Monday Motivators: When The Mind Is Willing And The Body Is Not

13 Apr

Last week my personal challenge was to walk 65,000 steps, or 13,000 steps a day, in five days.  I knew this would be hard, but the week before I handily accomplished 60,000 and my confidence was high.  Surely, I could sneak in an extra 1,000 steps a day.

Instead, something else snuck up on me.  My weekly total was 53,342.  This sounds like a lot, and it IS a lot.  For me, it was pretty low.  On Monday I woke up feeling pretty tired, but I tried to get in my steps and even did a step aerobic workout when I got home (I live by workout videos).  Even with this effort, I missed the 13,000 mark by 800 steps.  I shrugged it off; the deficit would be made up on Tuesday.  The next morning I felt worse– exhausted, kind of swimmy, with a headache that throbbed behind my left eye, and everything I ate or drank tasted like bile.  I still went to work, hoping that once I got there I would feel better and knowing my job was to chaperone students on a low-maintenence field trip.  I still did not feel better.  This followed for the entire week and culminated on Thursday when my left eye felt like it had looked at the sun too long (even though I was indoors) and could not regain its sight. Nothing was getting done; the papers remained ungraded and the steps remained untaken.  I went home and walked to the couch.  Friday resulted in the same action.  I spent most of the weekend recuperating.  It wasn’t until Saturday evening that it started to abate, and while I feel much better today, I know that it just went into hiding; I’m not out of the woods.

The good news is that I got in a lot of steps today.  I worked out and went for a four-mile walk.  My goal this week is back to 60,000.  My friend Ginger, who also has a FitBit, challenged me to the Workweek Hustle competition to see who can get the most steps.  Hopefully between feeling better and a good dose of friendly competition, I will make it.

Monday Motivators was started by my blogging friend Laura who is motivating herself and others to accomplish the things they want to do for the week.  Go over and check out her blog and be her friend.  She is awesome.

Monday Motivators: 65,000 Steps

6 Apr

Challenges:  They get me in trouble.  I cannot say “no” to them.  So when my blogging buddy Laura started her Monday Motivators to challenge and motivate herself and her friends to do whatever it is they need to do that week, I signed on immediately.  My challenge: walk 60,000 steps in 5 days.

The fitness powers-that-be suggest 10,000 steps a day, but working at a school and being on my feet all day helps me attain almost 6-8,000 steps.  Walking to the mailbox and regular daily living walking helps make up the difference.  That’s not very challenging. 12,000 steps requires more from me, and to reach that goal, I need to come home after being on my feel all day and do a workout.  That is a challenge.

But I made it.  I actually did a little over 60,000 steps and here’s my plan of attack:

1. Wear the FitBit.  My FitBit tracks all of my steps, and sometimes after I shower, I forget to put it on right away.  That means I walk around the house getting ready for work and those steps are not tracked.  This can add up to over 500 steps!

2. Plan ahead.  Last week I knew I had an all-day meeting Wednesday, a book club in the evening Thursday, and a tuckered body on Friday.  These days were going to be low-step days, so I planned to work out Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday afternoons.  On Monday and Tuesday I exceeded 12,000 steps in order to make up for the rest of the week’s deficit.

3. The mini-challenge.  On Thursday and Friday, know that I would need to get in some good steps at work, I gave myself mini-challenges.  For example, during class I checked my steps on my FitBit (I love my FitBit) and challenged myself to walk a certain amount of steps in a limited amount of time.  This had an added benefit of keeping my students on task: at any moment I could be doing a lap around their desks.

4.  Take the long way.  My classroom is close to everything: the front office, the library, the bathroom, the elevator.  Fortunately my room is on the second floor, so there is ample opportunity to take the stairs.  However, with everything so close I often create “long ways” of getting places.  It might take a minute or two longer to get somewhere, but the steps add up quickly (you’d be surprised).

5. A little help from students.  Some of my students know that I am trying to get in my steps.  Some cheer me on, while others are sneaky.  One day a student called me over to him. After walking across the room to see what he needed, he grinned, “Nothing.  Just helping you get in some more steps.”

This week has less demands on my time, so my goal is to reach 65,000 steps.

Readers, if you have not met my lovely friend, Laura, click on the link above and check out her blog.  Let her motivate you, too!

I like Eric Clapton, and I crank up Cocaine each time I hear it in the radio.  But I am not familiar with all of his work; I will check out this album.

31 Mar

Inspire That Student! (To Do Something! Anything!)

25 Mar

To hear some people tell it, all teachers need to inspire and motivate students is to clearly state the day’s standard and objective. Students will obviously feel energized knowing what it is they are responsible for and will work diligently to “Create equations in two or more variables to represent relationships between quantities; graph equations on coordinate axes with labels and scales” or “Determine two or more themes or central ideas of a text and analyze their development over the course of the text, including how they interact and build on one another to produce a complex account; provide an objective summary of the text.”

The sad truth of the matter is, besides the standards sounding really boring, many of our students do not have the vocabulary to understand what the standards mean. However, that is for another blog post. The happy truth of the matter is that most students are nice little worker bees who want to do well (or at least slide by) and respond to the objectives. They also respond to the lesson plans and classroom management expectations; they may even go so far as to catch the teacher’s enthusiasm and love of the subject– all of the things that help motivate and inspire them. But what about those other bees? You know, the “lazy” bees, the “screw you and Jane Austen” bees, and the “I don’t care what you do, I’m not gonna do it” bees? Every year they fly into the classroom, and instead of squashing them as we are tempted to do, we have to get them to make honey. We live with the knowledge that they don’t/won’t. And it stings.

So what do we do to motivate and inspire them? I mean beyond calling home, setting up appointments with school counselors, and setting up an IST. My school in particular is on its journey to becoming a Professional a Learning Community (PLC) to help strengthen instruction, collaboration, and response to intervention, but the full implementation is a few years out (this is a slow process). How do teachers, as individuals, get students to do something (and maybe learn a thing or two)?

It’s a crapshoot, really. In my experience those who don’t do anything have reasons for doing so that go beyond the classroom walls and have problems much greater for one teacher to bear. This doesn’t preclude that we just give up, and it also doesn’t preclude that once we reach a spark, that the student will be suddenly transformed. It’s a day by day process, and I try to celebrate each success in the moment knowing that tomorrow could land me back at square one. The kicker is finding that spark.

I teach US History, but I hate packet work and work sheets. Instead I have my students write paragraph responses, read primary documents, do creative projects, and analyze and respond to document-based questions among other things. In one class I have two boys–both who refused to do the work. One flat out told me that he didn’t like it and wasn’t going to do it. He then criticized me for not having a packet; a packet is easier, why do I have to make things so hard, blah, blah, blah. We both left that discussion heated and upset. I stewed. How dare he, that lazy bum, criticize me and my teaching when he does nothing, NOTHING? I bet, I thought, he wouldn’t even do a packet if I made one! Yeah, that’s what I’ll do! I’ll make him a packet! Then what will he have to complain about? That afternoon I made him a packet. The next morning when he sat at his desk, I plopped the packet in front of him. “Here.” I said, “Here is your packet.” He picked up the offensive packet gingerly in his hands and gave me a wide-eyed gaze. “You made me a packet?” he asked, “Thank you.”

While I thought I had been calling his bluff, he really wanted a packet. We decided that I was still going to teach the way I planned, but he would work out of the book and do packets. This requires him to bring his book everyday even when the rest of the class doesn’t need it. He is still a lazy kid who still tries to beat the system and has violated my trust, but he slowly does his work and cares about passing the class, because he knows there’s a chance.

The other boy called my class a “farce”. I didn’t know whether I should be annoyed or impressed. However, I did know that the response was aimed to blame me for his inactions. I had asked him why he didn’t answer the essay portion of the test (when I knew he knew the answers) in order to determine what we could do so he could do better next time. He flatly refused to do anything, but with the attitude that he was too good for my farce of a class. But he would talk to me. We share a love of reading and the classics. He constantly checks out books from the library and shares his opinions with me. The one thing we would not discuss is history.

One day he decided to write a poem for the library’s poetry contest. He kept telling me about it. The day he finished it I tentatively asked if I could read it. He said yes, so I asked if he would allow me to comment on it, and yes again. It was quite good. I highlighted the especially poetic phrasing and made comments on how he could tighten up areas. After class we discussed it in order for him to understand why I made the suggestions I did. He submitted it to the competition and received a positive response. Wanting to capitalize on his new found interest, I asked if he would consider writing poems about what we were studying in class. He thought that an “interesting prospect”. After a couple of days on his own, he finally asked for help and guidance, “I don’t know where to begin.” With the rest of the class working independently, he and I discussed Shakespearean sonnets and how to write one. He took down notes, asked questions, and looked up some sonnets on-line. Once he felt like he had a grasp of the sonnet form, he cracked open his text book and started to read. That night he wrote a sonnet on Imperialism and then another just for fun.

My students had to do a creative project at the end of the semester, so he chose to do a poetry book. He wrote four sonnets, two villanelles, and a sestina covering the themes learned so far in American history. The room took on the feel of an author reading as he pulled a chair up to the front of the class and began reciting his work. He read well and with passion; the class was floored. His face beamed with pride at their applause.

Both of these ways to get these boys to work are flukes; there’s nothing in the teacher guide that says “give the kid the packet” or “teach history through sonnets”. My class is still not rainbows and kittens. There are other students who weigh on my mind, and I wonder if I will find that spark in them during the last semester of school. One has told me that he prefers summer school, because, “Ms. L, the teachers are so chill, they don’t care what you do, and it’s so easy.” I don’t know what I am going to do about him. Another responded to my request for suggestions for things to do once we get back from break: “I don’t like creative projects. I like book reports and essays.” Hm. It looks like my students will all be reading more next semester.

Teachers: What do you do to find that spark in your unmotivated students? I’d like to hear about your experience.

The WWI Book Club: The War That Ended Peace

23 Mar

A snippet from a recent conversation:
Guy: Downton Abbey is just a crap period drama.
Me, hackles up: It’s a very well-done “crap period drama” that prides itself on historical accuracy.
Guy: Ooohhh, what is it? Victorian England?
Me: It takes place between 1912 and 1924.
Guy, perplexed: What historically interesting happened in England then?
Me, choking: Uhh… WWI, dude!
WWI, dismissively: Why would they focus on WWI? England wasn’t affected by WWI.

Needless to say, he isn’t part of the WWI book club I belong to (although maybe he should be). When I relayed this to the club’s other member, her response mirrored mine: “WHAT?!? How can he say that?!?” followed by much sputtering.

So, yes. This “club” is only made up of the two of us. How many lines of people do you see who want to spend a year reading about WWI? Yeah, that’s what I thought. I can imagine what you’re thinking, “Where’d you guys meet? A nerd convention?” She and I have been friends for several years and belong to another book club together (an art book club, to up the nerdiness ante). We had often talked about spending a year reading books all about one subject, but since we both have interests that reach far and wide, which subject to choose? We knew that we both had studied WWI before and decided that we could further our knowledge. It is also apropos as we are in the hundredth anniversary of that war.

How does one embark on such a feat? (Because maybe you’d like to start a book club of two…) Like the generals in the war, we needed a plan of attack. However, it couldn’t be like the Schlieffen Plan that didn’t allow for change or revision. It also had to fit into our daily lives that include other book clubs (and in my case, teaching). We have decided to read eight books: four works of history and four memoirs that represent different perspectives. Since the works of history tend to be longer (600+ pages), we will take two months to read to read them, while the shorter memoirs get a month. We meet once a month to discuss what we’ve read. The way I found some of the titles was by searching a book about WWI on Amazon and seeing what others purchased; I’d click on one from that list and it would lead me to another list and so on and so forth. Based on the descriptions, I’d add it my interest list. Goodreads also provided many recommendations.

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Our first book was Margaret MacMillan’s The War That Ended Peace: The Road to 1914. MacMillan’s premise is to understand why and how Europe, which seemed to be moving towards a society of peace and progress, all of the sudden blew up into total war. So imagine a 1900 map of Europe under a microscope through which MacMillan’s eye peers and studies the minute actions at play under the surface. Like a scientist she gathers the information to discover the under-lying symptoms of the disease of war. She provides in depth character studies not just of the leaders, but also of society in how the growing labor movements, the rise of public opinion, and the shifting roles of the aristocracy helped prime people for war.

Often times in history classes one hears generally about alliances, militarism, and nationalism, and then boom! one day Archduke Franz Ferdinand, some dude from the Austria-Hungarian Empire is killed by some anarchist in some city and all of Europe falls apart. It’s a tenuous reason for millions to die and the possible end to Western civilization at best, but MacMillan does an excellent job showing how these forces developed and reacted over time through different countries’ decisions and skirmishes in Morocco and the Balkans to finally end in war. She tries to weigh how much of the war was the fault of “great men”– those in power– and that of forces hurdling towards conflict. Between 1900-1914, European nations had consistently used bluff and brinkmanship in their skirmishes, and each time they got closer and closer to war, and while she proves that they always had choices to avoid war, was it ultimately inevitable?

What I found most interesting was how many people had the foresight to understand what a long, bloody battle this war would be. Unfortunately, none were in charge of the militaries or countries and their views were often discounted.

MacMillan’s style is clear and easy to read. Each paragraph has a clear point followed by interesting and relevant evidence. She has a knack for finding interesting and funny quotes and for connecting issues if the past to issues in our modern times. The first half of the book sets up her argument on the state of Europe and the second half proves it (for us, the first half was more interesting as the second half was more military talk and policy). I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to understand how countries at peace can suddenly end up at war.

March memoir: e.e. cummings’ The Enormous Room

Readers: What book (or novel) about WWI do you recommend and why?

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Being a nerd, I didn’t want to show up to book club with nothing to say…

The Homestead and The Orchard House: A Tale of Two Literary Tours

22 Mar

Emily Dickinson and Louisa May Alcott are quite possibly America’s most beloved 19th century female authors. They share more in common by being daughters of men who were both pillars of their communities and who valued education; they were both fiercely independent; both suffered deep personal tragedies; both lived in Massachusetts and reacted against society’s strictures for women. However, both are very different.

Outside of The Homestead, Emily Dickinson's home.

Outside of The Homestead, Emily Dickinson’s home.

Dickinson’s poetry resists static interpretation; her use of idiosyncratic punctuation, words and images that convey multiple levels of meaning, and closing lines that often turn a poem’s meaning on its head create very personal and individual responses in the reader. Some poems have a universally agreed meaning; others unfold with each rereading. To read her work is to embrace uncertainty. This is compounded by the many myths and images of the poet that have proliferated over the years as a result of the portrayals of her by her niece Mattie Dickinson Bianchi and Mabel Loomis Todd, Austin Dickinson’s mistress whose motives were far from altruistic. Was Emily Dickinson a meek, retiring woman in white, broken-hearted over a lost young love? Or was she a fiery, passionate woman ahead of her time? In addition to the poems’ multiple meanings, there also persists the question of which Emily Dickinson wrote them.

Alcott, on the other hand, is most famous for her classic Little Women, the story of the March sisters, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. She presents the reader with a family that on some level, we’d all like to have as our own. And as a precursor to other narratives that have multiple female characters (ie. Sex and the City and Girls), readers can easily identify with one of the sisters (however, I most closely identify with two, Amy and Jo). Even though Alcott is read all over the world by disparate readers, the novel, and the movies, provide a shared experience.

These two different ways of “reading” and “knowing” the authors shape the tours of their homes. Granted, there are many factors that play into a tour. There is the quality of the artifacts in the home based on how many belonged to the original family to how well they represent the time period if they don’t. What is shared with the public is determined by what organization puts on the tours and how they wish to present the people who lived there. What is shared is also determined by the type of tour chosen, and last, but not least, the personality and knowledge of the tour guide.

Our tour guide obviously loved and admired Emily Dickinson, and it was apparent that she had a long history working at the Homestead. She also had some very definite ideas about the poet, but I do not know if her ideas are part of the museum’s party line or are a reflection of her own beliefs. She explained at the beginning that she would “dispel the myths” about Emily Dickinson, but she dispelled them with didactic statements such as, “Emily Dickinson was NOT a recluse. She went to many social gatherings.” When asked about whether or not ED suffered from epilepsy as posited in Lyndall Gordon’s book Lives Like Loaded Guns, she brushed it off with a wave of her hand, “Emily did NOT have epilepsy. Her nephew did, but Emily did NOT! An author wrote that in some book, but doctors have shown that what she describes as epilepsy is NOT epilepsy. She has apparently written two good biographies before, so I don’t know how she got so off the rails with THAT book.” Why it is so bad to suggest that she might have been epileptic, our guide did not explain. She did not go into why ED had so much freedom to write nor why she was never expected to get married (both went against standards for women at that time). She stated that ED’s father supported and encouraged her education, but did not mention his ambivalence as ED once said, “my father bought me books, but begs me not to read them.” She also glossed over Austin Dickinson’s affair with Mabel Loomis Todd that tore the Dickinson family apart, and instead said, “It’s a good thing we had Mabel, otherwise ED would not be known to the world.” While there is a lot of truth to that, Todd is one of the major reasons why we have myths about ED. Also disconcerting was that she told us that ED was not published much in her lifetime was because the male editors found her work to be too “wild” and preferred her simpler nature poems. Throughout the tour she recited some poems to us, but instead of giving us the more complex ones, she read those that most likely would be found on a card in a Hallmark shop. She perpetuated Samuel Bowles and Thomas Wentworth Higginson’s expectations.

It felt like rather than dispelling the myth about ED, she was set on maintaining her view (or the museum’s). Ideas were presented in black and white, and there was no room for contemplation and wonderment. It was like reading an ED poem with all of the dashes taken out–no pauses for reflection about what it all means.

Stewart and I in front of the Orchard House where Louisa May Alcott lived.

Stewart and I in front of the Orchard House where Louisa May Alcott lived.

The Orchard House was a different tour entirely. It probably helps that Louisa May Alcott’s life is not shrouded in myth and mystery, and Little Women is universally loved and understood. It also helps that my own expectations of how a tour should be did not clash with the tour guide’s. Our guide also did not carry the task of having to promote a certain image of Alcott. If the guides at the Homestead loved ED, their love paled in comparison to the women who worked at the Orchard House. It was palpable. Our guide was warm and thoroughly knowledgable about the house and all of the artifacts in it– the majority of which had belonged to the Alcott’s. She was visibly saddened when she revealed that Laurie and Mr. Laurence were made up; she displayed obvious pride in May’s artwork that was featured throughout the house. The Alcott’s joys were her joys; their sorrows, hers too. She carefully delineated which events in the novel happened in the house and which ones did not. If she didn’t know the answer to a question, she said so, and made sure to get the answer before the end of our visit. Understanding our interest in the house, she went out of her way to point out the smaller details–like the picture of Bronson Alcott sitting at the desk we were standing near. It brought history to life.

Because of her and the rest of the staffs openness, our tour was a much more gratifying experience, and I left with a greater appreciation of the Alcott family and their role in Concord, education, art, and literature.

The Alcott plot at the Sleepy Hollow cemetery.

The Alcott plot at the Sleepy Hollow cemetery.

Readers, what tours have you been on that have been especially enlightening?

Well… Oops: On Resolutions and Resolving to Remember That I Made a Couple

21 Mar

A couple of days ago a friend and I discussed New Year’s resolutions. She opted for doing monthly challenges in lieu of one year long goal. For example, one month she will drink water only, another read at least one piece of non-required reading a day (she’s a college student), and another eat at least one fruit and one vegetable a day (with the amendment that French fries don’t count). I recalled another friend’s resolution to explore more cultural events in the city where we live, and she followed it up by attending the opening night gala of the Toulouse-Lautrec exhibit at one of our museums. All worthy goals for self-improvement and growth.

The resolution ball was lobbed into my court when she asked me if I had made any resolutions. Breezily I replied that NO I hadn’t. In fact, my winter break found me with a strong dose of the doldrums and a strong desire to be left alone and become one with my pajamas. Resolutions, frankly, seemed, as my students say, “doin’ too much.” Resolutions imply hope, betterment, and action; all three were not on my periphery. Everything at that moment took an inordinate amount of energy. My resolution at first was to do nothing.

But it occurred to me that I did resolve to do something. I had made two resolutions, easy ones I thought.

1. Re-read all of Jane Austen’s novels.

2. Write one blog post a month.

Reading Austen’s work is easy. I love reading. I love Austen. And since Pride and Prejudice is my favorite novel to teach, I felt that I needed a stronger command of Austen’s oeuvre. This resolution began with re-reading my least favorite if her works, Mansfield Park. The horror! The horror! It felt like reading a precursor to Dickens novels, but kudos to Fanny Price for not compromising her beliefs. But more on this later (as in later later).

Writing one blog post a month should have been easy, but here we are on the homestretch of March, and I am finally writing my first one of the year (and I’m not sure that I am actually saying anything in it). It helps if I have something to say, and starting this year as a wannabe recluse did not bode well for writing and putting my thoughts out there. The universe, however, is in cahoots with the blogging world as one of my readers, out of nowhere, commented on an old post of mine encouraging me to write more. Then another fellow blogger, who had also been MIA, resurfaced and started blogging again. She wrote about how some of her blogging friends have not been writing, how they should, and that “you know who you are.” Guiltily, I realized that I was one of them. So if writing is expressive and creative and a way to get one out of one’s head, and if resolutions are for hope, betterment, and action, it is quite possibly one of the healthiest choices that I can make this year.

Here it is: one down, eleven more to go.

Readers, what resolutions did you make for 2015? Are you keeping them or are they a faded memory?

It’s The Little Things

16 May

There are ten days of school left, and if I were any good at math, I’d break it down to the hours, minutes, and seconds. But who’s counting?

Okay. I’ll be honest. The teachers are counting. And we’re counting hard.

This time of year is the hardest. We’re busy. We’re tired. There’s so much to be done and no energy or enthusiasm to do it. We’re completely enervated. Yet, we cannot curl under our desk and hide from the students. We’re on. All of the time. The kids come in and complain about work and offer their unsolicited wisdom: “Hey, Ms. L, do you know what you could do to make your class more enjoyable?”. A part of me dies inside because I cannot respond, “Do you know what you could do to be more enjoyable in the class?”.

Then there’s graduation and all of the kids that teachers wrote letters of recommendation for and did not receive any recognition of gratitude (unless you consider a breezy “thanks” as they saunter out the door with the letter you slaved an hour or two over, dredging your memory for the times they shone in class). And then there’s the AP students who get accepted to prestigious universities, but who also did not take the AP exam after promising you they would. And the student who continuously fails and does not use the rope you continually toss to him to save himself. He prefers to drown instead. Or when you suggest to students to voluntarily write a letter to a teacher–any teacher–for teacher appreciation week and the students’ response is, “I’ll do it for extra credit.” I won’t go into the multitudinous emails and meetings that eat up energy and time. Or how people who don’t teach think they know everything about teaching. Or the stack of papers that need to be graded that miraculously regenerates itself: it never goes away.

There’s a lot that brings us down, makes our hair gray, and deepens our crow’s feet. But there are quiet moments in the class that give a glimmer of hope and catches us off guard. The boy who was scolded for doing a lackadaisical job on his study guide raising his hand and asking for me to check his work on the new study guide. It reveals vast improvement. The boy who seemed like he was humoring me all term suddenly asking, quite earnestly, if I was going to read his name at graduation. The students who did take the AP test excited because they could apply the baptism archetype and students at other schools had been stymied by the same prompt. The unexpected thank you note from a former student who ignores me when he sees me in the hall. The parent who, after the Senior Awards Night, invited me to join the family for dinner.

Teachers don’t need Starbuck’s gift cards, t-shirts, big signs, or coffee mugs to get through the day (but I will admit, chocolate helps a lot). We don’t want an award or fanfare. It’s the signs of life in our students– their displays that they care: about their work, their learning, and even on occasion, their teachers. Anything really that shows that we’re getting through to them. It’s the little things that count.

Of Cats and Kids

6 May

It was very tempting to turn around, go home, and just not go to work. All of the signs pointed to a bad day ahead, beckoning me to heed their advice and call it quits. First off, my toilet over-flowed. Water streamed over the back rim as if it were fulfilling its dream of being an infinity pool. It quickly spread over the floor reaching all corners of the room. I scrambled for bath towels to mop it all up. The floor newly cleaned, I made my way to work.

Driving down the semi-country road, I saw it coming: a streak of black hell bent on getting to the other side of the road. I watched in horror as I tried to slow my car and swerve out of its way; my heart clenching inside of my chest as I tried to will the cat to stop. The thwack against my bumper was inevitable and I shot a glance into my rear view mirror and saw its black body twist and convulse against the asphalt. Shocked, I tried to collect myself–I had to go back. I was afraid of what I might see and the damage I caused. I pulled over to the curb and went to his body. His stomach rose and fell in quick succession: he was alive! His face was badly mangled and bloody. I found a piece of plastic in my trunk and carefully placed his body on it, put him on the floor of my car and took him to a nearby vet.

The vet tech hurried him into the back where the team of doctors could run tests and x-rays. The receptionist asked me questions. I sobbed. The cat wore a collar. He was somebody’s pet. Images of his bloody face and his concerned family wondering where he was– maybe he was a child’s favorite — haunted me.

“Okay, I have all of the information I need for the Good Samaritan report,” the receptionist chirped.

I stared at her, bewildered, “I didn’t find the cat. I HIT the cat.”

Distraught, I made my way to work. The only reason I continued to go was the fact that two of my classes were trying the new Common Core tests on chrome books, and after much training and preparation, today was the day to implement the test. I was not looking forward to it. I didn’t want to deal with the test, the chrome books, or the kids. The way my day was going, the Wifi would short out, the tests would freeze, and kids would riot. Not only that, but people from the district office were going to be on-hand to help out. Just what I needed, witnesses to the melt-down.

There’s a funny thing about kids; they’re like your pets in that they sense when you’re upset and try to make it better. One wrote me a poem accompanied with a Kit Kat bar. Another told me about how she watched Pride and Prejudice and loved it. Another connected Julius Caesar to Sex and The City. As we read the play, my “actors” tried to read with feeling. One boy brought cookies for our AP review. One former student came up to me holding something out in his hand, “It’s a lucky penny. I found it and it’s for you.” Another boy, seeing that I was upset, started monitoring the class and quieting everyone down. I didn’t tell them about the cat and had tried my best to be neutral, but they sensed it and tried to make things better.

The testing? For once everything worked. The helpers from the district? They wanted to see my duck collection and learn all about it.

The cat? I called the vet to hear how he was (if he was). “He’s alive, but I can’t tell you any more.” That’s okay. That’s all I needed to know.

I Want To Write, But It’s Never The Write Time!

5 May

I miss blogging and writing and the freedom of expression. I miss reflecting on my day and thinking of moments to share that were meaningful to me and hopefully to others. I miss the community forged with other writers– those who care about their craft and motivated by having something to say. But I’ve fallen for the cult of busy-ness. I am always busy. My life style as of now does not support the goals of a semi-aspiring writer. In order to write at the level I wish, I need time and dedication to produce they kind of writing I of which I can be proud. If someone is kind enough to leave a comment, I want to have the time to respond. Because if I’m going to do something, I want to do it well.

Everyday I think about writing, but again, I let the moment flit away. What to do?

Well, there’s only one solution: just do it. Just sit down and write.

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