Not once, but...

thrice!

That's right: this is the third new post on my blog this evening.

It's high time this writing hiatus comes to an end, and what better way to commence a new period of public reflection than by sharing stories from my new classrooms.

So, to those of you who've waited out this silent period with me, thanks for sticking around.

And no, despite my boyfriend's fears, the sky doesn't appear to be falling tonight. Do be expecting me to blog more frequently again, though.

Silly Morris!

One of the books I teach in my class for entering first graders is Morris the Moose, by B. Wiseman. It's a fun beginning reader story about a moose (named Morris) who meets a cow and thinks she's a moose. As Morris points out throughout the story, she has "four legs and a tail and things on her head" so she is obviously a moose. The cow spends a few pages trying to convince Morris otherwise. Eventually they seek the help of first a deer and then a horse, neither of which are any help, as they both just think that everyone else is the same kind of animal as themselves. I'll leave you in suspense as to how they eventually resolve Morris' "moose-take" - you'll have to read it for yourselves!

After reading it aloud to my class the first time, then having my students practice reading themselves, with support from their parents, one of the questions I asked was this: "If you were the cow, what would you have said to make Morris believe that you weren't a moose?"

Some of their answers were fairly straightforward, things I would have thought of myself:

"I would tell him that the things on my head are different from the things on his head!"

"He should look at the cow's body and see that they're not the same."

"They should look at the feet. The cow has different feet than Morris."

My favorite response, though, was a bit more direct:

"The cow should just tell Morris to be HONEST!"

Said with just that much emphasis.

Yeah, I think that might take care of the matter!

So many books... so little time.

I used to have a t-shirt with the title phrase on it. A gift from someone who knew me well in my adolescence. For as long as I can remember, I've loved reading. To find me without a book, especially during my elementary and middle school daily bus riding career, would have a ridiculously improbable expectation. There were points, perhaps around 5th and 6th grade, when I had to have at least two books in my backpack at all times -- because I would read, on average, about a book a day. Then I started to discover thicker books, with pages numbering in the upper hundreds: those might sometimes take a few days. Suffice it to say, my love for reading was instilled - and nurtured - from a very young age.

Given this fact, it should not surprise you that I am absolutely positively thrilled about my summer job!

What is this amazing assignment, you might ask?

Well, let me tell you about it :)

About a month ago, I was hired by the Institute of Reading Development to teach - wait for it! - summer reading enrichment classes. I've spent most of the last month studying curriculum, reading fantastic pieces of juvenile literature, and preparing to teach. Most of it was "distance training," which involved a lot of individualized study and long conference calls.

Training ended a week ago, though, and the first term of the summer program started on Saturday. I had my first set of classes yesterday at the University of Delaware. First graders in the morning, then fourth & fifth graders in the early afternoon, and middle schoolers for my last group. I came home exhausted, but I had a great time. [And though some of you might think I'm crazy, I still hold that my favorite age group to work with is that slightly reluctant middle school range.]

One day, three (out of eight that I will teach) levels taught, one long check-in with my supervisor, and one phone call to a frustrated parent into the term, I am still absolutely thrilled about this job. I mean, how couldn't I be?

I'm back in a classroom, which I'm realizing more and more is exactly where I belong. I'm teaching reading, which is something I personally love. I get to work through great books - Fellowship of the Ring, Banner in the Sky, Henry Huggins, Cricket in Times Square, The Stories Julian Tells, Where the Wild Things Are, just to name a few - with kids who really identify with the characters and connect with the story. I really like my supervisor, and I've got a great curriculum to work from. I'll be teaching across a variety of levels - my eleven classes range from preschoolers all the way up to adult professionals. I'm adding some new skills - reading level assessment and speed reading techniques - to my repertoire. And, starting tomorrow, I get to spend half of every week (for the next five) in Mechanicsburg, teaching classes only a few miles away from my alma mater.

Speaking of Mechanicsburg, I'm headed that way tomorrow. Seven (large) boxes of books and other materials are packed and sitting by my apartment door, waiting to be loaded into my car tomorrow morning. My lesson plans and teaching materials are piled up on my desk, about to slide into my backpack. My books are studied, notes written, and I'm excited about meeting a brand new set of students and parents.

[For any of you that might be interested: these are reading enrichment classes, and enrollment is still open. Visit http://readingprograms.org/ and type in your home zip code to learn more. And if you're in the Mechanicsburg/Grantham/Harrisburg area, know that I'd love to see you [my adult class has lots of empty space] or your child(ren) in one of my classes!]

I'm getting paid to teach reading. I've pinched myself, but I keep waking up and finding this to still be true. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm absolutely excited about this :)

A Minimal Update

Copied directly from an email I wrote this morning, here is some news that I would typically have shared on Facebook - but I recently deleted my account - or reflected at length on here - but I've been exhaustingly busy of late and thus neglecting the writerly side of my self. Hopefully that will change soon. But for now, here's a bit of news:

First, I have a summer job. I'll be working as a Reading Teacher for a program called the Institute of Reading Development. I'll be teaching reading enrichment classes from preschool all the way through adults in Philadelphia and the surrounding region. I'm in the midst of training for this position right now and am greatly excited. This job will begin June 19th and continue until August 30th.

Second, I learned yesterday evening that I have been accepted into a Master's of Education program at the University of Pennsylvania, to start this fall if I accept. The program is in the Language and Literacy division of the Graduate School of Education, and would be in Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages. You probably won't be too surprised to hear that I'm pretty excited about this possibility and am currently trying to figure out if I can afford it (I've been offered a partial tuition scholarship and a graduate assistantship which would certainly help offset some of the cost).

And third, because I've been so awful at keeping in touch with some of you, just wanted to let you know that I'm in the process of moving up to Philadelphia. If you desire my new mailing address, please let me know.

fifteen year old wisdom.

"i want a job because i want money but i don't want to have to work."

don't we all, dear, don't we all.

what we talk about.

A few days ago, I sat at the dining room table in my friends' house. There were four of us, sitting around the table, college friends drinking tea and catching up on each other's lives.

A scene playing out, not for the first time.

Only this time, the dialogue took a slightly different turn.

Our conversations used to revolve around such topics as classwork, professors, global injustices, relationships, philosophical principles, how little sleep we'd gotten recently, and how much better Wegmans is than any other grocery store.

This time: rising public transportation costs, healthcare benefits, networking and applying for jobs, other people's weddings, our respective jobs, gardening, and how much better Wegmans is than any other grocery store.

A lot changes as we grow up.

But some things never change.

Like how wonderful it is to drink tea with old friends.

The Thing about Knowledge.

Towards the end of his memoir, The Worlds of a Maasai Warrior: An Autobiography (1986), Tepilit Ole Saitoti reflects on the educational opportunities that he sought and received in the UK and US. Contemplating the increased awareness resulting from his cross-cultural and inter-continental experiences, he writes:

"By then I had come face to face with the painful realities of knowledge. One who understands is freer in the head but sadder in the heart. It is sad to know that there is so much wrong in our world, and for the most part we are helpless to do anything about it.

...

Western education had opened up so many vistas for me, and made me aware of so many complications. It confronted me with the broader spectrum of things within which I live. My brothers live according to the seasons and accept death and rebirth as normal. They are spared the anguish and the failures I sometimes experience."

'cause everything is never what it seems.

a few weeks ago, i spent a saturday evening hanging out with a very good friend in harrisburg, pennsylvania. we went to midtown scholar for coffee and to browse the shelves of used tomes. i searched through an entire wall of poetry shelves but found nothing from africa. which was sad.

far more enjoyable, however, was encountering another good friend, who just happened to be working at midtown. our conversation started with her informing me - quite emphatically - that i was now dating my boyfriend, a surprise that had absolutely delighted her when she was facebook stalking one or the other of us. the evening progressed: coffee, smuggling food into the theater, (2d) alice in wonderland, film criticism in the car. all good times.

at the end of the evening, liz gifted me with some old calendar pages she had found while cleaning the bookstore. use them, she told me, for some creative purpose. such a delightful charge.

so tonight, i did.

a few old calendar pages, a handful of glue sticks, some coloured paper. the result: a pile of eclectic and quirky postcards. such fun :)

*note: should you appreciate such craft enough to desire such items yourself, i may consider selling some of them. interested? send me a message.

Vocation.

During my undergraduate years, "vocation" was one of the buzzwords we heard often. Recently, it's been on my mind again - the concept more than the word.

The future looms high, a blanker slate than I've seen in a very long time. At this point, I know where I'm planning to be living a few months from now, but really, I have no idea what I'll be doing. As I start to apply for jobs and contemplate the possibility of graduate school, I have high hopes - but also more than a little fear. It is exciting to think of walking unknown paths, in part because they are likely to hold both joy and sorrow, blessings and frustrations.

In a couple months, I will be starting again - again. New place, new people, new job (hopefully), new routine and rhythm of life. As I navigate yet another transitional space, I find my mind naturally contemplating my own identity - and my vocation. I think about who I am and who I want to be, and I am drawn ever more to writings that reflect those thoughts and challenge my imagination.

Below, two pieces which have been floating in my mind today.

The first, a quote that I heard at a church service this morning. My immediate response, after hearing it, was to wonder what currently developing, formerly colonised country the speaker was from.

"If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us walk together."

--Lila Watson, Aboriginal activist.

And the second, quite possibly one of my favourite poems, which was posted at the Reconcilers blog this morning. Written by Wendell Berry, it captivates my thinking anew every time I hear it. It is the last line I have been contemplating most today: the mandate to "Practise resurrection." It is, I do believe, the most perplexing line in the poem, in part because "resurrection" is a concept foreign to my daily existence. But there it stands, the closing line, as if to summarise all the rest, calling the phoenix to rise from the ashes and beckoning light into dark places.

Manifesto:

The Mad Farmer Liberation Front

by Wendell Berry

Love the quick profit, the annual raise, vacation with pay.

Want more of everything ready-made.

Be afraid to know your neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.

Not even your future will be a mystery anymore.

Your mind will be punched in a card

and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something,

they will call you.

When they want you to die for profit,

they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something that won't compute.

Love the Lord. Love the world.

Work for nothing.

Take all that you have and be poor.

Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace the flag.

Hope to live in that free republic for which it stands.

Give your approval to all you cannot understand.

Praise ignorance,

for what man has not encountered, he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.

Invest in the millenium.

Plant sequoias.

Say that your main crop is the forest

that you did not plant

that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested when they have rotted into mold.

Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus

that will build under the trees

every thousand years.

Listen to carrion - put your ear close,

and hear the faint chattering of the songs that are to come.

Expect the end of the world.

Laugh.

Laughter is immeasurable.

Be joyful

though you have considered all the facts.

So long as women do not go cheap for power,

please women more than men.

Ask yourself:

will this satisfy a woman satisfied to bear a child?

Will this disturb the sleep of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.

Lie down in the shade. Rest your head in her lap.

Swear allegiance to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and the politicos can predict

the motions of your mind,

lose it.

Leave it as a sign to mark the false trail,

the way you didn't go.

Be like the fox who makes more tracks than necessary,

some in the wrong direction.

Practice resurrection.

A Guest Entry

Life has been busy and full lately: I haven't had much time for reading or writing of any sort. Perhaps you've noticed (or not) my lack of recent blogging; my journal has been receiving a similar dearth of ink. Even having someone comment daily on my non-blogging hasn't helped. All of my good intentions - and occasional thoughts of "I should blog about this" - haven't amounted to much. I'll be back here before too long: the writing urge will overcome my tiredness one of these days. But for now, thanks to those who check in every so often just to see if there's anything new. Slowly, slowly, it will come.

And in the meantime, mostly because it amuses me in the grandest sort of way, I thought I'd share a piece written by my youngest sister, Rachel. She recently found a box of old photos and school papers. Sorting through it tonight, she came across an essay she wrote at the beginning of fifth grade. Titled "Pillars in Person," it required her to write about a person who demonstrated the school's six pillars of character: trustworthiness, respect, responsibility, caring, fairness, and citizenship. Our school system enacted the Character Counts program when I was in middle or high school: the thing that I remember best about it is that our book covers contained the same typo for years, "repsonsibility" instead of "responsibility."

But here, dated 1 September 2004, and written in her very best cursive handwriting, is my sister's essay. Clearly she paid a bit more attention to the character pillars than I ever did...

Pillars in Person

My essay is about my older sister Kristina. She is 18 years old and her birthday is in November. She is taking classes at Messiah College in Pennsylvania this year.

Kristina is a very caring person. She often baby-sits my brother Nathan and I to help out my mom. She also forgives people very easily. For exampale [sic] if we keep bugging her while she is trying to do her homework she will say "will you please stop" instead of yelling at us. She shows this in many examples here is one, if we have a homework assignment we do not understand she will help us with it.

Kristina also shows that she is a good citizen by encouraging us that we can do anything we set out to do! She also shows this trait by respecting my mom even when she doesn't like what my mom wants her to do. She also shows this by not littering even if it's very tempting.

Also Kristina shows that she practices the character pillar of trustworthiness by never cheating in card games such as Bridge and Spades. She shows this trait also by never lying about grades or anything else. She never breaks promises, and is usually on time. Kristina is the best example of a person I know showing these character traits.