In the midst of classroom unpacking chaos, between bouts of frantic worry and frenzied optimism, a page from a book appeared on my classroom floor. I picked it up. Hmmmm. Where had that come from? After reading through it, I was pretty sure it had come from a copy of “The Phantom Tollbooth” (which, I’m embarrassed to say, I’ve never read though it’s now in my towering TBR pile.) I did know enough to recognize the character names: the Humbug and Milo. Knowing I didn’t have a copy of that book in my classroom, I figured that at some past point, I’d probably rescued a few pages from a discarded copy and intended it for some blackout poetry. I tucked the stray page in my bag.
Days later, at home, that page tumbled out of my bag with a mess of other papers. Always willing to indulge in a bit of procrastination, I decided to try a blackout poem. Once I found the poem, I transformed it into a Zentangle–a first for me. The resulting poem surprised me a bit. I will say that regardless of how this poem sounds, I really am looking forward to being with my new class. My worries are based in a wider world.
Graceful sky Sunlight leafslid dropped luminous clear and close
Ahead and soon serious difficulties continual crashing wild dashing
Last Tuesday, I stopped by our school to see how things were going with revamping the modular classrooms for this fall. Last spring we’d been asked to check the space and create a list of items that needed to be repaired, added, removed, etc. It was a fairly extensive list, ranging from minor items to must-haves to wishful thinking. We left for the summer knowing materials (cubbies with storage, book shelves, etc.) had been ordered and should be installed over the summer.
Unfortunately,I found out Tuesday, the long and short of it is that no one really remembered the list (you know–summer break, retiring secretary, travel, oh and that pandemic thing). So, no one had followed up on this spring’s order. ..until this past Monday when they called the furniture company to be told, “Oh. Um. That order. Hold on a sec…….um… Yeah. That order. So. Um. That order is um…Oh, yeah! It’s shipping on Wednesday.”
Hmmmm….
After getting that news, I walked out to see the classroom to check things out. As noted, there are no cubbies. There is no classroom shelving of any kind, and no in-class storage. There is a closet though with plenty of shelves, and there are student desks. The path to the building has been paved and there’s a newly paved learning area outside the backdoor. All bright spots in a panicky sea of “OMG, how am I going to be ready for school on time!?”
I left, hoping for the best, and returned on Friday with a very simple plan. I headed out to my new classroom knowing that I wouldn’t be able to do too much.
I’ll just get my head in the space and get my desk organized. That will be a good start!
As I expected, nothing had changed in the intervening days. Chairs were stacked. Desks were double stacked in the corner. There was a left-over computer monitor on one table and some large mysterious objects that clearly were waiting to be mounted…somewhere.
Ok. Focus. You knew you couldn’t do much. Remember, your goal is just to get your desk organized. Just that one thing. So…Deep breath. Desk.
I looked around.
Where’s my desk?
I looked around again.
Ok. There has to be a desk here somewhere.
I slowly turned, scanning the room.
OMG! Where’s my desk?Where’s my desk? Where’s my desk?
I looked up, down, all over. To be honest, there weren’t many places to look, but I kept trying. Finally, I had to face facts.
There is no desk here.
I took a deep breath and then another. Then I went in search of our fabulous custodian, Nicole. I knew they’d been down one person all summer and were working all out to get the school ready. I tried to keep that in mind. Then I begged a little. Or maybe a lot.
“If you get a chance…”
“As soon as possible…”
“You’d be saving my life…”
Nicole assured me she’d do her best, and I walked back into my classroom, thinking hard.
Ok. So, you can’t organize your desk. But, hey! Look! There’s a file cabinet. You can get your files organized.
So, I pushed aside a big box labeled something along the lines of “Last box. Mish Mash. You’re going to regret this next fall!” and opened up a few smaller boxes labeled “Files.” I placed file by file into the top drawer, slowly regaining my equilibrium.
See. It’s all good. This has to happen, too. You’ll get a desk in the next day or so. (read this in the sing-song tone of a parent talking down a child who is on the brink of losing her s!%t!)
Then, I reached to open the bottom drawer. I pulled. Nothing happened. I pulled again. It didn’t budge.
Now what?!?
I looked closer.
What!?
Running out of the bottom drawer of the file cabinet were two thick electrical cords. They were wedged in the closed drawer and try though I might, I couldn’t get the drawer open.
What was in there, anyway!?
I pushed. I pulled. I maybe swore a little.
None of that worked.
Clearly I wasn’t going to be able to use this file cabinet.
So, I e-mailed Nicole.
After sending the e-mail, I took another deep breath. I looked around the room. I opened a few boxes and moved them closer to possible future destinations.
Should I just leave and come back next week? Is there any point in being here? Maybe I could get the new schedule printed out…”
Rattle. Rattle. Rattle.
My head popped up.
Click.
The door slowly opened.
Nicole, haloed by backlight, entered the room pushing a large dolly… clunkclunkclunk.
And there, strapped down on the dolly, like an answer to a prayer, was an upended teacher desk!
(I may have hummed the “Hallelujah Chorus!” under my breath.)
“Oh, my Gosh! A desk! You are the best! Thank you, Nicole! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
I rushed over to help and together we manhandled the desk into the spot I desired. Nicole strapped up the dolly and got ready to leave.
“OMG, Nicole!” I gushed! “Thank you so much! You know what this is like?” The words spilled out of me in a rush. “It’s like when you’re moving to a new house and there are boxes everywhere and everything is in turmoil, but you get your bed put together and made and you know that no matter what, you’re going to be able to go to bed that night. So, everything will be ok. And that’s just how I feel right now. Just like that! ” I ran my hands along the top of the desk, practically dancing around it. “Oh!Thank you soooooo much!”
Nicole laughed and maybe stepped cautiously just a little bit farther away. But I didn’t notice for sure. Because I was already sitting down, pulling boxes closer, and getting ready to get my desk in order.
Everything is going to be all right. Just get your desk organized. Just that one thing.
Just this morning I wrote in my notebook that I wanted to play more when I was writing poetry. I realized that I miss writing whimsical verse–poems that are light-hearted, silly and fun. I thought about revisiting some Ogden Nash or maybe some Shel Silverstein to look for some mentor texts. Then, reality intruded, and I had to stop writing and head to school to try to move into my new classroom.
As I unpacked boxes and flipped through files, I unearthed a copy of a poem I dimly remembered writing for my students when I was teaching either first or second grade. I can’t remember why I wrote it, much less why it was copied onto a transparency sheet. (Remember those!?) Parts of the poem had worn away during its long sojourn in the forgotten folder, but I decided to quickly revise it and share today. It was fun to work on something a bit lighter!
The Glizard
The Shoe-Stealing Glizard is a rare beast to see. He creeps about stealthily, trying to be as quiet as shadows shifting around, searching for grub without making a sound.
His name tells the story. It gives him away. He’s hunting for shoes. All the night! All the day! He’s not very choosy about what he eats. He adores cowboy boots and even old cleats!
He takes red shoes and green ones and big ones and small. The size doesn’t matter, not one bit at all. He just loves the taste, the crunch and the munch. He can eat ten at once, and that’s just for lunch!
If your sneakers are stinky and dripping with gunk, why to him, that’s a treat, a delicious Ker-plunk! He’ll dip them in milk and then with a slurp he’ll gobble them up, finish up with a burp.
So when you can’t find your shoe or its mate, keep your eyes open, but it might be too late. It could be the case, I’m sorry to say, that the Shoe-Stealing Glizard has wandered your way!
Molly Hogan, draft
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Carol at her blog, The Apples in My Orchard. She’s sharing a lesson about “I am” poems with all sorts of links to poets and poems.
As always, my garden has been a great source of joy and comfort to me this summer. I highly recommend spending the last days of summer lingering in your garden, or any garden, and looking closely.
Close Reading in the Garden
In the midst of garden glory one zinnia blazes gold limned by garden green Its single stalk, leaf-laden, supports the showcase blossom Spiraling taffeta whorl draws the eye inward to dawning curled petals a whimsy of bright suns circling the heart of it all hidden treasure for the attentive
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Christie at Wondering and Wandering. She’s sharing a beautiful community poem about what poetry is, created by lines contributed by her poetry workshop participants and the Poetry Friday community. I, sadly, didn’t manage to get my ducks in a row in time to participate, but was wowed by the final product. Be sure to check it out!
“I just don’t get it,” my husband said, looking completely puzzled. “They’re driving over an hour round trip to get bagels?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, barely refraining from adding, “Duh!”
Kurt shook his head again. He’ll eat the odd bagel and enjoy it, but he really doesn’t understand bagel love. We think he’s missing out. I mean, the man is a bit clueless about carbohydrates. He simply doesn’t get it. It’s sad really.
On this particular morning, Lydia and Sophie, her friend, had headed out on a quick road trip to pick up fresh bagels. This isn’t an uncommon occurrence in our house, as we’re a bit obsessed with bagels. When we’re not eating them, we’re often thinking about them and when and where we might get them next. We have our ear to the rumor mill, listening for tips on great bagel spots. We are not too proud to say that we have a strong emotional attachment to our bagels.
While waiting for the girls to return, I recalled my discussion with Lydia from the day before. It started when I commented to her, “You know, there’s bagel rage, right? “
As we embarked on a lengthy discussion about this, we realized there are actually seven deadly sins of bagels.
First, there’s bagel greed. The wanting of more, moRE, MORE bagels, not to mention the potential for a bit of hoarding.
Then, there’s bagel wrath. As I said, we actually prefer to call this bagel rage. Like when someone takes the last bagel, or they take the toaster right when you were about to use it. It can get a bit dicey at these times! Don’t forget that where there are bagels, there are probably knives. (You thought all those ER bagel visits were from bagel slicing mishaps? Don’t be so sure!) Also, don’t even ask about what happens when we encounter subpar bagels.
Next, there’s bagel envy. You look at the other person’s bagel, and it doesn’t have as big a whole in it, or maybe it simply looks better. Or maybe they got the last everything bagel and only plain ones are left.
Bagel gluttony needs no explanation. Around here, we just call this bagel enjoyment. We don’t stand for bagel shaming in our household!
Bagel sloth can be a problem. It typically occurs after you’ve indulged in too much bagel gluttony. Like maybe you have just eaten the third bagel of the day and you start to feel a little less energetic than ideal. You might even resort to a quick bagel nap. It’s been known to happen.
Bagel pride is when you start showing off how great your bagel looks. Perfectly toasted, chewy perfection. Flaunting can happen and has been known to cause bagel rage.
“Here they are,” Kurt called, interrupting my thoughts.
Finally!
As the girls unloaded the bagels, I was practically drooling. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on one of those luscious bagels. Which clearly brings me to the final deadly sin: Bagel lust. It’s pretty self-explanatory, I suppose. It’s a regular phenomenon around here, but we prefer to refer to it as bagel love. We have no idea why it’s considered a deadly sin.
This month our writing group changed its name to Inklings, and Catherine challenged us to write an ekphrastic poem. She suggested writing in response to an illustration in a wordless picture book, but left the prompt open for us to choose other illustrations, photos or artwork. Catherine was inspired by the current wordless picture book exhibit at the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art. (I’m supremely jealous that she was able to visit this exhibit in person, but those of us further afield can still get a sneak peek here.)
I had a tough time deciding what image to use. I checked out the Eric Carle exhibit highlights and also ran through books in my mind: The Girl and the Bicycle, A Boy a Dog and a Frog, Sector 7, etc. But even though it wasn’t wordless, my thoughts kept returning to one of my favorite picture books, Miss Rumphius, and to this picture in particular:
illustration from Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney
Miss Rumphius, set on the coast of Maine, has long been a favorite in our family for the heartwarming story and the wonderful, often familiar, illustrations. Barbara Cooney, the author/illustrator, was a local resident in the last town we lived in. She was a familiar site around town, a slight woman with her long white hair braided into a coronet upon her head. She occasionally read aloud to children at the library.
In the late 1990s, Ms. Cooney was instrumental in funding the new town library. In addition to donating a significant sum of money, she allowed the library to sell numbered prints of the above illustration from Miss Rumphius. We scraped together the money to purchase one, and it’s been hanging on our wall ever since. No doubt that’s a big reason why the picture came to mind and wouldn’t leave. I gave in to the inevitable.
Knowing the story so well, I wondered how to respond creatively to something already so imbued with meaning for me. How could I separate the illustration from the story? Did I need to? While pondering and looking at the illustration, my eye was drawn over and over to Miss Rumphius’s hand, reaching out to touch a lupine. I went with that focus.
The Lupine Lady Contemplates
Her hand supplicates brushes the delicacy of a single blossom considering her legacy as she the creator approaches her end
This week’s Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted by Mary Lee Hahn at A(nother) Year of Reading (here). She’s sharing a rich villanelle and an invitation/reminder to contribute a line for Christie Wyman’s Roundup next week.
P.S. While writing this post, I discovered some things I hadn’t known: Barbara Cooney donated the illustrations for the book to Bowdoin College, lupine isn’t native to Maine and Miss Rumphius is based on a real person! Long ago, there really was a woman, though her name was Hilda Edwards, who planted lupine seeds all around Christmas Cove, Maine. She was clearly the inspiration for this wonderful story and you can read more about her here.
photo of coastal Maine lupine from Down East Magazine
After my first rowing experience (here), I was eager for another opportunity to get on the water. When Peter, our local rowing guru, offered another row this past Friday, I quickly signed up and showed up ready to go at 8 am. It was another all-woman crew. Two of us had been together last time and two were new to this adventure.
Peter gave a quick introduction and then we were out on the water. Learning to row, trying to pull all the pieces together in a coordinated way, is an interesting process. Posture, hold, stroke, rhythm. It’s a lot to remember! There’s also a whole new range of vocabulary to consider. As a group of four inexperienced rowers, we were trying to figure it all out in real time. Managing the oar and keeping time to a rhythm set by someone else (the “stroke”)is challenging. Initially, we struggled to find our rhythm. The boat moved along jerkily. We reset. Tried again. Peter gave some tips. We smiled and laughed.
Beautiful morning. Low stakes. Good times.
My focus was intent on my oar–keeping it in place, stroking in rhythm, not putting it too deep in the water, etc. I found that the more I thought about what I was doing, the more likely I was to screw it up. When the pieces fell into place, it was soothing to slide into the rhythm and focus solely on that. When we all got it, the boat settled down, the sounds synchronized. We skimmed up the river with the sun warm on our shoulders. Splash. Ka-chunk. Splash. Ka-chunk. Meditation on the water.
Pausing to check out the scenery, photo by Corie Scribner
Action shot, photo by Peter Feeney
Until I was rowing… and then suddenly I wasn’t.
If you’d been watching, you’d have seen me tumble suddenly backward onto the floor of the boat and halfway onto the lap of the rower behind me–with considerable surprise (to me and to the rower behind me) and with no grace whatsoever. In my newly acquired lingo, I knew I’d “caught a crab.” Unfortunately, this insight was hindsight.
Peter, our stalwart guide, had warned us about this. “Catching a crab” is when the river, the water, sort of grabs your oar and the power of it pushes you backward. He’d told us what to do, or really what not to do–don’t struggle with the oar, but lift it up and let it slide.
“If you don’t fight it, the oar will move until it’s parallel to the boat, and then you can reset.”
Well, at least that was my interpretation of what he said, but in the moment, I didn’t even realize I was in trouble until…
Bang!
Ouch!
My butt was off the seat and on the floor.
My fellow rowers stopped rowing while I righted myself.
Once I was back in my seat, Peter got us going again, “Sit ready…ready all…row!”
We spent about an hour on the water and all of us “caught a crab” at one point or another. One time, one of the other rowers managed to respond quickly, lift her oar, and avoid spilling out of her seat. Everyone else landed on their butts.
Later, at home, I googled “crabbing when rowing” and looked again at how to recover. It essentially repeated with Peter had said:
“To begin with, don’t resist it. Don’t fight the handle. …Left to itself, the oar will come to rest parallel to the boat, trailing in the water. The boat loses very little speed.” (from the Union Bay Rowing Club, https://students.washington.edu/ubrc/links/dont-panic/)
The experience and the recommended course of action feel fraught with metaphor.
“Sometimes it’s important not to resist. Just pull up and reset…The boat loses very little speed.”
Learning to row has me thinking a lot about teaching and learning. My enjoyment of this experience, failures and successes, was largely due to the fact that Peter is a patient, easygoing teacher. He wants people to learn to row, but more importantly he wants people to enjoy the experience. He got us into the boat and out on the water quickly. He anticipated the bumps along the way, suggested corrective action when necessary, and was quick to point out successes. He also had control of the rudder and could quietly adjust our course as necessary. It reminded me how important teacher tone and response are, especially early on in the learning curve when experience and confidence are lower. It also reinforced for me how important it is to try new things and experience that learning curve first hand.
So, even though my chances for heading out on the water are going to be limited in the coming weeks, I’ll definitely be taking the experience with me as I head back into the classroom. Happily, weather permitting, I’m signed up again to row this weekend. Here’s hoping that if I catch a crab this time, I’ll remember not to resist and avoid the fall. But if not, I’ll just reset and start rowing again…and try to remember that lesson as I head into the unchartered waters of this upcoming school year.
PS In case you’re interested, here’s what it could look like when you’re really rowing and catch a crab:
“Summertime and the living is easy.” George Gershwin
“We might think we are nurturing our gardens, but of course it’s our garden that is really nurturing us.” Jenny Uglow
Summer in Maine is a gift, and I enjoy every moment of it. Back when I signed up to host, July seemed like a far away dream. Now spring blossoms are memories, the month is half over, and the specter of August hovers on the horizon. As much as a big part of me misses being at school with kids and colleagues, another part of me cringes at the thought of the start of the school year and the end of summer. There’s much I love about teaching, but the relentless pace of the days is NOT one of those things. “Autumn days and the living is easy,” sang NO teacher ever!
This week I decided to revisit an earlier prompt from Linda Mitchell and use Pat Schneider’s The Moon, Ten Times as a mentor poem again. I thought I’d put on my half-full glasses (half of July remains!) and focus on what I love about summer. It was tough to limit myself to ten things, and I omitted many much-beloved aspects of summer (fireflies, beach walks, birds, dragonflies, frogs, etc.). I’m also uncertain about the order–it’s rather haphazard, but perhaps that mimics the luxury of disorganized summer days, right? Here’s what I’ve got so far:
Summer, Ten Times
Morning transformation bird song displaces the radio alarm
Time warp hands rummage in rich earth hours vanish
Baby Boom each day a new arrival in the garden
Eau de Summer plush floral tones, fresh-mown lawns the scent of sun-dried sheets
Verdant woods air shifts and pulses in sun-shafted spectrums of green
The sweet tyranny of ripe berries
Sparkles of laughter arc as high as the sprinkler’s spray
Surprise! Dance parties in the center of the zinnias!
Sun-lit windowsills dotted with geraniums and the occasional sleeping cat
An ending and beginning: Spring’s coda Fall’s prelude
So, what would be on your summer time list? I’d love to know! If you want to share, add your thoughts in the comments. In the meantime, thanks so much for stopping by the Roundup today. You can add your link here to participate:
I’m posting this early as I am out of town until Friday evening. I may be able to read and comment here and there before then, but mostly I’ll be reading and commenting over the weekend.
Nix the comfort zone 