actually made me want to cry.  I must confess, my thoughts were often NOT holy.  But there was no avoiding it.  Every night, like clockwork, church and the rosary came.  Saturdays were little better because we had to get up early to go to morning mass (7AM), followed by Maureen’s and my Legion of Mary  meeting where we plotted good deeds for the week and prayed the rosary for extra measure.  I don’t remember if this got Maureen and me out of the evening rosary - I’m inclined to think it didn’t.  

However, the whole Catholic religion thing DID come in handy,  because Maureen and I would weekly “go to confession” at precisely the time we would otherwise be babysitting the little kids.  I am guessing the priest at St. Mary’s thought we were either very holy or very paranoid.  Unfortunately, for me, it was more the latter.  After going to confession, Maureen and I would often loiter in the back of the church, reading the various pamphlets on the lives of the saints, lighting 50 cent candles and sticking our fingers in the wax, and then pretending the wax was lipstick.  We had very simple amusements.  There were several times that the priest had to actually kick us out to church.  The best part?  Mom and Dad apparently never got wise to our avoidance scheme.

One day, Mom and Dad decided to carry the holiness to a new level.  It was decided that a shrine would be built in the backyard to the baby Jesus.  So wooden landscaping boards were bought, and cut.  A small rear corner of the yard nearest our solidly constructed family fence was chosen, and the building of the area began.  The ground was dug with relatively fewer than normal curses.  Pretty flowers were planted, stones were laid down to form a little path, and all was ready.  Since we lacked a statue of the proper size of the baby Jesus, Mom decided a perfect substitute would be to use the three inch ceramic manger and one inch ceramic baby Jesus.  The manger containing Jesus was placed on a shale slab in the center of the square shrine area, surrounded by flowers, and the whole project was deemed a resounding success.

MY teaching super power is the fact that I am willing to have fun and laugh at myself.  I also enjoy putting on and incorporating music whenever possible.  It makes things more interesting and everyone seems to like it.  I also think my souperpower is my ability to be enthusiastic.  Even if it’s a mundane topic or even boring, I will put my heart and soul into it, and try to get this across to the kids.  I believe in teaching life lessons, such as being a great writer is important, but manners and being polite will ge you far in life.  Nobody cares how smart you are if you are rude, obnoxious.  I have a feeling this resonates with the kids, especially the ones that don’t necessarily like writing.  On the otehr hand, the ones who are good students adn writers will go places anyways!  It’s easier to connect to people if you are enthusisastic about what you teach, and I believe I do this naturally.  Plus, the fact that I come from a less than perfect background helps me connect with the “usual suspect” students -  we usually have quite a bit in common.  yay!I know I still have a ways to go, but you can’t do anything without a startoff point.  Id’d rather be enthusiastic adn improve than be boring and perfect.

My journey as a teacher researcher started quite a while back.  I guess growing up in a family with an English teacher as a parent formed me even in my younger years.  I subbed while I was in college, and my first year out of college, worked in a rural school district teaching 7th and 8th grade English.  That was a very bad year for many reasons, but the next year was better.  Working in a private middle school in MD allowed me super small class sizes and complete freedom within a curriculum, which was fun but challenging.  Since then, I have been working in public schools at the high school and middle school level, in many subjects as a TA.  Now that I’m certified, I have to blend this history to support what I know kids need when they continue at the HS and perhaps college.  I try to give the kids challenging topics to write about that will prepare them for more academic writing, and still give them a good mix of fun.  More and more, I am finding that things work much better when I give my kids work that I would also like to do.  When this happens, the kids are more excited, and I am, too.  Life is so much better when you’re enjoying it, and why not make that happen, and still hit the academic rigors?  I like looking for different perspectives on getting stuff done, and have found this past year that doing little funny hip hop blurbs every so often from a site called Flocabulary is “way cool”.   I guess I have come a long way.  When I was a kid, English just came easily to me, and it was one of my favorite subjects, along with reading for fun.  Now I try to get scholish points across to the kids in ways that are meaningful to them.

Staci’s Creative Writing Demo:

The Vietnam Era - soldiers fighting in Vietnam, the draft, the jungle, tropical heat, rain, water - wet, humid, hidden enemies, no end in sight, marching, dope, dialogue of the hunt?, soldiers on missions, snipers, hunkering down to wait, the moon at night, constant discomfort, foot rot, sleeping in a hammock, girlfriends waiting at home, not coming back, political strife in America, hippies not fighting while soldiers die, Vietcong, Charlie, villages in the middle of nowhere, Mecong Valley, hootch, grenade, explosion, secrets, Lyndon B. Johnson, Communism, fighting in the trenches, hooked up with S. Vietnamese women, news reports every night, dodging the draft by fleeing or getting a special job, African Americans = fought for US, but had no rights, music***

What is narrative writing?  Narrative writing is telling a story with your writing.  Literally, it is narration - a voice that speaks.  Good narrative writing is interesting and gripping.  It incorporates description and detail.  The reader should be able to picture themselves in the story, and should know what is going on even if he or she is unfamiliar with the subject.  Narrative writing is fun to write - at times, it can be cathartic.

Narrative is to tell a story
Expository is to educate/inform

I have accomplished the compeltion of my research paper (mostly), and a new perspective on what is importatnt in the classroom - in terms of what needs to be done today, I have the majority of my demo to do - I am stressing about this , but I do have some ideas.  I started this over the weekend - I read a book - Awakening the Heart by Georgia Heard, and I started typing up a rough outline, but I still have a lot more to do .  In terms of where to go from here, I just need more time to work and write.  THis class has opened lots of doors that show learning is a continuous process - not that I didn’t know taht before, but sometimes it’s good to hear again.  THe things I need to do today are finish my outline of my demo, narrow down my ideas, adn put something together.  Piece of cake!  haha.  The demo I want to be fun, stress-free, adn get people thinking without them realizing they’re thinking.  As James said, “sneaky”.  That is doeabel, but will it be a success?  I d on’t know.  As long aso people are doing some sort of writing, theat is what matters the most … the quality will come over time.



I have to meet with Kathryn about my demo, finish any tweaks to it, and look over my research paper.  I have to work on writing something for myself for Friday, and do some other school stuff.  I want to continue to work on curriculum stuff for this school year and keep going on that.

Thoughts on Teacher Writing

Shannon O’Loughlin
7/26/12

Second Piece of Teacher Writing (compiled from different dates throughout the course)

Joy in my classroom???

teachers who influence me - why, when, where

Teachers who’ve influenced me have done things I liked, too.  My high school English teacher used to do fun writing activities - she was Jewish and married to a Catholic, and I used to babysit for her sometimes  Andrea Fusco - she gave me a diary when I graduated.  She always wore very “Englishy” outfits.  My 7th grade English teacher, Mr. Fouracre, was so nice, and he always had us do independent reading with an oral or written report, which was horribly scary to do the oral report.  In my professional teaching career, My first real boss, Betty Heiney, was so nurturing and supportive, in a “general of war” way - she came across very formally, but she was soft under her shell.  I have a picture of her from a Halloween dance as a general - she had a soda, but it looked like a beer. She always had my back, and let me order whatever books I’ve wanted.  I have been lucky to have contact with amazing teachers, and the ones that influence me are the ones I like to bounce ideas off of, even if they seem crazy.  My coteacher this year, Justin Coffman, and I would often bring in music into our lessons to “jazz them up” or make them more fun for the kids.  Introducing the intro to Romeo and Juliet using rap - for the entire chorus’s prelude - was a huge hit.  Using imovies to use quote identification or highlite major parts of the play was so cool, and setting them to hip hop music?  Genius  - these were Justin’s inspirations, and I was blessed to have him - we had a ton of fun, and I think the kids did, too.  The greatest s lesson I’ve learned so far is that I can still improve, but to believe in myself along the way.

Thoughts on David’s Creative Writing Demo:

The activity was easy to do, fun, and clearly explained.  It was innately tailored to each individual, without being overly-planned.  Within the structure of the activity, there was total personal freedom of choice in what to write about, and how to do it, which was very gratifying.  You had to be interested in this, because you were in control of it, so it was almost automatically engaging.  This activity forced me to delve into memories I hadn’t thought about in years, and it was very satisfying. This made creating a poem a non-threatening experience, and one that would work well with students of all levels, on multiple layers of the spectrum.  I know I am looking forward to trying it with my classes.  This type of activity puts less stress on the teacher as the educator, and puts the responsibility for work on the learner.  The student MUST produce, or you only have yourself to blame, which I love!  Excuses don’t work, which is another great thing about this.

7/10/12 How can we use SI in our classrooms?  

I totally plan on stealing these awesome guided freewrite ideas - the words turning into a place freewrite turning into a poem, the character inside and outside snippet, and even the joy thing.  These, I think are great, and trying not to worry if the kids will “get” it, because I have to just go with the fact that these exercises can apply to everyone at all levels.  I think even in a set curriculum, the guided freewrite ideas can easily turn into pieces for a portfolio - students could write as a character finding joy within a story or themselves.  

Big Idea - better quality writing through more fun assignments
Tangible - do the 7 min. freewrite every day?

anything more opinion forming and thought provoking

what was happening in the situation, for the teacher, and for the learner

Write about a time you experienced authentic learning

The first thing that comes to mind where authentic learning took place is not necessarily the most academic.  I was working two jobs, deciding whether I wanted to continue teaching in the process.  I worked at a non-kill animal shelter, where many litters of kittens got dropped off, some of whom were still nursing and unable to do anything without their mothers.  One particular group had three infant kittens and the mother had freaked out and escaped.  I was shown how to bottle feed the kitties, and of the utmost importance of then taking a warm wet washcloth to stimulate their genitals, as a mother cat would do with her tongue.  The lady modeled this on one of the kittens while I watched.  I then had to bottle feed a kitty and stimulate him.  There was a small “poof” as liquid poo came out, and I knew I had done it right.  I was amazed.  I had no idea before this that mother cats did that.  The idea was that doing this stimulated the kitties body systems to get rid of waste.  Unless the mother cat licked them (or we used a washcloth) the babies could die.  (Internal septicemia / toxicity).  So I took the litter home and had to feed the three babies every two to three hours, and immediately after, stimulate them with the washcloth.  I also had to make sure they were warm and cared for.  

What does this (authentic learning) mean for my teaching?  This means that my students will ideally be able to go out on a limb with something they’ve never done before, and have success.  They will be able to learn a new skill (any kind) and be able to correctly apply it to their writing or their lives.  I must teach in a way I would want to be taught.  As a teacher,I have to put myself in the learner’s position - do the assignments the kids do, grade myself as I would grade the kids - on a similar scale - learn how I would want to be assessed.  Authentic learning means I have to think outside the box.

Me and Mrs. Jones Demo (shout out to Billy Paul)!

Title of Lesson Here: Me and Mrs. Jones
(shout out to Billy Paul)!

Shannon O’Loughlin, Stacie Kropp
English 8, DeWitt Middle School
shannon.o’loughlin@7vwp.com or skol14891@yahoo.com

The Big Idea
Content - Short story unit - students will read Langston Hughes’ “Thank You, Ma’am” -

Desired Outcome - Students will write their own short narrative of a time they or someone else had to make a decision, and compare this with Roger or Mrs. Jones

Standards
Standards Met Are:  Speaking/Listening 1
Writing 3 a,d
Reading 1,2,5,6
Method
Teacher reads “Thank You Ma’am” with student volunteers - story is read quickly

Guided Prompt - Students write for 2 or 3 minutes - List all the times Roger or Mrs. Jones  had to make a decision
(each person had to make multiple decisions throughout the story)

Share with partner - 3 min

Guided Prompt - Students write for 5 minutes about one of those decisions

Share out with partner - 3 min

Guided Prompt - Tell a story about a time you or someone else had to make a decision (this can be real or imagined)!

Wrap:
Students write about if there are any similarities between the characters in their story and themselves and Roger/ Mrs. Jones

Ice Cream and Eileen

One hot summer day in Oswego, New York, when I was much younger, Maureen and I took the little kids to Friendly’s for ice cream.  It was one of those beautiful days when school was out, I was home from school, and Maureen and I were babysitting.  Since we’d been watching the kids for most of the day, along with mom, I needed a break.  I figured Mom did, too.  It just worked out naturally that in a family of seven kids, as the oldest and second oldest, we spent almost all our time watching the younger siblings.  Maureen and I put Colleen and Eileen in the stroller, and she and I set off.  Christine, at age 5, was too old for the stroller, so she had to walk.  Colleen, who was 3, and Eileen, who was only 1 ½, got to ride.  Eileen, the youngest, was what some might call a “difficult” baby.  She was very smart.  She was always having a tantrum because she couldn’t get to the cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink, or she might have to share a toy she wanted to play with, or because she had to sit in the highchair to eat.  In a nutshell, Eileen was a handful.  I’m guessing Mom knew I had ulterior motives in taking the kids to Friendly’s - all us kids love ice cream, and it would waste some time.  However, I think she was probably excited for an hour of peace and quiet with nobody else home.  With six kids and a husband, time alone was a rare luxury for any of us, especially her.  Although money was always tight for our family, we had enough so that Christine, Colleen, and Eileen could get a small sundae or milkshake.  

So we walked the few blocks down from our house on Bridge Street to the little Friendly’s.  One or two old ladies passed us on the sidewalk and smiled at our procession.  The sidewalk seemed to radiate heat back up.  I wished someone could push me in a stroller so I didn’t have to walk.  Colleen and Eileen were so lucky!  Covered from the sun, they travelled like royalty.  Periodically, I checked on them to make sure the sun wasn’t in their faces, or they weren’t slipping out, but each time I looked, they were fine.  The sun beat down, and sweat rolled down my face, but the two little ones rode comfortably in the shade of the stroller’s awning.  Luckily, Friendly’s, it was nice and cool inside.  The air conditioning was delicious, and we were promptly seated.  I remember thinking this was such a good idea to come here, I should have thought of it sooner.

We ordered sundaes for the kids - three Happy Ending Sundaes with vanilla ice cream, hot fudge, whipped cream, and a cherry on top.  This is still my favorite today! We got multiple spoons, and everyone shared.  Maureen sat on the outside of the booth, sandwiching in Colleen and Christine, while I sat next to Eileen.  Amazingly, everyone was well-behaved.  Nobody minded sharing - there was enough hot fudge to go around, and I got to eat two maraschino cherries, since Christine and Colleen didn’t want theirs.  As ice cream was systematically devoured, there was a contented silence.  We ate for about a half an hour before Eileen and Colleen started to get “itchy”, a term we had coined to mean, “squirmy”.  Of course we had to make the mandatory bathroom runs in twos, Maureen taking Colleen to go, and then I took Eileen.  This was a rather lengthy process, as one of us always had to stay with Christine, and the person in charge in the bathroom had to wait for the little one to be “all done”.  It was better to be safe than sorry.  Finally, after all bathroom runs had been made, we were waiting for the bill.  I remember trying to keep Eileen amused and entertained as she tried to escape the booth and run through the restaurant.  Maureen was trying to mediate a brewing commotion between Colleen and Christine - things were normal.  I remember looking over at Eileen.  I was just in time to catch her poising a fork in the air, about to strike the shoulder of the old man in the next booth.

Our trip to Friendly’s closed on that note.  I grabbed the fork out of her hand, simultaneously shouting, “Eileen!  No!”  She let out a shriek of annoyance, and I quickly started preparations to leave, after apologizing to the old guy.  Nobody got hurt, but she had a little smile.  It was amazing that such a cute kid could be so mischievous.  Isn’t that always the way?  There were many more incidents with Eileen growing up, and she continued to give us a run for our money.  But I am glad Mom wasn’t there that afternoon.  It was one less thing for her to worry about, and now, it gives me something to look back on and smile.  Maureen and I packed up the kids and walked home from Friendly’s.  ***  I wonder if Eileen even remembers that little adventure.

Demo in case it gets lost

Demo


This process combines writing and discussion to focus on imagery, onomatopoeia, and simile within a poem.

The Big Idea  - Borrowed largely from David Franke, and Bob Tierney - Thanks, guys!

When you carefully observe something from a variety of lenses, you gain a deeper understanding of it.  Writing is important, and writing to learn is something learners of all levels can do in this activity.  The main idea of this demo is to write observations/thoughts about a season, and apply these to writing.  Everyone will produce a poem.

Classroom Goal
This demo could be used in a classroom to give students opportunity to encourage observation, and generate writing in the classroom based off of these observations.  Student writing can be used to facilitate discussion and encourage deeper thinking.

To Do / The Method:  
Participants take out paper
Divide your paper into quadrants (4)

In Q 1 - List words or phrases to describe your favorite season – try to use some outside the box words – have fun! –  (2 min)

**Use at least one onomatopoeia**
ex –“The scrunching of leaves on the sidewalk”

Share – (1min/person)

In Q 2 - Fill in the blank with as many phrases as you can: (2 min)

(your season)_____________ is like _____________________ because  …

Share – Share two that you like!

In Q 3 - Pick your favorite simile from Q2 and free write for two minutes - elaborate on your simile
** make sure you use a few adjectives** - (2 min)

Share quickly - 2 min/person!  Write down two words people use that you like


In Q 4 – In the point of view of your season, use the 5 senses to describe it - sight, sound, touch, taste, smell  ( 2min)
ex - I hear the crack of the bat on a baseball


Now, on a clean piece of paper, take your writing and turn this into a poem USING A SHARPIE - these will hung on the wall displayed for all to see– (10 mins)

use at least one simile, one example of onomatopoeia, and one image

(Gallery Walk) - you may write nice comments on people’s poems - (5-7 mins)

Final Write - How could I use this in my classroom? (3min)
(Share and discuss)

Wrap - We wrote, we shared, we broke down our season into a variety of lenses, we created poetry shared through a gallery walk, and then we applied this activity to our individual classrooms.  This wasn’t a lesson on poetry, but it incorporated poetic devices and the powers of observation.

Thank you for your time and willingness to write, share, think, speak, and listen.  If you have any questions about this teaching demonstration, the Seven Valleys Writing Project, or just want to talk about teaching, please contact me by email at shannon.o’loughlin@7vwp.com or skol14891@yahoo.com