Conversations and Memories-xtranormal

Here is the link for my xtranormal video. The write one!!!

Hope you enjoy it.

Whew! We lived through July!!!!!!
Blessings on the rest of your summer, fleeting though it will be.

Cheers,
Sharron
hoodlum
smuldoon

Just got this e-mail-What a great example of writing!!

Subject: BEATING A DEAD HORSE

The tribal wisdom of the Dakota Indians, passed on from generation to generation, says that,

"When you discover that you are riding a dead horse, the best strategy is to dismount."

However, in government, education, and in corporate America, more advanced strategies are often employed, such as:

1. Buying a stronger whip.

2. Changing riders.

3. Appointing a committee to study the horse.

4. Arranging to visit other countries to see how other cultures ride dead horses.

5. Lowering the standards so that dead horses can be included.

6. Reclassifying the dead horse as living-impaired.

7. Hiring outside contractors to ride the dead horse.

8. Harnessing several dead horses together to increase speed.

9. Providing additional funding and/or training to increase dead
horse's performance.

10. Doing a productivity study to see if lighter riders would improve the dead horse's performance.

11. Declaring that as the dead horse does not have to be fed, it is less costly, carries lower overhead and therefore contributes substantially more to the bottom line of the economy than do some other horses.

12. Rewriting the expected performance requirements for all horses.

And of course....

13. Promoting the dead horse to a supervisory position.

Don’t forget:

Establishing the dead horse category as a disadvantaged minority with concomitant entitlements

Calling dead horses an endangered species, and encouraging the shooting of live horses to increase the dead horse population

Pointing out through a vigorous media campaign that dead horses suffer greatly and unfairly from global warming, justifying further expenditures to benefit Al Gore

Awarding a Nobel Prize to the pioneer that raises the consciousness of the public to the plight of dead horses

100% us

Subject: 100% us Poem Challenge
Personally, I want to add another 100% for Encouragers, at least as far am I am concerned. Thank you all for blessing me with your gifts.

Writer-18
Reader-11
Researcher-7
Questioner-12
Teacher-5
Thinker-9
Learner-10
Pot-luckers-3
Laughers-13
Hikers
[Coffee drinkers]
[Teach drinkers]
Drinkers
Copy cats
Warrior-poets
Vulnerable
Standers on giants
Poster-makers-3
Bloggers-12
Worriers

The dog ate my NAEP blog (not really)

The NAEP article we read early on in the class discussed Process Writing and shared some amazing statistics about how students benefit from pre-writing and writing more than one draft. My favorite quote is, "Students of teachers who always encourage particular elements of process writing, such as planning and defining purpose and audience, were found to be generally better writers than students of teachers who reportedly never encourage these activities" thus underpinning many of the other articles we have read in class. Yest another reason for using Writer's workshop this fall. Some solid stats for administrators and parents as well.

Conversations and Memories-xtranormal

One liner

Some seed words are taken in, evaluated and then spit our - too bitter or too hard; some I share are easily swallowed by others, luscious and sweet.

Digital Story-Memories of our Dad

http://www.xtranormal.com/watch/12332021/peepz-movie?listid=24778814

Project #3-rough Draft-Self-exploration, a reflection in writings

Project 3

All about me

prose and poetry reflections from workshop writing prompts and personal memoirs.

1. I used to think

2. Where I am from

3. Response to nature

4. Profound adventure-Turning on light bulbs

5. First Literacy Moment

6. When I am listened to

I used to think…but now I think… and I still wonder about…

I used to think that who I was as a person did not impact my teaching very much. I kind of thought of myself as a teacher, a wife, a mom, just another hat I wore on a daily basis. Now I think (and I know from experience) that who I am as a person highly impacts my teaching persona and my style of teaching/relating with students. I still wonder about how my evolving as a person has a bearing on my struggle each semester to create the perfect writing class, find the perfect textbook, and create the perfect syllabus.

The Palmer text provided much food for thought and ignited deep self-reflection for me. The whole concept of teaching and a community, and also the concept of leaving space for learning and responding really spoke to me. I feel uncomfortable with the silences because I am such a talker, but I also know from my understanding of learning styles that some students need processing time, reflecting time before they can respond to a question I have asked or a concept that is shared. Love the book for all of the above reasons!

My take away from this book is: listen more, don’t be afraid to be myself, give students time and space to think and respond. Change my focus from the student focus to facilitating writers as they are writing.

Where I am from

I am from landscape painting, from colander and zip drive.
I am from the aspen ridge ranch.
I am from the roses.
The stately, solid blue spruce whose long gone limbs I remember as if they were my own. And whose branches protected my sisters bird’s nest science project-I chose to freeze and fry earthworms.
I’m from cooking together and corny sense of humor, from Dan and David and Matt.
I'm from wordsmithing and staying at the ocean cabin and from elf clues on Christmas gifts.
I'm from eating dirty tomatoes and asking for salt afterward
and now I lay me down to sleep.
I’m from summer bar b ques.
I'm from Downers Grove and the Impetuous Irish and peanut butter balls.
From my Mom losing her underwear as she walked across a busy street in Chicago because she was pregnant and her undies slid below her belly. She simply walked out of them and kept going. From scattered boxes and loving, cherished scrapbooks.

Now the land I grew up on has become a paved parking lot. The paver did leave the large, stately, monolith of life, the blue spruce tree, now surrounded by gray asphalt. What night have become of the house if it were still standing? Why did our parish priest, who bought this house, tell my widowed mother that he was going to use the house as a youth house? Why did he lie to her, and therefore to my sister and I? How do we forgive him? My sister and I never had a chance to go through the house and clear out our childhood connections, filaments of warmth, love, safety, still connected as the bulldozer ravaged our home. Perhaps a loving family, as ours was, would live there now, basking in the laughter on the ceiling and the memories on the kitchen linoleum.

Response to Nature

I spent a lot of time outside. Playing with the twins next door, badminton, I love the smell of sunshine on my skin, we went to nearby lake and beaches in the summer-Wauconda beach, Crystal Lake, smells of suntan lotion, stink of mosquito spray from the truck that fogged out neighborhoods each summer twice a week... What on earth did we inhale back then? I remember liking my arm to taste it-horrible! Probably poison for me. Getting a tomato out of the garden, eating it (never thought of washing it off) and then coming in side to ask my dad for some salt (he tells the story, not in my personal memory bank) I asked him for some salt. He asked me what for. I said because I just ate a tomato.

Long hedges of pink peonies, smelling so fabulous and full of ants (I discovered when I brought some in for mom and put them in a vase on the kitchen table and lilacs-large vases full of fragrance and more ants. Lightening bugs.

Hear crickets, birds at least three different ones, water flowing against a rock. Frogs,

Evergreen trees, water flowing, shrubs, dead trees, different kinds of bark, lodge pole pine, grass along the water’s edge.

My response to the outdoors:

The fresh air, inhabited by insects

Food for fish and fowl

Calls of crickets, frogs, birds,

Consistent, constant, evergreen trees,

Lodge pole pine

Reproduce only by fire

Grass along the water’s edge

Relax, refresh, revive, renew, and rekindle

I feel most at home at the ocean; the sounds of the waves crashing stir music within me. The shine of the sun on the water’s surface brings light to my sprit. Whenever I spend time at the ocean I am refreshed, made new again stilled. At the little house we rent each summer, I throw open the windows of the bedroom to listen to the waves rock my soul to sleep each night. I am never more relaxed than then. As a Christian, I thrive on sitting on the beach reading my bible. As a wife and mom I thrive on walking on the beach with my family by my side. A favorite photo of mine shows the profiles of my sons and me with the beach and ocean as background. That photo reveals me in a way.

Many of our family memories are built around the ocean, but also camping and hiking experiences we have shared. I never outgrow my need for relationship with my hubby and grown sons. I never outgrow my need to being outdoors and enjoying the beauty around me. So many memories coarse through my mind right now, like a turbo slide show. I stop everything, kick back, close my eyes and just enjoy the show!

Don’t try to avoid the rocks! Bump into them; bounce off of them. Becoming aware of what your obstacles are allows you to find solutions. Because I could not see around each bend in the path, I had no ideas how steep the trail was, how rocky the surface or how long I would have to climb to get to the top. A little scared and timid, I planted my walking sticks and pushed on because my husband was with me and it was a gorgeous day in Glacier, perfect for exploring and getting some exercise. Besides, my husband loves hiking so very much and mountain climbing even more. The colors of the rocks along Avalanche Creek reminded me of water colors-these were God’s watercolors. Stopping to catch my breath, I spoke words of encouragement and friendliness to those passing us up, younger adults, and families with small kids on parents’ backs, some runners actually running up this trail!!! As we neared to top, those who had already conquered the trial came towards us, encouraging and letting us know that we were “almost there”. That can have many different meanings-compared to what-maybe in your opinion-what do you really mean??? But oh the joy as we wind around the last clump of rock and pine trees. The view takes your breath away. I have heard this often, but it was really true this time. The view of several waterfalls on the cliffs on across the lake did leave me breathless. The rocks I traversed and conquered brought me to new heights-pun intended! As we are hiking back down the trail, I am the one encouraging others that “it is worth it!” or “you are almost there”.

Profound Adventure-Turning on Light Bulbs

Each semester I take my students to the Gonzaga library for orientation. Kelly Jenks is an incredible walking documentation resource. She engages my students wins their hearts, guides them through inquiry process as they are deciding on their 10 page paper topics, and leaves her heart open for them to return as they need any further helps. The first class I brought on the odyssey to Kelly drank deeply from her fathomless wells of kindness, humor, insight, information and encouragement. One student, James volunteered to be part of her demo about finding pertinent sources on the school’s data bank of academic journals, etc. Since that encounter, James has come to me many times over the past four years, thanking me for teaching him how to write. I cannot take the credit; I think Kelly instilled a confidence in him that permanently flipped a switch in his self-assurance. While I did encourage him a lot during the semester, Kelly deposited in him in a three hour tour a belief in his own abilities and capabilities that remains undaunted and aflame. How wonderful to have the gift of feedback from a grateful students.

First Literacy Moment

My teacher, Sister Judy, was writing on the blackboard (black) and I understood what the words meant for the first time.

Svieta, age 12, for the first time understood what she was reading, although she could read out loud flawlessly in her darling Slavic accent. We are born with the yearning to learn; even in the womb we take in information, respond to stimuli around us, listen to our mother’s hear beat and connect with her, physically as well as emotionally. We have already begun to bond with another human. Immediately, a child learns a gargantuan amount of information in those first couple of months and years of life. At each learning, a light bulb goes on in the child and builds who the child is, in a way. Failure to thrive-under stimulated babies who have not been held. We offer our minds to be held by others as they teach us. Each light bulb of learning pushes another pump of air into our brains, like an old fashioned bicycle pump plumps up a deflated tire. Svieta’s light bulb of comprehension created in her a brightness, a freedom, a broadness, an exploration, an adventure, a birthing, a beginning, and new prompt to be expanded and pondered. See quote right below:

“We are wired with the ability to learn to write.” Emig

“Don’t require an outline – offer them various ways to pre-write instead and let them choose their favorite, most comfortable organizational/pre-writing tool” the Emig article’s banner or headline relieves me of the burden of requiring a structured outline. Thank you! Emig’s article also challenged me to actually write at the same time that I am asking my students to write. What a concept! Plus the article actually hinted at an advantage older writers might have-I look forward to exploring that

I have rocks to climb over right now, as hurdles for a track and field runner: time, overcommittme4nt, getting my workshop ready, finishing online class I am teaching, finishing assessment results, getting ready for fall classes, etc., etc., etc.

When I am listened to

How do I feel when I am listened to? Since my love language is focused attention, my love tank requires being listened to. Having someone take time out of their far too busy day to listen to me is like therapy. I have a few friends who are consummate experts at this. Anni listens with such gentility it brings out my fragility and I often feeling like crying in response to how powerful, calming, engulfing love that comes through her voice, eyes and fathomless heart. Janice listens to me as a sounding board, offering a listening ear, but often advice and rarely comfort. Yet I know she loves me deeply. Marsha listens to me with a pastoral heart, looking out for my good especially when I have chosen to ignore the red flags within me. Marsha puts a spotlight on the cautions and concerns she feels for me and gently guides me away from the precipice. My husband struggles to really listen to me without trying to fix things, so I don’t tell him a lot of things that trouble me. I kind of protect him from having to carry that part of me. Being listened to is like filling up my soul’s gas tank with love and approval. I guess when I am really listened to I feel validate, valued and victorious. When I am not listened to I wilt and shrink and wither. If I did not have so many listeners in this class these four weeks would be insufferable for my psyche. Anni share about the spotlight of caring when helping someone through a crisis. Don’t say I know how you feel, don’t tell them you correlating story, but keep the spotlight of caring on him or her and be an active listener, sometimes giving words for them to choose from if they are having trouble expressing their feelings, thoughts, angst. People say such thoughtlessly hurtful things at funerals and turn the spotlight of caring on themselves, really, because they feel awkward and don’t’ know what to say. Just listen to the person, or say I am so sorry, and just hug them. Words from us are for later, for now the griever just needs to know she/he is not alone, we care, we love and we carry his/her heart in our loving hands. What a gift to give some else-to truly, fully listen and not give answers, advice, lift and eyebrow, roll the eyes, sigh, interrupt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But just listen and hold their heart in your hands. In our marriage courses we give each spouse a cardboard red heart to hold as they listen to their spouse, without comment, but with open eyes and ears. Then they exchange.

Being OUtdoors When I was a Kid

I spent a lot of time outside. Playing with the twins next door, badminton, I love the smell of sunshine on my skin, we went to nearby lake and beaches in the summer-Wauconda beach, Crystal Lake, smells of suntan lotion, stink of mosquito spray from the truck that fogged out neighborhoods each summer twice a week... What on earth did we inhale back then? I remember liking my arm to taste it-horrible! Probably poison for me. Getting a tomato out of the garden, eating it (never thought of washing it off) and then coming in side to ask my dad for some salt (he tells the story, not in my personal memory bank) I asked him for some salt. He asked me what for. I said because I just ate a tomato.

Long hedges of pink peonies, smelling so fabulous and full of ants (I discovered when I brought some in for mom and put them in a vase on the kitchen table0 and lilacs-large vases full of fragrance and more ants. Lightening bugs.

When I am listened to...

How do I feel when I am listened to? Since my love language is focused attention, my love tank requires being listened to. Having someone take time out of their far too busy day to listen to me is like therapy. I have a few friends who are consummate experts at this. Anni listens with such gentility it brings out my fragility and I often feeling like crying in response to how powerful, calming, engulfing love that comes through her voice, eyes and fathomless heart. Janice listens to me as a sounding board, offering a listening ear, but often advice and rarely comfort. Yet I know she loves me deeply. Marsha listens to me with a pastoral heart, looking out for my good especially when I have chosen to ignore the red flags within me. Marsha puts a spotlight on the cautions and concerns she feels for me and gently guides me away from the precipice. My husband struggles to really listen to me without trying to fix things, so I don’t tell him a lot of things that trouble me. I kind of protect him from having to carry that part of me. Being listened to is like filling up my soul’s gas tank with love and approval. I guess when I am really listened to I feel validate, valued and victorious. When I am not listened to I wilt and shrink and wither. If I did not have so many listeners in this class these four weeks would be insufferable for my psyche. Anni share about the spotlight of caring when helping someone through a crisis. Don’t say I know how you feel, don’t tell them you correlating story, but keep the spotlight of caring on him or her and be an active listener, sometimes giving words for them to choose from if they are having trouble expressing their feelings, thoughts, angst. People say such thoughtlessly hurtful things at funerals and turn the spotlight of caring on themselves, really, because they feel awkward and don’t’ know what to say. Just listen to the person, or say I am so sorry, and just hug them. Words for us are for later, for know the griever just needs to know she/he is not alone, we care, we love and we carry his/her heart in our loving hands. What a gift to give some else-to truly, fully listen and not give answers, advice, lift and eyebrow, roll the eyes, sight, interrupt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But just listen and hold their heart in your hands.

What He Could Do

Dad-polish jokes in his pocket

Cook dinner for us girls, but all in one pot

Mow the lawn after his heart attack on a riding mower,

Handkerchief triangle around his head,

Roller skate when I was in eighth grade,

Go from a size fourteen neck on his wedding day to only wearing wife beater shirts in the summer.

Winning state roller skating championship. First met when he asked her to skate-

She was the newbie-and they won first prize that night.

Care for his sisters rather than going to war,

Grandpa to Jeff, but gone too soon for my sons.

Pochy Frankron. (His sons-in-law’s affectionate nickname. His real name was Franky Pochron). Gave me his sense of humor, physique, quick wit, singing voice, and propensity to put on weight. TV, Swiss cheese, a quart of beer per night-pabst blue ribbon-.

I don’t remember much interaction between my parents

Visually, but I knew they loved each other somehow.

Mom did the garden, dad mowed the lawn, he cooked, and she cleaned.

I used to describe my parents as complimentary angels, completing one another, Dan and I do that now.

Never heard my parents fight, never heard them make up,

So I thought Dan and I would never argue

And when we did I assumed it was my fault

Eight grade roller skating party-

He stepped onto the floor

After almost twenty year, did a spread eagle,

Took my hands and skated backwards

With such grace and ease,

Even with his pot belly

From Swiss cheese and a quart of beer each night.

Was my father proud of me?