POETRY FRIDAY

Image from Wikimedia Commons

"Complaint"

At the end

of this late-night-early-morning-eighty-hour week

of scrutiny and suggestions and directives

progress monitoring and paperwork and payments

tangles and tantrums and technology issues

rubrics and rushing and redos
dentist chairs and discouragement and defeat

not to mention a disgruntled dog

I long for Saturday

when I will put

on my soft jeans

with the torn pocket

and worn knees

and just be. 

Carol Wilcox

Irene Latham is hosting Poetry Friday today. 

CELEBRATE

I'm participating in Ruth Ayres' Celebrate This Week!

Katy Perry is coming to Denver!

Evidently the singer had a contest 

in honor of the release of a new album.

Schools were invited to create a lip dub of her song "Roar."

And Lakewood won!
Next week,  Katy Perry will be doing a concert

in the Lakewood High School gym!

 And I'm celebrating!

OK, so I'm not really celebrating 

that Katy Perry is coming to Denver.

Truth be told, 

aside from the general and vague category "celebrity"

I'm not even exactly sure
who Katy Perry is. 

Instead, I'm celebrating 

Principal Ron Castagna,
 and the Lakewood High School staff,

who, in this age of "rigor" and "data"
and "college and career ready"

took time
to simply let kids come together
and create
and have fun!

I'm not sure kids will remember
 the close readings they did
or the essays they wrote.
I doubt they will remember algebra tests,
or historic events
or science experiments.

But I know,
with absolute certainty
that those kids
will never forget
the time they made a video
and had Katy Perry
 come to their school.

Today I'm celebrating joy

and passion

and fun

 in schools!

POETRY FRIDAY

Really not sure why, but this school year has been a plunging, twisting, gut wrenching, bone shaking,  wild ride! It seems only right, then, to share COWBOY UP: RIDE THE NAVAJO RODEO by Nancy Bo Flood, photographs by Jan Sonnenmair for Poetry Friday. COWBOY UP is a CYBILS nonfiction nominee. It's a great candidate, plumb filled with facts about the rodeo and gorgeous photographs of Navajo cowboys and cowgirls of all ages.

COWBOY UP could have also been a poetry nominee, however, because each two-page spread, includes not only a paragraph or two of information, but also a poem, told from the point of view of a young Navajo rodeo contestant. The poems are lots of fun- the kind you want to roll around in your mouth and just simply enjoy reading and rereading, and Jan Sonnenmair's photography is well, just about perfect!

Rodeo Rider

I want to be a rodeo rider--
a barrel racing,
        crazy bull chasing,
lasso slinging,
        wild calf roping,
bronco busting,
          mutton tumbling
rodeo rider.

Nancy Bo Flood

"Bareback Bull Rider:
Big Brahama bull
stands square,
glares.

Big Brahma bull,
head down,
horns able
to rip a rider wide apart.

Big Brahma bull,
hooves scraping dirt,
blocks of muscle
waiting to explode
out the chute.

Big Brahma bull.
My turn to ride.

Nancy Bo Flood

Mosey on over to Merely Day by Day, where Cathy is rounding up a whole lot more poetry.

SLICE OF LIFE

Son #2 is my independent child.

Never has needed me.

Never will.

I am surprised, then, when the phone call comes about two o'clock on Sunday afternoon, just as I am heading out the door to mow the lawn. Son #2 is in Phoenix, coming home for an appointment.

"OK, I'm at the airport. Where do I park?"

"Where do you park?" I repeat, kind of stupidly."Where are you now?"

"I pulled over in the cell phone lot. But I don't know where to park."

I really don't know either, where to park at the Phoenix airport.  I have been at that airport lots in the last year or so, but the only place I have ever parked is in the rental car lot. I grab my computer. Google Phoenix airport. Scan a parking map.

"Do you see where it says 'East Economy?'"

"Ummm, yeah, OK, I got it." He hangs up before I can read him the rest of the directions about riding the Sky Train to Terminal Four.

The next call comes about ten minutes later. "Ok, now what do I do with ticket?"

I am surprised he already has his ticket. It doesn't seem like he has been at the airport long enough.

"The ticket? You show it when you go through Security."

"Noooo." I can hear exasperation in his voice. "Not the plane ticket. The parking ticket. Do I put it in the car or do I put it in my wallet?"

Again, I am at a loss. "Look on the ticket. What does it say? Does it say it needs to be on the dash?"

Son #2 scans the ticket. "I don't think so."

"Ok, well then put it in your wallet. I always write where I parked on the back of it."

"Where you parked?" he questions.

"Yeah. Do you see a sign with the row number?"

"Why would I write the row number?" says my ever practical, oh-so-linear child. "I can remember that." And he hangs up.

Three minutes later the phone rings again.

"How do I get to the airport?"

Luckily, I still have my computer open. "You ride the Sky Train. It comes every three minutes."

"OK." He hangs up before I can read the part about getting off at Terminal Four.

I am not surprised, then, when the phone rings again about five minutes later.

"Where do I get off?"

"Terminal Four. Your airline is at Terminal Four."

And I have pretty much given up mowing the lawn by the time the next call comes. "Ok, I'm at the terminal. Now where do I go?"

I explain that he can either check in downstairs at the airlines or at a kiosk, right by Security.

This time he doesn't bother to hang up. "Stay on the phone," he orders. "I want to make sure I've got this."

I am prepared for problems. Because I adopted my guys when they were seven and nine, we hyphenated their last name, using the name they had grown up with first, then my name. Depending on the computer, or computer operator, that little tiny line, causes endless problems at banks, and schools, and airports.

And as per usual, the hyphen causes problems today. The first time, my guy types in his name, it doesn't go through. He sounds a little stressed. "What if I don't have a ticket?"

"You do have a ticket. Type it without the hyphen." Without the hyphen, it goes through.

"OK, I'm going through Security." He hangs up before I can tell him not to leave his iPad.

This time it is fifteen minutes before the phone rings again.

"I'm through security."

"Do you have your iPad?"

He is more than a little irritated at my stupid question. "Of course I have my iPad. Do you think I would leave it there?" I restrain myself from reminding him about a January trip to the airport for his brother's computer, which had been left in security.

"Now I just go to the gate, right? Do I have time to get something to eat first?"

I assure him that with over an hour left, he has plenty of time to get something to eat. My sons have an uncanny ability to find food wherever we are and it seems like the process will be relatively straightforward.

"Are you ok now? Can I mow the lawn?"

"No. Just wait until I get on the plane, ok? When I am flying you can mow the lawn."

I hang up the phone and putter around the house for the next hour. No more calls come until he is boarding and he needs to know what zone he is in. There is no zone on his ticket he tells me.

"Move your thumb, sweetie. It's at the bottom, right in the middle."

"Oh yeah, Zone 3."

"Have a good trip, bud, see you in a couple of hours. Love you."

I hang up the phone for the 57th time.

And onder why my son, who has flown many times in the last ten years,
doesn't know how to find his way around an airport.
Realize that this is the first time he has ever flown without some adult- me, a teacher, a coach- in charge of logistics.

And understand that my 6'5", 230 pound
man-child
was probably scared.

And needed his mama.

Just a little bit.

CELEBRATE THIS WEEK

 One of my favorite bloggers, Ruth Ayres, is starting a new tradition. Celebrate This Week is an opportunity to savor and appreciate the week that has just been.

This school year has been hard- lots of emphasis on data and rigor and achievement and doing more and being more.

I'm trying to breathe and laugh and honor and celebrate and savor the privilege of working with teachers and kids.

Thought I would give Ruth's Saturday celebration a try…

*******

Wednesday afternoon. The first day of after school activities. Today's offerings include two sections of Ballet Folklorico and Art Club.

As well as a group of fifteen boys (and yes, today it really is all boys), waiting to get on a bus to the Boys' and Girls' Club.

The activities begin in the school cafeteria, where students enjoy an after school snack, before being picked up by the club sponsors.

I am in charge. Soon students will be in a routine, and things will be calm, but today, well, let's just say it's a little crazy.

I explain routines. Pass out milk and snack bags. Try to explain, in my broken Spanish to a father who speaks very little English, the concept of a waiting list.

All this with a shy six-year-old, who loves to dance and really wants to be part of Ballet Folklorico, but is a little unsure about staying for an extra hour, attached to my hip.

Twelve-year-old B approaches from behind.

I have known B for a little over a year. In that year, I cannot ever, not once,  remember him initiating a conversation with me.  He is an independent kind of a guy, mature, capable and self-assured.

Today he wants to talk.

"Ms. Wilcox, my grandpa bought me a new accordion. Do you want to see?"

At this particular moment, overseeing 50 ballerinas, 20 artists, and 15 little guys who really need to get outside and run around, truthfully, the last thing I want to do  is to see B's new accordion.

But I am trying to slow down. To not miss opportunities to connect. To be fully present on this holy ground.

And so I breathe deeply, then respond. "Sure, I'd love to see your new accordion, sweetie, can you wait about two minutes?"

B sits down on the cafeteria bench behind me.

Unsnaps the clasps of what looks like the brown, tortoiseshell suitcase my grandmother used to carry when she came to visit from Chicago.

Waits patiently until all of the ballerinas and artists have departed for their classes.

I turn to him.  "Ok, show me your new accordion."

My frisky friends from the Boys and Girls Club gather round, as B opens the case to reveal a gleaming black and white instrument, resting on a bed of royal blue velvet. It really is beautiful.

B lifts the instrument from the case.

"Can you play it?" I ask.

"I have been taking lessons for two years," he says, and launches into a mini- concert.  He plays two or three songs, then allows the little guys to touch the accordion. Little fingers stroke the gleaming black, touch the myriad of white buttons.  They have lots of questions.

"Is it hard?"

"It looks heavy"

"What do these buttons do?"

B answers all of their questions, then puts his instrument away. The bus arrives and the kids are gone.

I am left, celebrating an afternoon accordion concert in the middle of the school cafeteria.

Holy ground.

SLICE OF LIFE

I am a literacy coach.

I love my job, but once in a while I wish I had my own class.

Take yesterday for example.

A perfect, perfect, perfect fall day.

Warm sun.

Blue, blue, blue sky.

Goldredorange trees. 

I am on the kindergarten playground,  refereeing the lunch recess "football game."

Mostly that means I count to ten and yell "first down" at random moments.

First down means it's someone else's turn to hold the ball while the rest of team runs from one end of the field to the other to make a touch down.

We are mid-game, when L runs screaming from the swings.

"Teacher, you have to come. You have to come come."

I follow her, wondering what I will see. These requests come often and can refer to anything from a bloody nose to a ball stuck in a tree or a child who needs to be talked down from the top of the jungle gym.

Today it is a bug.

A bright green bug.

A bright green leaf-shaped bug.

"Look teacher," says L. "Look. That leaf has legs."

I squat down next to her. Soon we are joined by four or five more kindergarten friends.

F wants to squash the bug. I tell him that we are scientists watching, and scientists don't squash bugs.

We count the legs.

F counts two.  L says, "No, there are four."

I point out the long back legs. Two pairs of shorter legs. We count again.

The group grows to ten.

K suggests we should bury the bug in wood chips.

I tell her that scientists don't bury bugs. She flicks one or two chips questioningly but stops when I give her my best teacher stink eye.

The creature jumps. Half of the kindergarten scientists run away screaming, then come back.

The group grows to 15 scientists. I wonder how the poor bug, minding its own business until a few minutes ago,  feels about being surrounded by a group of scientists.

We notice the bulging eyes. The antennae. Talk about how the bug's color and shape help it hide from predators.

I wish we had clipboards, so the scientists could make note of their observations. 

Our specimen jumps again and again, half of the scientists scream and run away.

This time our buggy friend lands on D's shoe, then proceeds to crawl up his pant leg.

D looks a little nervous, but stands perfectly still as I gently brush the creature to the ground.

The group grows to twenty.

We squat in the dirt.

Watching.

Noticing.

Wondering.

And then the bell rings.

If I had had my own class, we would have gone inside,

gotten out science journals

and written.

Because a bright green

leaf with legs,

found on the kindergarten playground

on a gloriously golden-treed,

blue sky,

autumn day

is too perfect

not to save

forever.

DOLL BONES by Holly Black

 OK, so not a whole lot of blogging going on recently. And if I'm really honest, there has not really been a whole lot of reading going on either.  I apologize-- there has been a whole lot of work going on. And a whole lot of traveling on weekends, when I might catch up on blogging, away from home.

Finally, a weekend at home, and a little time to read, after three consecutive weekends away. DOLL BONES has been in my stack for several weeks. It moved to the top of the stack this week, when one of my seventh grade friends asked me for a scary book.

Zach, Poppy, and Alice have been friends for a long, long time. For years, the trio has used dolls and  action figures to create an elaborate fantasy world, which involves queens and mermaids and pirates and all sorts of mythical creatures. The ruler of this world is the Great Queen, a bone china doll locked in a curio cabinet in Poppy's house.

It turns out that the Great Queen has a story all her own. And it's creepy, really creepy. The Great Queen was created by an Ohio china maker when his young daughter tragically died. He couldn't bear to put her ashes into the ground, so he crafted a doll, then put the little girl's ashes inside of her. And now the doll is coming to life, and wanting to be buried in her rightful place with her family. It's up to Poppy, Zach and Alice to get her there.

I expected this to be a scary book. And there definitely is that element. DOLL BONES has just enough creep factor that kids are going to love it. What I didn't expect, however, was that DOLL BONES is also a coming of age novel.  It's a novel about putting aside childhood and moving into adolescence. It's a novel about friendships between boys and girls. And it's a novel about accepting change.

DOLL BONES is a novel that I needed when I entered junior high and discovered that everyone but me was wearing makeup. And it's a novel that our seventh graders, who used to play an elaborate game of tag every single recess, but now spend their recesses leaning against the chain link fence pretending to have fun doing nothing, really need right now.

Mostly, I think it's a book that my sixth and seventh graders are absolutely going to love.