Is that a turkey in your pocket?

Pets, Slice of Life

Part of Slice of Life Tuesday Slices on Two Writing Teachers! 
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Sara told me this morning that she has a vivid memory of me stuffing animal rights flyers into the pockets of fur coats at Macy’s. Back when there were malls, so much was possible.

And I wonder what kind of messages I could stuff into what kind of pockets now.

I knew the answer to one of the Thanksgiving trivia questions at inservice yesterday. It was 46 million. 46 million turkeys are murdered each year for this holiday. The question of course was worded a little differently than that, but even with the wording, and the cute turkey clip art, I still understood what it must mean to be a turkey in November.

And I wonder if that was the one time someone might have liked having a vegan on their Thanksgiving trivia team.

I have a friend who learned to slaughter a turkey. First, she sang him a lullaby in her arms and thanked him for his life. Once I met a flock of turkeys at Farm Sanctuary. I fed them blades of grass. If I had to disguise a turkey, I’d disguise it to look like your pet dog. Or perhaps I could just disguise it with facts about how smart turkeys are, how they pass knowledge down to other turkeys, how they purr when you pet them, how they talk to their babies even before they are hatched.

And I wonder what other trauma we would be okay with disguising in a cute school project.

Uncomfortable, I know. Especially if your turkey carcass is already in your house, waiting for Thanksgiving.

School Night

Family, Slice of Life
Part of Slice of Life Tuesday Slices on Two Writing Teachers! 
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I took my son back to school tonight — fall break is over.
We talked about egoism and empathy for most of the trip. But, with five minutes of the ride left, I gave him some reminders.
I think he
really appreciated my sound bites of advice.
18 year-olds usually do.
“I get a hug!” I said, as we pulled into the parking lot, and he said, “Okay, but it has to before I grab all my stuff.”
Spoiler alert: I gave him one hug before
and one after.
Plus, as he crossed the street, I yelled,
”Goodbye! I love you!”
And he said it return.
I win!
I drove back, betrayed Sheetz for a
Wawa coffee stop —
which I like better, I have to admit, Wawa coffee.
Maybe it’s nostalgia, I don’t know.
Now I’m home,
in time for bed.
I’m hoping the melatonin wins against the coffee
on this school night.





There Are Leaves Crumbling All Over

Reflections on teaching, Slice of Life
Part of Slice of Life Tuesday Slices on Two Writing Teachers! 
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There are leaves crumbling all over the tabletop
and I love it
but
this morning I balanced a box of capybara squishies
as my coffee dripped all over the top of my lunchbox
just so I could swipe my ID, open a door —
but
I love it

Teaching is an odd thing to do with your time
today I told someone to stop talking about milk
so they could finish their breakfast of apple juice poured on cinnamon Chex
The things you never even thought of to think you’d never say, you know?
One year I had to tell my sixth graders that we do not form cults in middle school
So far, there have been no talk of cults in second grade.
Instead we talk a lot about Star Behavior—
but
I love it.

Today I had to stop science because too many 7 and 8 year olds yelled,
“It’s a magnet!” And ruined the
aha!
for half the class.
We had a
short
class meeting where we talked about the
big
feelings we had from not getting to figure things out ourselves, and I reminded them that we all make mistakes, no need to say
“Thanks a lot!” to friends in a way that means
everything but
thank you.
After that we celebrated finishing our read aloud
I handed out capybara squishies
to a chorus of “You’re the best teacher ever.”
and we lined up to go home

Awhile later as I was leaving my classroom
I passed our community art table
and saw that the leaves were still crumbling all over the tabletop
but more were glued in place
a scene was starting to be set
I hope it is a metaphor
and
I love it.

38 years and 14 minutes

poetry, Slice of Life
Part of Slice of Life Tuesday Slices on Two Writing Teachers!
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when I was 9
the summer after fourth-grade
I moved far away
heartbroken to leave my best friend
We met, you know, when I was 3 and she was 4.
she hid in her car sobbing
while we packed the moving truck in my driveway
I rode away sobbing
kept sobbing every night of fifth-grade
that was almost 40 years ago
Would it make me seem younger if I said that was over 30 years ago?
38 years
between then and now
I moved back
we went to college together
she moved away
there have been visits
phone calls
FaceTimes
and today as I drove
14 minutes from my house
to help unpack her moving truck
here
Just 14 minutes from my house.
I wondered two things
Would it help if I could tell 9 year-old me it’s going to be okay – What’s a
few decades and miles between old friends. Also be patient.
and
hear me out here
What is it that my future self wants to tell my today self will be okay?


A Slice of Where?

poetry, Slice of Life
Part of Two Writing Teachers’ Slice of Life.
I’m writing on as many Tuesdays as I can… join me!

Where does your writing come from?

Sometimes
I catch a line
a phrase
something someone
says
or sometimes some
rhymes
sometimes
my fingers
wiggle
Wiggle?
Do real writers use words like wiggle?
Would you prefer
joggle
squirm
jiggle?
My fingers want to
write
so they move
hopping
hoping a keyboard materializes
by the time my brain realizes
how to possibly process
what made me laugh
or cry or
most
maybe most likely
made me angry
one day I’ll write about the breeze that
floats through the trees in my backyard
makes you believe those people who talk to trees
I’ll find a way to describe the bird songs so
you hear them
the way they interrupt each other
just in time
so the short quick repeating
chirp chirp chirp chirps don’t act like an alarm
but a melody
until then
I’ll just notice things,
my fingers will
joggle
I’ll write the words when
I can catch them.

What is 22?

Family

22 is one more than 21
that big important birthday everyone gets all excited about
but you don’t even really like to drink
you’d rather make tea which you keep adding bags and more water to for hours
before heading off to bed

22 is 2 elevens
which is, you know
middle school
not anyone’s finest hour, but somehow you were still you
not still the quiet preschooler,
not yet the confident young woman
just sweet enough to get away with the snippy of early adolescence

22 is 11 twos
two they call terrible
but you were mostly just the
most adorable you could ever imagine
with those cute red stripes on your pajamas
and the curl of your hair
your voice figuring out all the words
and you already loving to draw and make playdoh creations
mostly with Granny
You did always want a banana as a bed time snack, which you wanted to peel yourself, but couldn’t.
“Nin nana!” You would demand. You called yourself Nin.
I guess I remember a few terrible tantrums about that. I used to try to sneak help you – digging my nail into the place right under the banana stem and praying you didn’t notice
You mostly noticed.
Like you noticed if I started to fall asleep reading about Charlie Mouse in the Richard Scary book we read every night.
“You made a mistake!” You’d laugh at me, and for some reason that became a demand for the book. You wanted me to make a mistake, or the book wasn’t worth reading anymore.

22 is 22 ones
when you were one you toddled around
nursed to sleep each night
probably waking up
a lot – remember you were a backwards sleeping baby
Slept through the night until 4 months or so, and then never again as a baby
you talked
somewhere I have a list of all the words you said at that age
”mo,” when you wanted more, and
at some point that year you started calling grapes “erdeps.”
“Nin, mo erdeps?”

22 is 1 twenty-two
Makes no sense
because you were just a baby
doing that baby elbow stretch
in your zip up pajamas
attached to me all day
and now you are this actual grown up
a friend
who makes me tea
and makes me proud

Part of Slice of Life Tuesday Slices on Two Writing Teachers! Join in and write on Tuesdays!



What Do You Notice?

poetry

What do you notice on a spring
afternoon
after school?
Of course I noticed flowering trees
in splendid pinks that if painted would be critiqued
not realistic enough
the grass is green
It’s spring
the grass is long
I need to mow

Also the clerk at Trader Joe’s said
“Awww
I’m going to miss you-
I liked talking to you”
as she loaded my last bag in my cart
handed me my receipt
and I thought that even though my teens don’t
exactly like to chat
at least someone likes talking to me

I saw people drive by in a Volkswagen convertible beetle
top down
in the front seat was an older man
holding a wooden pirate ship
almost exactly matching one
my son got at an antique store years ago
that my other son recently took a picture of
on top of an amazon box
to use as a metaphor for a school assignment
and I thought that if someone is trying to send me a sign
with pirate ships
that is kind of confusing

On my walk through the park there was a kid
maybe eight years old
scooting his scooter around the track
staring up at the blue sky
there were clouds — but the pretty kind
He exclaimed
“This
is
America!”
at least I thought he did
I was listening to my audiobook

What do you notice on a spring
afternoon
after school?

This is April and today’s poetry was inspired by Ethical ELA’s Things to do: Write a Poem

Recess in Color

poetry

There’s so much brown mulch
Mulch stays on the ground, friends.
but there are little piles of mulch
on swings and slides
hidden in the crevices of the climbing logs
The logs are brown too
wood on wood is hard to see
but there are little piles of mulch

The gray track winds
around
crosses over the blacktop
and back down
a baby hill
Yes you can walk the track, friends.

Later we will line up to go inside,
along the black fence
For now jackets gather there
because it’s spring
Aren’t you cold, friends?
no matter the temperature they will take their coats off
when the sun is shining in April

That’s where the color starts to pop
Make sure you get your coats on the way in, friends!
purple jacket on the ground
a red sleeve
peeking out from under
a blue coat slung over the fence
a green hood
hanging on

It’s April, and I’m trying to write poetry. This is inspired by EthicalELA Color in Nature

Up Ahead

poetry

Up ahead
I saw a tree with
blooming branches
hanging over the sidewalk
I thought
there’s a tree
a spring tree
with blooming branches
just hanging over the sidewalk
and then I searched
for more blooms
the forsythia are ending
it seems
but there are buds
on trees
to marvel at
and that
blooming tree
up ahead


It’s April! That means, Poetry!