Godspeed, Doug (7 Lines, 7 Days #87)

#108 Weeks

 January 9-15, 2022

Enjoyed reading Wayfaring Stranger by Emma Johns, as it took me to a part of the country I know and love so well.

My walk at the Slough was awesome. It felt good to be there. And I got a good piece of writing out of it. 

Received news that Doug is in hospice.

School resumed on Wednesday with many new students. Starting over.

Doug transitioned about 3:30 am Thursday morning.

Had success in the classroom with some new things I tried.

I got a kick out of photos Doug’s middle school girlfriend posted from their 8th grade year. So 70s! So fun! Godspeed, Doug.  Love you. 

64. Those Final Days

#64Challenge

Well, here I am. #64.

I don't need to say again that this was an incredibly intense school year, and that the lessons learned  will stay with me for a long time. I think I've stated that plenty during this project.

I've been holding this one for the end. Before I get to "those final days," a little backstory.

*
The National Writing Project used to sponsor a professional development every February at Florida Gulf Coast University. There was always great workshops and a nationally known keynote speaker. During my first year teaching, I attended the conference, and the keynote was given by Brod Bagert, an animated and fun-loving poet, who taught me something essential I have never forgotten:

Young people need to hear their voices reciting poetry out loud. Once they hear it, everything else you want to teach them becomes easier. The meaning and power moves beyond words on a page.

I took this and immediately started Poetry Fridays. At the time I was teaching three double-blocked 6th graders, 90-minutes every day, Language Arts and Reading. Giving a half hour on a Friday seemed like the perfect thing to accomplish what Brod had promised.

And yes, I think there was a pay-off. At the time, the classes were mixed ability -- so I had gifted in with kids who couldn't read a lick. I was scrambling to make it work.

They took to Poetry Friday like birds sailing on the wisps of wind high up in the sky. Brod had said the kids needed to memorize the poems, but I knew that was not going to work. I would not get enough participation.

Instead, they had time to look up poems in the several poetry books I had, mark the page, give me a card with their name and poem, and then we had our presentations. I amplified the response by providing a variety of shaker instruments. No matter how good or bad someone read their poem, everyone cheered loudly.

Soon, a deeper community was being built, and I had girls who would regularly SING together during Poetry Friday. I cannot hear Ciara's "One Two Step" without thinking of them. A boy named Kenny in one of the classes became the emcee, including his own stand-up comedy every week. The connections between us became stronger, given the power of words in their voices. And when I introduced the Town Project, they sailed right into that as well. They had learned to raise each other up in ways that had not been accomplished up until that point.

*
Fast forward to this past January, when I decided one of the focuses of my Creative Writing classes would be to "publish" in some way. I had witnessed and given in to kids being afraid to share their writing, and I decided to take some steps to move them beyond that fear. I had taught long enough to know how to take baby steps, and it actually worked. Pretty soon some of them were volunteering to  present slideshows, or asking me to read something out loud to the class they had written, and their typed out poems with artwork decorated every bit of wall space.

But the big challenge was yet to come. I decided at the end of 3rd quarter we were going to do Poetry Out Loud. They would have to get up and read their poem, and no one was exempt. I presented several options so everyone could find a place to fit -- one of them being a dual poem, written and performed with another writer.

On March 11th and 12th, the last days before spring break, we did the performances. I provided the shaker instruments, cookies and brownies, and lots of encouragement. A few writers had confided to me that they'd rather not do it, but once we got going everyone participated.

The timing had been perfect. After this, we were no longer together in the classroom. I was so grateful that I had pursued this, and that we had a chance to hear each others voices before we were all quarantined away from each other.

On the survey I gave the class at the end of our course, many students mentioned that they liked the event the best, especially the kids who had written and performed with others. It had given them a great memory. And as I reflect back on the school year, it is my most cherished memory as well. I love that I had come full circle on this, from those rough and tumble days of 2005, to nurturing classrooms of creative writers in 2020. There just could not have been a more perfect conclusion.

*
And thus concludes my #64Challenge.

63. Note to Self

#64Challenge

Note to Self:

Last September when the school year was just beginning, your "Dear Teacher" letter was published in Voices from the Middle journal.

This is worth revisiting today.

Among the things you wrote:

You know what to do.

You know you have to follow your heart and soul to give your students what they need.

You know education is about "How can I help you?"

You know things that can be measured are not the most important.

You know whose story to believe -- or at least you make a concerted attempt in every instance.

You know the purpose of education is to make good citizens. People worthy of being Americans. People who know the past, but believe in a better future.

You wrote all these thoughts over a year ago, a note to teachers everywhere. Your vision.

They all still apply -- in fact, in some ways, they apply more than ever.

Epilogue:

The only thing to add now is three questions. Three questions that get to the root of it all, that apply in nearly every piece of literature, every work of art, every conversation, every quest:

Where is the power?

Who can you trust?

How can you love more deeply? 



Documented here, this day 8 June 2020

62. Everything Connecting

#64Challenge

Inspired by Joy Harjo's poem "I Am Not Ready to Die Yet."


I am seeing clear connections between everything happening in the universe: the events, the things I am reading, the things I am listening to, the things I feel compelled to write.

This poem fits into my #64Challenge because the last week of our school year in Lee County was a volatile one across the nation. I have witnessed tense word exchanges between colleague. I have read the comments by my students of the past, many who are actively protesting. I cannot help but be thoughtfully moved by it all, and I know I need to use it as the ground for moving forward.

Everything connecting.

Today I carry the desire to live a life as one who will be open to the stories of others, to listen for the truth, to not be swayed by useless rhetoric and grandstanding.

Today I carry the desire to live a classroom life as one who will help others identify and tell their stories, rather than allow someone else define and write them. 

Today I carry the desire to live as an example of one who gathers the knowledge of the past, bringing it into the present, and examining all angles with an unflinching eye.

Today I carry the desire to live a life of non-judgment. Everything I need to know is in the person in front of me. They are the key to heaven.

Today I carry the desire to live a life where words matter. I can see the frames used to justify fear and inflammation. What I need are words that heal and promote growth.

Today I carry the desire to live a life of these choices and pray, in some small way, a few tiny ripples can reach another shore.

61. Quiet Attention (a monostitch)

#64Challenge

Last night during an interval of trying to get back
to sleep, I had this realization that my relationship
with my students this past quarter took on a different
flavor because I wasn't feeling rushed to start class,
 take attendance, put out fires the way I have to do in
ordinary classroom life, enabling me to give quiet attention
to what I needed to do, be it a Zoom meeting or a phone
call or grading their work; this quiet attention is the way
to go, it closes the distance, it makes us more aware,
and it breathes life into educating.

60. It's Done

#64Challenge

The strangest school year ever is coming to a close today.

From a strong and focused start to Global Read Aloud to switching curriculum to the joy of teaching four creative writing classes to virtual classes to mentoring students, it's been quite a year.

And next year -- I'm facing the fact it will most likely be virtual, at least for the first half of the year.

But today is the last official day. No parties. No goodbye hugs. No waving the buses on with tears in our eyes.

My team had a good long meeting today just to talk about successes and opportunities. We all agreed we have learned a lot, and have gained a wider perspective on what our students face in school every day, beyond our own classes. We know our reading team has a new and binding connection with other teachers in the school, as we reached out to our students who were struggling and saw them through.

I don't know what is around the corner. What I do know is that we will grow and learn together, become more proactive and reflective, and keep the heart and soul of teaching exactly where it is.

This year has been strange -- but not without amazing purpose.

59. Sometimes I Surprise Myself

#64Challenge

This week my AP of curriculum called to ask about placement of a student in Language Live. After our conversation, I asked him what I would be teaching next year.

Keep in mind, I NEVER usually know this until at least a week ahead of school starting.

Andy told me he had me teaching all Inside curriculum -- level 2 students. Fine, as that is my wheelhouse. Sadly, we are going to a horrendous 6X6 schedule, which is difficult to fathom. All that starting and stopping, all day long!

Anyway, Andy told me I'd have four classes of 6th graders, and six classes of 7/8 graders. As I had already suspected, I will no longer be teaching creative writing. He said, "I need you in reading."

Of course, I knew that. I had just been holding out a teeny bit of hope.

When I got off the phone, I told Jim and he suggested I start a creative writing club. I was like, hell yeah!  Why not? So I'm thinking about that, and already have some support from admin.

The good part I see here: I am used to the Inside curriculum, and know how to apply the standards and bump it up.

I can stick to my overall foundation for the course I found in an article in an ASCD magazine I got at the conference last year: Identity, Mastery, and Creativity.

I will basically have one prep for the first time since the 2007-08 school year. Of course, I know I will be doing slightly different things for the younger kids, but in general the prep is the same.

The not so good part: I like variety in my days. These will be too much alike. I will have to work hard not to be bored!

I have always found it hard to remember what I told to what classes when I've taught too many alike. It used to happen when I taught 6/7.  Now with 10/12...I'm going to have to take copious notes!

Andy said he'd tried to keep the classes to 22. So, 220 students, more or less. More than I've ever had.

But I've surprised myself in that none of this bothers me. I've been sitting with this for days and it's okay. I feel that these past few months, actually since the beginning of this year, I have learned better than ever how to roll with things. I just don't feel the emotions I used to feel about this stuff. Now I know in a deeper way I can get through anything, as long as my heart and soul are in the right place.

I know what I want my kids to achieve in my class: Identity, Mastery, and Creativity. With a clear vision, anything can be accomplished. No doubt, we will get there, calmly and with purpose.

58. The Rising Sun

#64Challenge

Today I am inspired by these words from Owen Sheers' poem "Tree."

...silhoutted against a reddening sky

that could be the setting or the rising of the sun

I wrote this in anticipation of learning who our new principal would be.

Today I want to feel the sun rising

on a new day for CLMS.

I know Kelly is part of the setting

sun, as she rides off into her

retirement, well-earned.

I need to believe in a rising sun

today. Everything has already 

changed. It's okay if there is

more.

Yet, I will remember a tree takes

a long time to grow, its roots

to establish, the sun and rain

in due time. Nothing will be

immediate. I will allow the

branches to establish themselves,

so they may 

grow strong.

57. "Trying to Re-Create the World"

#64Challenge

On April 23rd this year, I received this message via the private messenger on Facebook:

I’m sure you don’t remember me. I was a student of yours 2010/2011. 

And I remember your class the most. By far, one of my favorite teachers 

with lessons I have carried into adulthood.

Thank you.

 

This message came to mind today when I was given a writing prompt to reflect on a time I received or gave a compliment.

 

I was reminded of a quote I ran across this past weekend by James W. Hall from his essay "Back to School."  He says: 

 

For there is embedded in the academic process the secret, unexpressed belief that these books, these tests, these lectures and discussions will add up to some changed condition, 

an enrichment of the soul, and enlargement of the sense of human possibilities.

 

The best compliment I can ever receive from former students -- and I've had it a few times in my life, as evidence above -- is to be told that our class meant something to them in the life they are living now. From the girl that said she seemed to be the only one in her College Comp class that knew how to write a thesis statement, to the girl I only vaguely remember from the 2010-11 school year who messaged me recently, when a young person tells me that they can see how my class matters to them, well, that is the highest compliment I can be given. It means that my time spent choosing the right texts and the right activities and the right projects and discussions paid off.

 

It is why I teach.

 

Hall explains this in his essay: 

 

We teachers are not simply trying to make a better widget, or sell a better product, 

or design a better mousetrap. We are trying to re-create the world.

 

I believe in the world that can be created. And I relish my one small part in it.

56. "Vulnerable Population"

#64Challenge

(Inspired by my readings today: Jack Kornfield's book A Lamp in the Darkness, and Nick Flynn's poem "Shipwreck.")

Even in ruins, some new life waits to be born.

Fix the mast, or build a new ship.

(Jack Kornfield)

Jack assures us through shared compassion we can make it through anything.

Then Nick comes along, talking deep about loss of things most important to us.

The shipwrecks of our lives leaving us stranded.

And I think of my classroom, the place that feeds me, the posters and my Dharma flag and the books I've lovingly curated just for my kids, the collective laughter and learning.

My awareness that this is all slipping away is high. I don't think we can just "fix the mast."

Nick likens our loss to birds floating in the sky above. We look to the sky to feel better. We wish we just knew the answers, could get a glimpse of the way.

We just want to know how to let go.

55. Stand in the Waterfall

#64Challenge

Yesterday I revisited a blog I set up called "Courageous Conversations," and found an essay I wrote about technology and education and being more aware of my students beyond the electronic data.

In it was a quote from Michael Meade:

A teacher has to stand in the waterfall with her students.

Somehow, I think I have found the water.

After writing about being a Joshua Tree in the desert, sustained only by hope and strength, being patient waiting for the flowers and the fruit, the game of slow change, I suddenly don't feel so dry.

My tears carried me here.

I cried a lot last Monday when I closed up my classroom. Then there was a photo and a video and emails and even a phone call with Hyundai about our car lease.

Tears. Tears. Tears.

Water carrying me.

It took a long time to see how to get across the technology and reach my students. Doesn't seem like it should be difficult, but I didn't know how to "stand in the waterfall" with them if I wasn't in front of them.

I'm realizing ways.

It's the phone calls directly to their cell phones. It's the texts. It's helping them through an assignment.

It's with my creative writers as I see them working out their own healing through a poem they have written. Some are downright heart wrenching. Yet, I can't help but think -- would this have risen up if we were in a classroom writing together, where the presence of others can intimidate?

Maybe. Maybe not.

I don't feel dry anymore. I'm finding the water.

And it's through writing, writing, writing. And the little reach out questions. Text me your favorite place to eat. Your favorite place to go. Answer the survey: who is better, Nemo or Dory?

Human touches. Seeing them. A small kind of listening.

Emoji smiles and hearts back. So much more personal than in the classroom.

This work matters.

I have seen where we are headed in the fall, with a lot more technology used in classes. I am not against it. But, this is teaching me that pieces of humanity need to stay intact. A simple question. A quick write. A poem read aloud.

Before I set them on a computer path, I want them to know I see them.

I want them to see me.

I've been feeling more seen these days, something I did not expect at all.

Refreshed.

I told my AP during my evaluation that I was well aware this time will provide new insights in how to teach. I don't know what they all are yet, but I'm getting an inkling.

This work matters. No matter where I am, no matter how near or far, I am their teacher.

I will stand in the waterfall with them.

P.S. As I was finishing this piece, this song was on my playlist. I didn't know why, but it seemed to fit  here perfectly.  Then I watched the video and all I could think was wow -- the energy here is so much like a middle school classroom!  It made me laugh.

54. Jumbled Emotions and A Prayer

#64Challenge

So, this is how I walk away from the school year.

Not with the usual joy and relief. But with jumbled emotions that are hard to sort out.

I expected to walk into my classroom and burst out crying.That didn't happen.

I took pictures of what was left on my board at the end, including a couple messages from my 10th period kids:

We walked out that day not knowing what was to come. Then we found out.

I was unable to erase this, so I left it. I also left the words "Find Joy" on the little white board I was using for my monthly motto. It isn't time to wipe out that idea yet!

I had a list of things to do and I got right to work. I was done by 9:15, even though I had more time allotted. There wasn't much else to do.

I sat at my desk, in my new chair, and just stared at my room. I remembered the Creative Writers presenting their poems. I remember a relaxed final day. I remember laughter.

This was the year I hung my Dharma flag as a way to remember that in the challenges are opportunities. Where there is struggle, there is a hidden gift. A bit of Yin and Yang. I considered taking the flag down so I could ceremonially hang it again next year. But then I decided I wanted it there when I walk in next school year (which I pray begins in August as scheduled.)

In cleaning up files, a poem fell out of a folder. I had come across this poem in one of the poetry books I keep in the shelf. It had been put there many years ago, and is a favorite of mine by Clarissa Pinkola Estes. I used to have it memorized. Maybe it is time to commit it to memory once more.

A Prayer

Refuse to fall down.

If you cannot refuse to fall down,

refuse to stay down.

If you cannot refuse to stay down,

lift your heart toward heaven,

and like a hungry beggar,

ask that it be filled,

and it will be filled.

You may be pushed down.

You may be kept from rising.

But no one can keep you

from lifting your heart

toward heaven --

only you.

It is in the middle of misery

that so much becomes clear.

The one who says nothing good

came of this,

is not yet listening.

53. Ye Tang Che

#64Challenge

The first month of virtual teaching has been so darn stressful. I never wanted to go back to being a "first year teacher" but man, that is how it has been feeling.

The intense pressure to get it right, the missteps, the changing requirements, the frustrations, the exhausting Zoom meetings, the changing requirements, and oh yeah, did I mention the changing requirements?

I know, I know...we haven't done this before, everyone is figuring it out, blah blah blah.

By last weekend I was TOTALLY FED UP.  I was COMPLETELY EXHAUSTED.  So much so, I couldn't even enjoy my weekend. I kept falling into dark pools of tears, unable to lift myself out.

By Sunday, when I wrote ANOTHER depressing poem, my friend Laurie suggested I do something creative. I didn't feel like I had a creative bone in my body. But what I did have was a notebook, an array of colorful fountain pens, and my personal lifesaving device: Chapter 7 of Pema Chodron's book When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times.

I could read. I could make notes. I could doodle. Color always feels creative to me, so yeah, I'm was being creative.

But mostly it was the message I needed to hear from this wise work. Abandon Hope. Be Fearless.

It was easy to see what was bringing me down. It was my HOPE THAT THINGS WOULD GET BETTER.  The hope that I'D FINALLY FIGURE IT OUT.  The hope that OTHERS WOULD UNDERSTAND MY PLIGHT.

Guess what? Everyone else is feeling the same way. How are they going to save ME?

Pema says, We're all addicted to hope -- hope that doubt and mystery will go away. Abandon hope.

This upsets people. They don't want to hear it. In fact, I posted "Ye Tang Che" on Facebook and got "friendly" comments that I can't give up hope, blah blah...as if I was suicidal.

Ye Tang Che is the opposite of suicidal.

It is facing the realities we live with. The reality of who WE are. The reality that WE DON'T KNOW.

We can't escape that. Or ourselves. Hope that we can is what leaves us COMPLETELY EXHAUSTED.

Did I mention the title of this particular chapter in Pema's book is entitled "Hopelessness and Death."

The title alone would scare anyone away. But Pema promises early on:

If we're willing to give up hope that insecurity and pain can be exterminated, 

then we can have the courage to relax with the groundlessness of our situation. 

This is the first step on the path.

So, I decided to take the step. The step into Ye Tang Che. The step that does not include any ground under my feet.

I made a list for what I'd do Monday. A doable list. A list of things I know how to do. And I told myself -- just this, and nothing more. And I did the same for each day of the week.

I didn't look to anyone else to solve my problems. Or prop me up. Or make me feel like I'm doing it "right."

When something frustrated me -- I just bore witness. I would think, hmmm, I don't agree with that, but there it is.

I became a constant observer of myself. I made sure I got out of my chair. I looked and listened and followed through and ignored the dumb stuff.

Pema says that Hope and Fear are two sides of the same coin. Boy, don't I know THAT!

The steps I took this week has helped me lose the fear I was experiencing. The fear that I wasn't good enough, that I couldn't do this, that I was not doing as well as others, that this is never going to end.

Pema suggests we abandon hope to become fearless.

Now I am just letting the mystery be. I'm letting the doubt be. I'm observing. I'm listening. I'm not attaching myself to any wish list or certain outcome.

Years ago I made these for my team at Lehigh when we were going through a tough school year:

These four words are all I need right now. We have 4-5 weeks left, and with Ye Tang Che as my guide, I will not only make it through, I will survive AND know more about myself and getting through a difficult time than I ever thought possible.

There is a gift here. And it will serve me. 

52. Current Reality

#64Challenge

Inspired by "The Ceremony" by Joy Harjo

The new rituals

of making sure I sign in

around breakfast time

and doing everything

on a screen and

the difficulty of the

absence of physicallity

that messes with my

mind, the need to

escape at the end of

the day, the tears that

come at random times;

these are ceremonies

and rituals and the 

so-called "new normal"

I can do without.

Dan Rather called we

teachers fountains of 

optimism or something

like that, something 

not at all my

current reality.

51. No Laughter

#64Challenge

Inspired by Mary Biddinger's poem "Oktoberfest Syndrome."

The classroom feels so
far away, a place
haunting me daily,
a place I used to go
to every day, my haven,
our place to gather
together to discover
and discuss and
laugh and yes, even
struggle. We took it
for granted, just like
movie theaters and
restaurants. But now
we know how precious
these meeting spaces
are, as we sit in
isolation and look at
computer screens and
discuss with ourselves,
no laughter,  no camaraderie,
not even any conflict.
Just the words and images
on a screen. A small, repeated
death.

50. New Moon Today

#64Challenge

This post begins with a copy of an email I wrote yesterday to my department chair:

So today while I was eating lunch, my husband told me about an Education Virtual Town Hall that was on TV so I watched it. They had Arne Duncan and Bill Bennett on, talking about virtual ed. Then they had some parents talking about their experience teaching their kid at home. Then they had a psychologist answering the parents questions.

The last third of the show they had teachers discussing the state of things and answering some questions.

The most outstanding thing I heard was from the psychologist. We all know we are under stress, and that accounts for a lot of how we feel and react.

But even more, kids at the stage of puberty are in such a place in their development, that this is harder on them. What struck me was that she said something to the effect that stress without an endpoint in site actually causes the brain to rewire itself, basically slowing down the frontal cortex which affects memory, motivation, and even motor skills and spatial reasoning. It can add to changes in behavior like aggression (which I’m guessing is why there have been so many kids Baker Acted lately)

What I came away with was an even deeper understanding on how we have to be careful about our expectations. In many cases, the kids really may NOT be able to remember if they did an assignment, or be able to read or understand what to do. And it might cause them to push us away, as they may no longer be responding to the “reward” of a job well done or good grades. The brain may have made those things unimportant as a means to survive and handle stress. 

I know you are doing a presentation tomorrow, and I know you may not have time to get into this stuff. But it seems very important to understand that there can be some real physical changes in the brain that will affect our kids. 

Today I wrote this poem, modeled after Owen Sheers' "Winter Swans."

It's a new moon today

and it has brought

me back in balance.

It has been so

up and down

this week, trying

to figure out my

new role, trying to

make sense of where

we are. And I am

coming into a place

of understanding

all I can do is be

a safe place, a

possible haven

in a world with 

no endpoint in sight.

49. God's Will

#64Challenge

Inspired by Nick Flynn's poem "God's Will."

And a piece of writing from a student.

We all want to be held a little higher

I don't know if this

pandemic is God's will.

I do know a little girl

was taught by her father

that she was on a yellow brick road,

but to remember

it was paved by the people

that came before her.

She lost him in such a 

painful way.

Will "every little thing be alright?"

God willing.

48. Gentle Measures

#64Challenge

Inspired by the poem "Gentle Measures" by Terrance Hayes, that itself was modeled after a book of the same title from 1871.

Chapter 1: Three Modes of Management
Make the assignments short and easy to follow. Give them a solid way to report back -- easier for them and me. Use visuals.

Chapter 2: The Art of Training
Getting everyone going in the same direction is never easy. Train them to follow their own mind, approach things their way. Then let it synthesize.

Chapter 3: Faults of Immaturity
Even with safeguards and prompts, they are kids. They will resist. Forget. Obsess. Hide. Fail to comprehend. It's okay.

Chapter 4: The Activity of Children
My father once wrote to me in a letter that he was often "in awe" of what his children could do. I feel the same. I've been moved by their responses at times. Somehow this is enhanced by the distance. This is a gift -- a wonderful, strange gift, unexpected and grace-filled.

46. The Struggle to Read

#64Challenge

This is a day I didn't think would come.

A day when I continually find it hard just to sit and read.

I have noticed the issue, and I've been trying to understand it. I've tried to tell myself that I'm just not dedicating thetime, that I have been giving more time over to walking or listening to music. But that is only part of the truth.

It seems hard to read.

I have two high stacks of books I had every intention of getting to, knocking out one at a time. But once I finished the last book, I went to my shelf and pulled down an old Carl Hiassen paperback, one that came my way for free. I knew it would demand little from me, and that is true. But even that book seems hard to stay focused on for any period of time.

Today I was turning off my computers and heading in for a nap when I came across this article by Pernille Ripp. In it she speaks of the exact thing I am going through.  It is a must read.

My New State of Reading by Pernille Ripp

She says many profound things, but my favorite is this:

...if we, as professional adult readers, are struggling, how does it feel for the kids? 

I'm seeing this happening. My advanced readers are having difficulty comprehending a text, and answering questions with any degree of accuracy. My intensive readers have all but disappeared -- I know their academic classes are bending their brains.

This is not a normal time. And our reading minds are being affected.

This second week of crisis schooling was quiet and a bit of a downer. But at the same time, it has opened my eyes to the realization that what we are doing is not working.

I have a four day weekend. I hope before I come out of it, some ideas will surface.

This is the great challenge of teaching during a pandemic. This is what school is like in April 2020. A place of struggle and uncertainty. A grand experiment in getting through.

And we will. I know we will. But only with a willingness to make it different. To get creative.

To be a blank page and find what will be written upon it.

And honestly...I think less reading and more writing. My creative writers have been doing a wonderful job writing about the topic of change. Some are speaking on matters of today, but others have gotten more personal, more generational, and more internal. In addition, I had my advanced kids writing an email as a response to the reading. Nearly 100% who completed the assignment did a fine job on that.

So perhaps less reading...more writing. Less trying to figure out someone else's thoughts, and more expression of our own. An open space to play with ideas.

Hey...it's a thought. Over the next four days, I will think more on this. I'll see where it takes me.

44. Day Three

#64Challenge

On on the third day, she rose again.

More like crashed down.

Day One was super busy. Day Two, I was tracking well, feeling great.

Now...Day Three.

Full resistance to having to go to a faculty Zoom meeting...and then the ending where my principal told us in a round about way that she was retiring, then signed off before she could cry in front of us.

And now I'm trying to concentrate, and I simply cannot.

I've tried now for over 90 minutes. So I decided the best thing I can do -- the thing I would tell my students to do -- is to write.

This is a day people don't seem to have answers for.

This is a day when those students we were already worried about haven't checked in, and now we're even more worried.

This is a day I need to get through.

This is a day I need to TRUST.

This is a day I need to know everything changes. This will, too.

I will take care of myself.

I will find the energy for lesson planning and the rest -- AFTER I take care of myself.

This is the third day.  The first day of a new month.

A day not to rise, but to float.

Let it be.