Good-bye 2010

This past year has been a continuously shaken bag of mixed nuts. I felt incredible stress at the beginning of the year as I just couldn't get my act together. The year rolled on and I managed the stress better, though chaos always seem to loom near by. I've yet to develop any true organizational skills and techniques. I didn't write here as much as I'd like, though I fulfilled a lifelong dream of completing a novel. Much to my delight, one publisher wants to see the complete manuscript. Andrew's autism waxed and waned as we weathered both violent outbursts and overflowing love from my beamish boy. Finally, my marriage has peacefully dissolved.

On my FB, I've been chronicling the top 10 events in my life for 2010. As always, I'd rather not grade papers, so I took those events and created a Wordle which I now share...

12 year old boys

Every year, my gym places names of underprivileged children on a Christmas tree in its lobby. The name is accompanied by the age of the child. This year I chose a 12 year old boy because it was one of only three names left on the tree. All the younger ages were chosen because those are easy.

I need some help. Within reason, what should I buy a 12 year old boy? I'm thinking a couple of Manga books. But beyond that I'm stuck. Are board games cool? Any help you can offer will be greatly appreciated.

My first camera

The other day, I bought a kiddie digital camera (marketed by Crayola) for Andrew. I gave it to him today and he couldn't put it down. He took hundreds of poorly framed pictures. I felt overjoyed that he seemed to enjoy the camera as much as I had hoped. Watching him reminded me of my first camera.

I think I was either eight or ten years old. I know that the occasion was Christmas. The camera my family had been using had been two forms of Polaroids: the first had an accordion lens and the photographer had to actually pull the picture out of the camera and the newest was a fancy one where the camera spit the picture out the front. I adored taking pictures with the second one. Anyway, the last gift under the tree was for me. It was a flat, kind of slender box and I had no clue what it was. I opened it and found a Kodak 110 camera. I remember crying I was so happy. I hadn't asked for one, but I had dreamed of having my own camera. This started a life long love of photography. I went on to take pictures for both my high school and college newspapers. I once took pictures for a friend's wedding. I actually considered it as a career. But, as usual, self-doubt reared its ugly head and forced me to take the safe path.

Hmmm, maybe there's a lesson there.

Yummy!

Whenever I'm feeling down or blue, my appetite is heavily affected. I'm usually less hungry and less tolerant of anything new or exotic. Like most people, I turn to comfort foods.

Recipe books love to classify food into categories. I love recipe books, but I just have to laugh at what qualifies as comfort food. Let's take mac n'cheese. I love mac n'cheese, it's Andrew's favorite food, and I have a mighty fine recipe for it. But my idea of comfort does not include spending 15 minutes grating eight ounces of sharp cheddar cheese. That's entirely took much work when I'm blue. The same with lasagna - way too much work to be comforting if the one who needs comforting is the chef.

My comfort food is breakfast. I love toast with butter and apple butter. Cereal of almost any kind is perfect. If I'm really sad, though, nothing can give me a temporary jump like Frosted Flakes. I also love oatmeal. Sure those instant packages will do, but I mean quick cooking oatmeal with brown sugar, maple syrup, and dried apples. I just had a bowl for lunch and my tummy is pretty happy.

What is your favorite comfort food?

Between two worlds

I went to a one hour lecture on getting published. The lecture was offered through BookFest Windsor. The gentleman who spoke gave great advice - even just about little things. The first thing I can do is order business cards. The next thing I think I can do is record myself reading some of the poems I've written and upload those videos to YouTube. I was happy to hear that an agent is not a necessity and even happier to hear that John Grisham's A Time to Kill was rejected 27 times and that he published it himself. I need to read more, which means I'll have to outsource other jobs like sleeping, but that's okay.

Two bits of advice he gave, that I already knew, pulled down my spirits a bit. I need regular time to write, where no one bothers me. That is difficult with a six year old. The other is that my story (set in an American high school) probably needs an American publisher. That means I need to spend more time in the States, making connections, attending literary events, and going to book conferences. I like to do all of those things, but I am mom to a six year old boy, who needs me.

But, you say, aren't you married? I've not yet said this publicly, but here it is: my marriage is on shaky grounds and well, it might not survive. If I start heavily pursuing the publication of my book, will it be used against me? The time that I spend doing what I have to get the book published means less time with my son. Will I be seen as some unfit, narcissistic mother? That's not who I am and yet I have this dream that is within reach. How do I balance all of that with a bazillion papers to grade? I've already given up on a neat and tidy home, and I am seriously considering paying someone to do that. Most importantly, if this all falls apart, how do I keep my baby and publish my book?

I am, I am, I am Superman

Before I start, I want to say that I have not seen "Waiting for Superman," the movie about four charter schools in NYC. All I need to know is that these four schools choose students via a lottery. I work in a traditional public school that accepts children the old-fashioned way: you live in our district, here's some paperwork to complete, and now we'll enroll your child. I shall not talk about the movie whatsoever. Instead, I want to talk about dinner last night.

A former student (and Student Council vice-president)became an elementary school teacher. She ended up teaching at an international school in Poland for a few years. She came back this summer to make sure her Michigan teaching certificate was up-to-date and to start on a Masters' degree. She's a bright, engaging young woman who is, I'm sure, a wonderful teacher. I had dinner with her last night at Roma Cafe at Eastern Market. It didn't change my life, but I liked my meal and the wine, so I suggest it. Anyway, she told me the following story.

When she returned to Michigan, the only teaching position she was able to find was at a charter school in a lower income suburb. But, because the school didn't have enough students, it shut down shortly after school started. She was left scrambling. Luckily, she landed on her feet, unfortunately, it was at another charter school. This school is in Detroit, very close to Sharia-run Dearborn (if that lady in Nevada wins, I might just bang my head against the wall for several days). The school has the word "international" in its name, but don't let that fool you into thinking it offers several different languages. It doesn't - it offers only Arabic and only Arabic students attend the school. In my neck of the woods, charter schools are ipso facto re-segregating schools, beyond what economic class already does.

Because many of her students are new or relatively new to the country, one might think that the school would offer English Language Learning support to students. Not in her third grade class of 35 students. She has one little boy who speaks no English, and neither does his mother. The aide who works in the classroom has been told specifically to not work one-on-one with this boy. So he sits, and does nothing, because slowing down is not allowed in the classroom.

You see, my former student teaches from a script. She is not allowed to vary from the script. Students have a copy of the script and are only allowed to highlight items on the script. She is observed at least three times a day, and if she is not a script, she will be written up. For example, if at 10:30, she has not stopped her English lesson to start her math lesson, she will be written up. Then administration can have a file on her, making it easy for them to fire her, never give her a raise, and bring in a newer cheaper teacher. My former student is not protected by a union contract. She hates her job.

She is not the only charter school teacher to tell me things like this. Yes, I know that I have complained bitterly about my school district. Here's the difference, my district is overseen by a democratically elected school board. Everything is open for public scrutiny. The charter school is overseen by a private management company who answers to, theoretically, to Oakland University. The university must not be paying attention, because how in good conscience they allow this to happen. Unless of course, the private management company is kicking back a huge donation to the school. But, as X said, "I must not think bad thoughts."

The Big News

The past two weeks have been insanely busy. Every year, I get lost in the vortex that is homecoming. After that two week period, I emerge slightly battered and bruised and behind on paper work. This year is no different, but I need to go back and briefly re-live a defining moment.

I had decided to attend the Eastern Michigan Writing Project Writing retreat the second I saw the flier. I never get anything done at home; I'm either busy with Andrew or grading papers or falling asleep before nine. The price was right, only $25, and the location was nice and isolated, some cabins about a half-hour away from Traverse City. I paid my money, on deadline day and packed.

I rode up with another participant from this summer's Writing Project, Jessica. She teaches in Livonia. Her boyfriend dropped her off in Ham-Town after school and away we drove. First of all, the drive up was a blast. We chatted and laughed the whole time. We were so distracted, that at some point, we missed an exit to head toward Lake Ann. Opps, Jessica's GPS app on her iPhone to the rescue.

Upon arrival, there were only four other participants, all of them women. I just want to say for a moment that I was a little disappointed that there were no men attending. No, you perverts not for THAT reason! I appreciate the way men view writing, usually less emotional and a tad more analytical. Plus, they provide a different vibe. Wistfully, I would have preferred to have had a couple of free wheeling guys join the retreat. The two retreat leaders ushered us to our little dorm rooms and then showed us the main building that had the bathroom and dining facilities.

The whole compound is brand new and belongs to Eastern Michigan for retreats and off-campus classes. The area was completely isolated and peaceful. No Wi-Fi, but we survived. The rooms were small dorm style rooms that could accommodate two people, but with only six of use, we all had our own room. That was perfect for me because I need complete and utter isolation in order to get anything done. That includes grading papers (which is why I am always so far behind). I've always had to be alone to write. In college, I used to write in a closet (no, you perverts, not THAT type of closet). I stayed in my room almost the whole time, while the others wrote in the main building. At the start of the weekend, I knew that I was close to being done, but I honestly felt that I was still a few chapters away.

Saturday, September 20th is a date I'd like to remember. I had just walked up to the main building for dinner. The air was silent and contemplative, so I plugged in my laptop to write a few lines. Then it happened. My hands began to shake and tears filled my eyes, I was typing the last lines of the first draft and my body knew it before my brain did. I hadn't intended to end the book there, but the story told me nothing more was left to say. I needed to be alone. The other retreat participants were nearly strangers and I couldn't share this moment with them, I just didn't feel that connection. I rushed to the bathroom to hyperventilate and wash the puffiness from my eyes.

All through dinner, I said nothing about being done. I waited until sharing time after dinner. Many sincere and heartfelt congratulations came my way and I felt proud. I also wanted to celebrate. There was no wine on the premises (it's allowed, but no one had brought any), moving three of us drove to a grocery store 15 minutes away and bought wine to toasting. The other three did not join us, so I deceptively brought home the partially consumed bottle.

I am actually going to celebrate on Friday (tomorrow) with a handful of friends who have given me moral support or critical feedback throughout the writing process. I know that this is just the start. I have some heavy-duty editing to do and letters of inquiry to send out. All of that will come together over the next few months. I need this little victory party.

I have continually sabotaged myself throughout my life. I have pulled back at the near completion of every goal I have ever set for myself. I know why - years of therapy have taught me that. There is still, to this day, a part of my brain that tells me that I am not worthy of accomplishing any thing as lofty as my dreams. This first draft beats back that voice to a whimper. Now, I have to slay it completely and publish this baby. If I have to publish it myself, I will. But, I will publish it.

A two beer rant

I won't be long, as I am completely exhausted.

Today the teaching staff was told that our district will be broke on November 1, unless, of courses, concessions can be made. The district is in the red by better than two million dollars. Should we actually go broke, the state would presumably send in an emergency finance director who would then slash away.

I have been far too involved in the inner workings of the district to not be absolutely livid at the sheer incompetence that has brought us to this point.

All of the buildings in our district are ancient and certainly would not get the energy star rating. So, how many grants have we pursued in order to reduce our long-term energy costs? I'm betting that the number is closer to zero than it should be.

Let me tell you about the educational foundation that the teachers' union tried to establish three years ago. We had a name, started writing by-laws, but we could not get a single administrator to agree to sit on the board. A foundation could have funneled much needed donations into the district.

Or howabout the $350/hour the lawyer was paid to handle negotiations? He racked up nearly $40,000 in two years. Yup, but we're broke.

When the vulture-like charter schools began to move in, did we do anything like offer language classes (i.e. Arabic) that might entice parents to keep their kids in our school? Nope. On the topic of charter schools - would someone in Michigan please look into them. It is my understanding that religious indoctrination is being taught. I know for a fact that one of the K-8 charters did not teach social studies because the federal standards didn't use social studies to measure and grade schools. My favorite is, of course, if a charter school doesn't have enough students, it will just shut down completely, two weeks into the school year. Us, we would just lay-off teachers, not shut down entirely.

My beer buzz in wearing off and I need to sleep. I need to do my job, as I always do, with gusto and enthusiasm.

The public vs the private

I have recently come to a perplexing conclusion. Andrew is consistently more autistic in public than he is at home. I'm not sure that I can fully verbalize what this means, but I'll try.

Andrew most predominate autistic trait is his use of stereotypical language. He'll fixate on a phrase that he'll use at the most random and odd times. At the moment, he is beginning to lose his baby teeth, so he is interested in teeth. Everytime I smile, he points and says,"Two big front teeth." It's to the point where I dread smiling because I'll have to hear that phrase - again. This language issue is the one we have to deal with most frequently at home.

In public, I have noticed that Andrew adds more obviously stereotypical autistic behaviors to his repertoire. He has started rocking back and forth when we go shopping. Yes, the type of rocking most imagine when they think of autism. I don't know what to do about it. I tell him to stop. He only asks why. How do you say to your son that you look autistic when you do that? I worry that he sits in class and rocks away, isolating him from classmates. He doesn't rock like this at home, unless he is extremely tired.

Then I become concerned that I'm worried about how I'm being perceived when he starts rocking, that my ego is on the line. The self-doubt monster rears its ugly multiple heads - I 'm a rotten mother. There has been more than one person to either subconsciously suggest this or to flat out tell me that I suck at mothering. Maybe they're right.

It's too early in the day for this.

The Power of Words

I needed a few days worth of reflection before I touched on this subject, as I had experienced a very strong emotional reaction to the power that words have over us. Now that I've had a little distance from the experience, I think that I can write this without crying.

Last Thursday was the final meeting time for the Eastern Michigan Writing Project in which I had participated for four weeks. The culminating classroom activity was a read through of the pieces we all placed in the course anthology. Each person read their piece, whether it was fiction, poetry, or a personal narrative. Four weeks previous to this read through, we were 19 people who were essentially strangers to each other. Sure, a couple of us were lucky enough to already know another person in class (me and Jason, Liz and Nick, Karla and Jessica), but the rest were completely unknown entities. We didn't know if the personalities in the room would click. We didn't know if someone was going to be ultra-sensitive about certain topics. We didn't know if someone was going to be a stick in the mud. Yet, as we completed our time together, each read his/her piece aloud, sometimes with quivering voices.

This is the power that language holds over us. As several of the participants stated, they had written, edited, and revised their pieces several times. When the time came to give a voice to our words, many were overcome by the emotions wrought by the events described. Why is that? What is it about the telling of an important life experience that evokes tears? I can look at and hold the outfit that Andrew was wearing the day I first held him and simply smile. But, as I sit here and write this (full-disclosure, I read aloud to myself as I write), I weep with joy at just the thought of the object.

I think, and I'm sure I'm not the only one, that writing pours all of our vulnerabilities out on the table for all to see. It is like cutting open a vein to see what essential drips out of us. That is scary. Who wants to let strangers in and view our weaknesses? This is the job of a writer, however. That has never been more patently clear to me than after the past four weeks. My job is to find that truth that courses through my body and emancipate it. I'm not sure that I am wholly ready to face those truths. They will forever alter my life's trajectory once I let them go. My writing will be incomplete until those truths are free. I guess I should let freedom ring.

My Daily Log - EMPW July 20, 2010

I spent two hours last night playing with Windows Movie Maker in order to make the daily log for class. The purpose of the daily log is to visually record the previous day's activity. If I do this properly, you will be able to view it, with music just down below. I enjoyed using movie maker and I am now trying to think of ways to use it in my classroom, either in presenting material to students or having students use it to demonstrate their understanding of the material.

EMPW Daily Log - July 20 2010

You'll have to download it in order to watch it.

Enjoy!

Research Proposal

The final piece I need to complete for my EMWP insitute is a brief proposal for research that I intend to to during the 2010-2011 school year. Of the myriad of areas I need to improve my teaching, I have grown most concerned with their reading comprehension due to poor vocabulary. I want to improve how I help my students learn new and relevant vocabulary.

Hamtramck High School is certainly one of the most unique places I have ever been. Sixty percent of the students speak English as a second language. The majority of all students receive free and reduced lunch. We know that numbers like this usually equate to lower literacy rates. Not only are students like mine less likely to read often, they are also more likely to have a substantially smaller vocabulary. This past school year, I found myself really struggling with ways to handle vocabulary instruction. This struggle was not a new one, by any means. I, however, think that I found more urgency in the matter because my school was facing the prospect of not achieving AYP for the seventh year in a row. In order for students to pass the state mandated tests, they had to become better readers. In order to become better readers, they need to expand their vocabulary. Additionally, I had the privilege of teaching AP Literature and Composition for the first time. The level of vocabulary needed by students to succeed in this class was significantly higher than any other class I have taught.

As the end of the school year approached, I scoured catalogs, hoping to find that magic vocabulary bullet that would help my students. Of course, the program would be simple to use and the students would feel inspired while working their way through the material. Each teacher was given 100 dollars to spend and that was not going to cover a complete set of vocabulary workbooks. Frustration set in and in June I didn't know what I was going to do. Thankfully, the EMPW reminded me that there is research that addressed many issues like vocabulary and that it doesn't take that much time to look into the trouble spots in my classroom.

As I began the research into vocabulary instruction, it was immediately clear that buying a "magic workbook" was not an effective means to improve student vocabulary. In Classroom Instruction that Works, Marzano, Pickering, and Pollock cite Nagy and Herman's (1987) alternative to word lists: more reading.

If students were to spend 25 minutes a day reading at a rate of 200 words per
minute for 200 days out of the year, they would read a million words of text
annually. According to our estimates, with this amount of reading, children
will encounter between 15,000 and 30,000 unfamiliar words. If one in 20 of
these words is learned, the yearly gain will be between 750 and 1,500 words (124).

This sounds like a reasonable goal for a teacher. I know that I cannot carve out 25 minutes for reading everyday in the class; it is possible, however, to make sure that more reading is assigned for homework. On the surface, this appears to mean more work to collect from students. Many of my students won't do homework for credit, I can see many of them not putting forth any effort on reading for reading's sake. Initially, written assignments for each reading assignment might be necessary.

Marzano, Pickering, and Pollock do not completely rule out the usefulness in directly teaching vocabulary. They present five ideas for teachers to remember when teaching vocabulary:
1. Students need to see a word in context more than one time in order to learn it.
2. Direct instruction about the word improves learning.
3. Associate new words with pictures
4. Word lists do work (note to self, find those catalogs).
5. Directly teach words as related to new content. (124-28)

To address all of these aspects, I will need to make some wholesale changes in my classroom.

I teach American Literature to tenth grade students. Many of the difficult vocabulary words that my students will encounter in short stories and poems are likely to be one-time encounters. I think that in order to help students process and learn those words, I will ask them to create pictures with those story related vocabulary. I will also preview the words before reading the story or poem, in order to directly teach new content words.

In her book Words, Words, Words Janet Allen cites Simmons and Kameenui who tell us that students need to use words frequently if they are going to remember them properly. That means that I will have to ensure that the words we study implicitly as vocabulary will have to be revisited through out the year. List of words will likely be posted around the room. When the opportunity arises in class discussions, the list can serve as prompts both for students and me. I hope that just having the words around and highly visible will encourage students to use new and more advanced words.

I believe that my students will also keep a readers notebook. One section will be dedicated to vocabulary. In this section, students will keep track of troublesome words. I haven't yet determined what will be done with those personal lists. It is likely that students will have to make pictures related to at least some of their words.

In order to gauge my students' growth, I believe that the students will take a vocabulary assessment during the first week of school. This will give me some baseline data and perhaps the first vocabulary list that will be implicitly taught. At the beginning of the second semester, students will take another assessment in order to monitor how much students have learned in the the first semester. Students will take a final vocabulary assessment during June, just before finals. I hope to find that my students will have shown measurable growth since September.

I am looking forward to implementing these changes in my class. Starting the research process has sparked my imagination and has given me a more optimistic outlook on the coming school year.


Resources Cited

Words, Words, Words, Allen, Janet. Stenhouse Publishers: Portland, Maine. 1999.

Classroom Instruction that Works, Marzano, Robert J. et al. Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development: Alexandria, Virginia. 2001.

Two links for EMPW 2010

The following two links are required for my final EMPW portfolio.

This first link is for the Demonstration Lesson I did on Tuesday, July 13.

Demonstration Lesson

The second is the poem I posted on the Open Mic section of the NWP website. I've edited it to reflect the perfectly valid point made in the response.

A Lasting Legacy

Final Reflective Essay - EMWP 2010

* A note to all four (?) of my regular readers (hi Tahrima, Chuck, Val, and Laura) over the next five days, I will be posting assignments related to the Writing Project at Eastern Michigan. Don't hesitate to read through my thoughts and feel free to comment, the more the merrier.


As has often been the been the case in my life, I entered the experience at EMWP with a copious amount of self-doubt. It had been nine years since I had last sat in a classroom as a student. In the ensuing years, I became a mom and felt my ability to multi-task had weakened. I also began to struggle in the classroom. I felt disengaged and distant from both my students and the material. Everything that was new was old. The daily grind of students screaming and fighting in the halls, the million and one excuses for why assignments weren't complete. Down deep, I knew that I was part of the problem, but felt helpless to repair the damage. This struggle led me to feel that I had nothing valuable to share as a demonstration lesson. Truth be told, I feared that I had never had a successful writing lesson in the 15 years I had been teaching. As the institute enters into a last few days, I can now say that, given a choice, I would not have spent these last four weeks in any other way or with any other people.

The greatest fear I had coming into the institute was the demonstration lesson. I work at a school that had now not made AYP in seven years. Despite my best efforts, I have internalized the message that I work in a failing school. If the school is failing, it stands to reason that the teachers are to blame. What teacher doesn't take it a little personally if a majority of students fail a quiz? If I am a failing teacher at a failing school, I told myself that I had no lessons of which to be proud. I must interview well, because I received an e-mail congratulating me. It was now incumbent to find a topic for the demonstration lesson. A 75-minute demonstration lesson. I finally decided on the children's book project that my creative writing class did. I hadn't felt particularly proud of this lesson, but it did encompass many aspects of both writing and reading. Doing the research for my demonstration bolstered my spirits as I found that I had actually incorporated a few research-solid elements in the project. I was pleased that my students were writing for an authentic audience. I was pleased that the study of the mentor texts was appropriate when asking students to write in an unfamiliar genre. What especially pleased me was the importance of older students mentoring younger students. The things I happen to do right are enough to push me to fix the rest of the project and resurrect it next year.

Along with a new and improved children's book project, I hope to focus on two wholesale changes in my class next year. I want implement to two or three days of writer's workshop, using writer's notebook. From all that I have read so far, I truly feel that this is a technique that will work with my students, It will provide them a safe atmosphere in which to work on their writing, while also allowing me to take home fewer papers, because I will conference with them (and they will conference with each other) in class. If we did not have the time to do research during the institute, I would not feel confident enough to try this new (to me) technique. I am also hoping to improve my method of delivering vocabulary instruction. My students are largely non-native English speakers who struggle with both reading and writing assignments due to their limited vocabulary. I am not as far into the research with this aspect, but I already know that some form of personal dictionary will be on the agenda for my students.

The final aspect of the institute involves the teacher was writer. Beyond all the professional assistance I have gained from the program, the most gratifying personally has been the time devoted to writing. For the past year, I have been composing my "highly anticipated debut novel." All along the way, I have fought that self-doubt that constantly gnaws at my ankles, impeding my progress. I never truly believed that anyone would be interested in my story. During the institute, I frequently shared new installments of the novel, usually to enthusiastic ears. I have received gentle, yet critical feedback on lapses in cohesion or flow. I have completed three chapters since the writing marathon - a remarkable pace for me. I have gained the courage to say that "yes, I will look for an agent and send out the manuscript. This book is viable." For that, I am forever grateful.

I am certain that I will take more away from than institute that I will leave. My teaching was in a terrible rut, the edge of which I now scale. I have worked diligently and confidently on a life-long dream, the novel. I hope that others have enjoyed the moments of levity I have offered. I hope that others will seek ways to incorporate cross-grade cooperation. I hope that, somewhere along the way, someone will buy my completed novel. Most importantly, I hope to keep my fellow members of the EMWP 2010 in my life as all of them have offered valuable lessons.

Ravinia - July 10

The second leg of our journey took us to Chicago land, more precisely to Ravinia Music Festival in Highland Park. The drive from Columbus was much easier though double the time.

Ravinia is unlike any outdoor theatre I have ever encountered. We were practically the only people without several coolers and lawn chairs. It appears that most people attend concerts here with the intention of hanging out with friends on the vast lawn. I was stunned by what people were allowed to bring onto the grounds. People had small tables, lawn chairs, and one guy was carrying a full case of beer.

Once again Squeeze opened, though I wasn't surprised by this seeing as Cheap Trick is from Chicago. The set list was exactly the same as the night before, except there was time for one encore - "Pulling Mussels." The guys were far more animated tonight than in Columbus. Chris was performing his customary Chris shuffle, John was all over the stage, and again Glenn was channeling Jimi Hendrix and at one point rubbed the guitar strings on the microphone stand.

Sartorially speaking, Glenn and Chris were in the same outfits as the night before, John was dressed in purple, Simon was Simon, and Stephen treated the crowd to his spectacles and a fetching red smoking jacket.

My seats were way far at the back of the pavilion, but not for long. By the end of "Annie Get Your Gun," we had moved to the third row from the stage. Much better than being in the third to last row.

It seems, however, that at Ravinia, security frowns at people dancing in the pavilion. Two women behind in me in my "new" seats were sternly lectured and security gave me a look, too. Well, once we got to "Good-Bye Girl," I paid that directive no mind and stood up to dance, and it seemed that Chris was urging me as he looked squarely at me, and motioned with his hands to stand up. I was, of course, promptly reprimanded and I think by this time Glenn had noticed. Two songs later, three people in the middle started dancing and once security pounced on the , one of the offenders was quite snippy and was removed.

The next song was to be "Cool for Cats." Before it started Chris said something to the effect of he saw the one fellow get tossed and that everyone should stand up and dance. We did for the rest of the show and there was nothing security could do!

Well, I have to head home tomorrow, though I wish that I could attend the Cleveland show. Now I'm thinking about Hamilton in August.

Night 1 - Spot the Difference Tour Squeeze

It's that time when I get to act on my favorite obsession, Glenn Tilbrook and Squeeze. They started the US leg of the Spot the Difference last night, Friday July 9 at the LC Ampitheatre in Columbus, Ohio. As usual, Laurie was Thelma to my Louise and of course we had VIP meet and greet tickets.

We pulled out of Hamtramck a little before 1:00. The ride down was harrowing at times due to the torrential rains that seems to follow us. It slowed down our travel considerably and I was (as I am wont to do) growing worried that we would miss the 5:15 deadline ominously conveyed in the VIP confirmation e-mail I had received a few days earlier. All my worries were for naught as Laurie safely delivered us to the Renaissance Downtown Columbus Hotel with 45 minutes to spare.

We quickly checked in, ran up to the room for a little freshening up, and a costume change. We were told that the venue was walking distance from the hotel, so we started afoot, but the weather turned foul once again and we opted for a cab.

We arrived 15 minutes before the 5:15 deadline and grabbed our tickets from will call. Sadly, the venue knew nothing about the meet and greet. They tried to find out and asked us to wait. So we waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. We waited an hour before a representative from the band finally came to retrieve us. She apologized profusely while taking us backstage.

As we hit the backstage area, the guys were finishing "If It's Love" in the sound check. The rain had stopped at this point. The band wandered back and immediately I could spot the difference between and Glenn Tilbrook meet and greet and a Squeeze meet and greet. A Glenn meet and greet is pretty free-wheeling while the one I experienced felt more constrained, even though no one was pushing us along. Perhaps it seemed less loose simply because it was the first night of the tour.

That said, there were several funny moments that stick out to me. The first occurred while chatting with Simon and Chris. Simon asked if I had a raincoat and I said no,but I had an umbrella. During this very brief and innocuous exchange, Chris gave Simon a slightly horrified look and said, "I thought you just asked her if she had a wanker."

I looked down at my skirt and replied, "I don't have one of those either."

Simon then insisted on telling me that a wanker is actually a bottle opener and that should I be in London, I should go in a pub and announce that I need a wanker. I told him that I was sure that every man in the bar would gladly volunteer.

The next funny moment happened shortly after Chris abruptly left. I asked where he had gone,. The band representative explained that he had gone to throw out the first pitch at the baseball at the stadium down the block. That wasn't what I heard. I swear she said he went to throw up. Glenn and John Bentley both chimed in that they had heard the same thing.

Finally, I asked Glenn and John if they would have a chance to watch the World Cup final on Sunday. Absolutely, they both smiled. John asked me who I thought would win and I said Holland and he agreed. This prompted Glenn to ask me if I had heard about the octopus in Germany that had accurately picked many of the games, including the game Germany lost to Spain. Something about the octopus (or squid) squirming around on something. Anyway, the octopus has chosen Spain as the champs.

Naturally, they had to leave, so we left to go find a spot in the general admission crowd. From the number of t-shirts, it was clear that this was a Cheap Trick crowd. The sun really broke through the clouds as the boys came on the stage and launched into "Black Coffee in Bed." Despite the heat, they were all properly attired in suits: Glenn in that lovely brown pin stripe suit her wore on Regis, Chris looked very chic in black with his shades, Stephen was dapper in a blue suit, Simon wore a vest, and John delivered the bass dressed in gray, topped with a fedora.

The rest of show was peppered with songs I hadn't heard live like "When the Hangover Strikes" and a D & T song "When Hope Fell Down." The complete 17 song set is at the end of this post. They were tight and on fire. Glenn played like the guitar god he is, duly impressing many of the nearby Cheap Trick fans. In the middle of his solo for "It's So Dirty" the two guys next to me turned to each other and said "this guy is fucking great."

As the opening act, they had no encore, so it's off to Chicago.

Play List
Black Coffee in Bed
Take Me I'm Yours
Annie Take Your Gun
When the Hangover Strikes
Loving You Tonight
If It's Love
It's So Dirty
Goodbye Girl
When Hope Fell Down
If I Didn't Love You
Cool for Cats
Is That Love
Someone Else's Heart
Up the Junction
Hourglass
Slap and Tickle
Tempted

A Lasting Lagacy

A Lasting Legacy
I am at the age where I occasionally think about the end.
Inevitably, I think about how I want to be remembered.
Realistically, I understand that people will most vividly remember those last years;
So how to make those memorable?

There must be a word out there that describes the type
Of older woman I aspire to be.
The type whose grown son says,
“Mom, stop flirting with the waiter, he’s my age.”
To which I’ll reply, “But he started it.”
The type who travels the world, on her own self-guided tour
And ends up assisting in the building a school for girls in some remote village.

I ask four friends, each of whom gives me a different word.
“Plucky,” says the first. I hang up the phone and
Walk into the kitchen to retrieve the wine from the fridge.
No, I decide. It sounds too much like a puppy rescued from
A life on the streets.

“Spunky,” reads the message on my phone.
Oh no! I can’t even think of anything spunk related
Without giggling like a teenager.



A third friend offers up “perky”.
I contemplate it until I step out of the shower
And duly note that my figure has moved from
Star gazing to navel gazing.

Finally, my dearest friend suggests “moxie.”
Images of matinis, jazz bands and enticing hemlines
Swirl in front of my eyes.
Late nights filled fine meals eaten in front of fireplaces, chatting
With clever people.
Skateboarding with the grandkids before a bedtime snack
Of chocolate cake.

When that day does come, please be sure the epitaph reads
“Sister, she had moxie.”

My Presentation

I am beginning to get that anxious, nauseous feeling. In about a week and a half, I have to make a presentation about some writing lesson that I have actually taught that was successful. Therein lies the problem. I am not at all certain that I have ever had a successful writing lesson. For the presentation, I must even have the research that supports my lesson. That is a laugh. No logical person would operate his/her classroom the way I operate mine - on the fly and completely half-assed. Nope I have no idea what I am going to do.

That's kind of a lie. I have a topic, I guess. The children books that my Creative Writing class did. Of course, we never quite finished because I didn't plan properly and we ran out of time. I guess I can find something about older kids mentoring younger kids and motivating students. That might be a place to start. Other than that, I'm lost and my presentation will likely be the weakest in the room.

Baaaaahhhhh. I'm having a pity party and all I need to complete the ambiance are some busted balloons and flat beer.

Writing project

As I have mentioned earlier, I am participating in the National Writing Project institute at Eastern Michigan this summer. It is a four week, five days a week, from 9-3 program in which teachers from all content areas and grade levels share writing lessons based on research. What I am enjoying most right now is the opportunity to write, a lot, everyday.

Each morning starts with a writing prompt on which we write about 10 minutes. So far, all of the prompts have really struck a chord with me. I hope that you don't mind if I occasionally mine these for topics.

The prompt for the first day was, if you had to tell you life story in seven story titles, what would those titles be? Here are my seven titles:

1. Creep
2. Bizarre Love Triangle
3. I Didn't Know That There Would Be This Much Paperwork
4. Import/Export
5. Outsourcing Labor
6. Maple Keys and Airbus A380s
7. The Great Reawakening

What would be the seven titles of your life?

Two poems

One way that I figure I can work up my self-confidence about publishing is to try and publish a poem. One poem published would make me feel as I have never felt in my life.

Here are two that I've recently composed. Tell me what you think.

Rain
Early morning rain
Hastens sleepy desires
Pillow calls me back


Melting

From the eaves,
remnants of long removed ivy
are visible.

One slender icicle
d
a
n
g
l
e
s
from a stubbornly clingy vine
like a mobile.

The shimmering sun glistens through
its facets, beautifully destroying its form.

We, too, dangle and will succumb to
the formalities illuminated by the light.

What a school year!

I'm always one of the last people on staff to finish all my grades. I am endlessly disorganized and suffer completely from self-diagnosed ADHD. If I can find an activity, no matter how mundane, that does not involve grading papers, I'm there. Well, almost any activity. I am now in the midst of cleaning my house. I have just located the corner of the dining room side board (I think it's called that). It had been buried under a massive pile of papers for most of the school year. I'd like to publicly apologize to my son for allowing the house to become a pig sty. Of course, this is all he knows, so a mess is normal.

I've chronicled some of the events that happened this past school year. I've flipped out over the testing pressure we were all feeling. I've mentioned the fights. But good things did happen. Here are just a few.

My student teacher kicked ass. That's such an 80s thing to say, but it's true. He comes to the profession a little older (31) than most college grads and with tons of crappy job experience. He understands the value of an education and the dull monotony of dead-end jobs. I think that his passion for the job comes from his "real world" experiences. An English teacher from our school retired and while he might not get that job, if he doesn't get a job somewhere in the district, I will shake my head forelorningly (not a word, I don't care) for ages and ages hence.

My friends Laurie, Laura, and John kept me sane when I was most likely to lose all hope. They are like family to me and I would just die if any of them abandoned me at the high school. Thankfully, in two weeks Laurie accompanies me to Columbus and Chicago to see Squeeze and we have meet and greet tickets for the Columbus show. That's right Glenn Tilbrook, I'm looking at you, longingly with desire warming my soul.

Uhhh anyway, I also made new friends. For one, there's the English teacher who I had previously categorized as straight-laced. I learned better one evening over Bloody Marys as we debated the proper spelling of the adverbial form of the word "fucking." It's a great word and I'll post my thoughts on it later. Additionally, I can't forget the teacher who taught me how to play Keno while spiking my Bailey's with his Irish Catholic/Irish Protestant/Irish Buddhist whiskey. Yeah, but he plans on taking a job at the middle school next year (where, they aren't even human), so he's dead to me.

Finally, I have an awesome new Executive Board for next year's Student Council. If they can stay focused, they will give the class of 2002 a run for their top class title.

My summer starts in earnest today. I'm cleaning and straightening while I write. The National Writing project at Eastern Michigan starts on Thursday. After that, I'll be tied up with Creative Writing camp. I want to take Andrew somewhere, anywhere this summer - even for just a weekend. In the meantime, I better get back to the household chores that I've been neglecting since September.

Please proofread

I am applying for a grad program in teaching writing and I need to include a personal statement with the application. Please read my statement below and tell he how it sounds. Thanks!


As a high school teacher in the state of Michigan, the most obvious reason for returning to school is to accumulate enough credits to maintain my professional license. Keeping my license up-to-date is not my sole motivation, however. I am fifteen years into my teaching career and I feel that I need some fresh, research-based strategies to improve my teaching style and help my students achieve better academic outcomes. I believe that Eastern Michigan's Teaching of Writing Certificate program will help me help my students become better writers.


From the moment I entered high school, I knew that one day I would be either a French major or an English major. Ultimately, French won my heart, but the most influential teacher I have ever had was my senior year Approaching the Arts teacher, Barb Masters. She taught her students to think critically by asking us to read difficult modern writers such as Joyce, Ginsburg, and Waldman. She stretched our vision by introducing us to visual artists like Hans Haacke and directors like Bergman. I have tried to imbue my classroom with some of the lessons I learned from Mrs. Masters. Fortunately for her, she never had to deal with the dictates of No Child Left Behind.

Teaching in Hamtramck means the large majority of my students are non-English speakers, representing about 20 different languages. From one or two Russian speakers to many Bengla speakers, Hamtramck offers challenges to educators of any background. Those students who are native speakers offer their own obstacles. Many come from homes mired in generations of poverty and low levels of literacy. Many are students who have shuttled from school to school looking for the promises that charter schools and school of choice programs make. Instead, they lose valuable time and often lose any sense of community that a neighborhood school can offer. These are my students. Most are both poor readers and writers. If that is the case, why should I focus on writing? From my experience, students will offer move active resistance to a writing task than a reading task. Reading tasks can be eased with MP3 files of the reading material or the teacher reading aloud. A writing task is the exclusive responsibility of the writer. If the writer is a student, he/she often feels overwhelmed trying to achieve perfect spelling, grammar, sentence structure, and details. If spelling is a problem or a student has no idea where to place a paragraph break, why bother trying?

Looking for help, I applied to participate in Eastern Michigan's National Writing Project. I had heard wonderful things about the National Writing Project from colleagues who have participated at other institutions. Having been accepted, I am most looking forward to sharing research writing lessons with colleagues from the all over the region. More importantly, I am looking ahead to taking further classes to assist in the teaching of writing and completing the Teaching of Writing certificate. Any information I can use to assist my students is information that I both want and need.

Inspired silliness

I have just started reading J.D Salinger's Catcher in the Rye to my mainstream/special education class. So far so good, they seem to like it. I, on the other hand, am LOVING it. I had forgotten how good it is. One thing I ask the students to do is to write down an interesting or confusing quote every few pages. Thus far, they have picked some terrific quotes.

Thinking about this has, of course, distracted me. I love picking out phrases and lines from songs and movies and keeping them around. I probably have reserved precious brain space for dozens of these snippets. Some are serious while most are goofy. Here are just a few that I am certain that I know by heart:

"I'd beg for some forgiveness, but beggin's not my business."
"If you have five seconds to spare, then I'll tell you the story of my life. Sixteen, clumsy, and shy...."
"This one goes to 11."
"You're a monster."
"I'm quite illiterate, I read a lot."

What are those one line phrases that bring an immediate smile to your face whenever you encounter them?

Safe Harbor

Previously, I've discussed how important test scores are to my continued career as a teacher. Well, the ACT scores are rolling in and the scenario is bleak.

Just to refresh your memory, in March all eleventh graders took a battery of tests over a three day period. The first test given was the ACT. The laws around this are astounding as students who had been in the country for as little a few weeks took these tests, including the ACT. The ACT is a very difficult test and does not test basic skills. It is a test used to make predictions about how a student will perform in college. If you can't read English in a quick, skimming manner and do that for comprehension, you will do poorly on this test.

In order to stop a state takeover of our school, we need two things to happen. First, we need our test scores to improve by 10 percent. Second, we need to NOT land in the bottom five percent of high schools in the state. There is actually a third, but I can't recall the exact details, so I've skipped it for now. Last year, our average ACT was 15 point something. In order to make a ten percent jump, and make "safe harbor" our scores needed to improve to approximately 17 percent. We are currently at 16.4 percent. I learned this last night after work at the bar. I was only drinking juice, but at that moment I really wanted to add a shot of vodka to my glass.

We need the results from the other two days of testing before our fate is finalized, but my spirit is currently waning.

Schadenfreude

Normally, I do not wish ill on those I do not like, especially if young children will be impacted at some point. I do, however, have to admit to feeling a slight giggle in my soul when I read this yesterday. You see, the principal in question is my former boss. I want to share one story about this guy. I have dozens more, but those involve other people and I don't have their permission to tell their stories.

The story starts in the November before Andrew came home. Our home study had just been approved by Ontario and was in the process of being translated into Chinese. Out of no where, a co-worker and his wife adopt a domestically born baby girl. Their process had been far more covert and it seems that paperwork from the employer was not needed. For Andrew's adoption, I needed to supply a letter of recommendation from my direct supervisor and a letter from HR stating my salary and length of employment. The sudden news shook me up a little and I found myself in anxious tears and even feeling guilty about crying at their happiness. Of course, I wasn't actually crying at their happiness, just at my own situation. I was even terrified to attend the first staff meeting after their bundle arrived because I couldn't handle all the emotions seeing of cooing co-workers and the delivery of baby gifts. Thankfully, the new parent wasn't there and a number of other teachers seemed to sense my anxiety. I remember quite distinctly a veteran English teacher gently grabbing my arm and sincerely asking me how I was doing. Of course I dissolved into tears. I crawled to a corner and sniffled into a tissue for the whole meeting.

Perhaps ten minutes after the meeting was adjourned, I was in my classroom, preparing to leave when a friend of mine came to my room. She told me that the principal (the guy mentioned in the article) asked her "Why was TC crying?" She, as best as she could, explained that the recent adoption news had hit me pretty hard. He replied, "What, why? She jealous?" My head spun, I just couldn't believe it. I work in a small district where I have worked hard to earn the respect of people at all levels of the hierarchy. This sometimes helps me open doors that others can't even find and I was able to make an appointment with the superintendent the very next day. At this meeting, he assured me that I would immediately receive an apology letter.

I don't know how many days passed, but a typed letter did eventually show up in my school mailbox. It said something to the effect of "sorry you were offended." Two more letters, with the same sentiment were tried. Two months later, the superintendent, the principal, my union president, and I sat down in my classroom. After an hour of I can't remember what, my union president exasperatedly asked,"Are you going to to say sorry or what?" Like a child forced to apologize for hitting a sibling, he said something that resembled sorry and he and I spoke less than 15 times in the next four years. That's amazingly low considering that I was and still am the Student Council adviser.

This is just one story. I could regale you with the time he told a student I was bullshit because I taped the pep rally plans to his door. Or about the time he told other people in the district that he had the worst staff in the district. Or the time he actually told his staff that he didn't "do e-mail." Or the way he pounded his chest and slapped hands with some of the biggest, most violent assholes in the building and allowed them to call him "Vic." But I can feel the hate in my soul rising to a dangerous level.

You see, I took a leave last year and I told everyone that it was because Andrew was starting school. It was really because I was going to break and my whole being was consumed with rage toward this moron. I am in a much better place mentally because of my decision.

To reunion or not to reunion, that is the question

I was a very shy and anonymous teenager. I did not play any sports, instead I took pictures of athletes for the school paper. I can't even describe how much happier I felt isolated in the darkroom than with my peers. I always felt that everyone was smarter and more attractive than me, with a much brighter future. If you gave me a million dollars to safely travel back in time to high school, I would think about the offer for a loooooong time and ultimately, I might just turn it down.

I had friends. I have sadly lost touch with them and even sadder, my very best friend from high school died in a car accident about four years after we graduated. I know that there are people from high school I'd like to see, they just did not necessarily graduate the same year as me. My graduating class was almost 700 strong (I went to an enormous suburban sprawl school) and my closest friends did not graduate with me. Some graduated from the other school across the campus (there were two schools on our campus at that time and everyone had classes in both buildings) and some graduated other years. All I really remember about graduation is that The Smiths were performing that night and my parents wouldn't let me go because of my/their graduation party.

The date, location, and cost for my 25th reunion have just been announced. The cost is reasonable - $35. I know where it is. The date is an unknown for me yet as a certain British pop band has yet to release their US tour dates. If the date is clear, I suppose I could go. But, just thinking about it makes my stomach churn. While I am most certainly no longer shy and anonymous, I just can't think of a smashing reason to attend. First, I don't really know any of the people who have taken on the task of planning this reunion. We personally have no high school memories to share and to look back upon fondly. They are nice enough people who felt motivated to plan a huge party. Second, I don't see too many familiar faces on the Facebook group for my class. So, I don't know the planners and I don't know the people who currently know about this event. That just sounds like a recipe for a long night, too much wine, and way too many Michael Jackson songs.

Have any of you attended a reunion? How did it go? Give me a good reason to go, if there isn't a Squeeze concert competing against it (oh, the reunion will lose to the concert, hands down).

Ahhhh, the joys of spring!

Sadly, the bursting forth of buds, the twitter of returning birds, and the lengthening of days has also ushered in a rush of testosterone and a complete lack of civility. If it's spring, let the fighting begin.

In the last 10 years, I can honestly say that spring brings us two to four large scale fights, that when one is in the middle of it, feels like a riot. By large scale, I mean more than 10 kids fighting with the rest of the stupid student body crowding around cheering on the mayhem. In a school like mine, these fights almost always break along racial/ethnic lines. Probably for the last nine years, the African-American students and the Arabic students have been the main combatants. When questioned, of course nobody can explain why these two groups have such an intense springtime hatred of one another. All I know is that it will lead to everyone being in a shitty mood and a jail-like atmosphere being imposed on the student body as a whole.

On Friday, the first big fight broke out, but I have no idea when or where. Of course, ultimately, the situation can be traced back to a bad decision by an administrator. The senior class apparently still needs to raise money for its prom and thus requested a dodgeball tournament. By the way, according to the assistant principal, dodgeball is banned from schools in the state of Michigan. The principal approved it anyway. Tickets would be sold for two or three bucks and the tournament would be held during second and third hour. Yes, you read that correctly, students could pay a couple of buck and miss two classes. What a bargain!!! That's another pet peeve of mine, but an entirely different conversation. The kiddies went over to the building that contains the gym (it is a separate building) and surprise, surprise, there were a number of outsiders, drop-outs, and garden variety thugs hanging around. It is my understanding that some of those darlings sneaked into the event. This is where the details get a little hazy for me. At some point, a melee broke out in the bleachers and some students tumbled down the bleachers while others ran for the doors. The fight spilled outside and then into the parking lot. At this point, we have a riot on our hands. Some kids are beating the shit out of each other, while others are running around without their shirts - whooping and hollering. I was with my class, the only nine that hour who had not bought tickets. We witnessed the arrival of two ambulances and a number of cop cars and heard the announcement that were on lockdown. My student teacher took a walk to see what was up and he said it was a mess. I then wandered to the office where I saw one boy who has never been in a lick of trouble holding an ice pack to his head. He had a giant welt in the middle of his forehead because someone thought to try and drive his head through the ground. Apparently he had been jumped one other time out on the streets.

The students from the dodgeball tournament were ushered into the auditorium where our prinicpal told them that he wasn't going to suspend anybody!!!! By this time, the lunch hour had come around, the bells were turned off, and cops were all over the building (eight by my count). My student teacher and I stood outside the lunchroom ushering kids to the right spots, making sure there was no lingering. Sadly, the police were no help.

I know that a cop's job is tough and dangerous, but sometimes they simply make a situation worse. I asked one boy where he was going and he didn't respond. I teach high school, so I'm quite used to being ignored. Well, a cop grabbed the kid by his shirt and brought him to me. I asked him for his teacher's name and in very broken English told me the name of an ESL teacher. I told him to hurry to class and then I told one of the officers that the student didn't speak English. the cop chuckled and said, "Well, he will today." Idiot.

The rest of the day was tense and calm. Unfortunately, 13 years of experience tell me that we are not over the hump. Hell, we might not even be able to see the top of the hump at the moment. All I know was that today was a peaceful day and for that I am grateful.

Testing Day 1

"Do not look back in your answer document. Do not look at the test that follows. Do no smile (this is serious business). Do not question authority. Do not think, just color in those little ovals like your very life depends on it."

Actually, my life depends on those bubbles, that isn't your problem.

Today, juniors across the state of Michigan participated in the first of three days of testing. The treat today was the ACT. The ACT consists of five timed tests: English (75 questions/45 minutes), Math (60 questions/60 minutes), Reading (40 questions/35 minutes), Science (40 questions/35 minutes), and Writing (one essay/30 minutes). Illinois and Kentucky also use the ACT as their statewide test.

The rules for the ACT are quite strict. Students are to be seated three feet apart from each other. No cell phones or other electronic devices (except calculators for the math). No reading material. No food or beverages. Here is my first issue. Water hydrates the body and mind. It can help keep you sharp and alert. I know that if I don't drink enough water in a day, I will feel more tired than usual. I do understand that a bottle of water can spill and cause a distraction. I also know that drinking water can greatly increase the urgency to use the bathroom (thus losing testing time). But testing conditions are no way realistic or conducive to optimal performance. If I am hungry or thirsty, those are the thoughts that will consume my mind.

The ACT nazis prevent me from disclosing any questions I may have seen on the test, including the essay. All I'll say is that it is a long day. The students in my room seemed to be taking the test quite seriously and were really trying to answer all the questions. Unfortunately, on all of the multiple choice tests, it seems that of the 20 students in the room, only nine or ten actually finished. From walking around the room, it seems that the majority of the students filled in one bubble spot once the five minute warning was given. By that, I mean that students were told (and told and told) in advance that if they are unable to finish all the questions, color in either the second or third oval. Sadly, it seems that the students in my room filled in the first bubble, so our chances for good scores are pretty remote for many of my students.

Tomorrow's test, WorkKeys. This is also created by the ACT people, but is simpler and an employment skills test. It will slos be s shorter day.

Test anxiety

On March 9,10, and 11, all the juniors in the state of Michigan will take a battery of tests. The first test they take will be the ACT, which is essentially a college entrance exam. The second day's test will be comprised of WorkKeys, which is an employment skills test, and the last day is the Michigan MME. Some secret formula of these three tests will determine if a school achieves something called Adequate Yearly Progress (AYP). That means a school has met the numerical benchmarks set by the federal law No Child Left Behind (NCLB). Test scores, graduation rates, and test day attendance all determine if a school makes AYP. If a school goes six years without making the numbers, all members of the teaching and administrative staff can be fired and the school can than be turned over to a private (and in Michigan, this means for-profit) management firm to run a charter school. My school is at this stage.

I will fill in the numbers and statistics later in the week, but at this moment, my level of anxiety is through the roof. There has not been a day this week that I have not cried. I can't sleep and if it's not junk food, my appetite has been non existent. I don't know what I would do if I lost my job. To be honest, my district is, from top to bottom, completely dysfunctional. In my 13 years, I have had seven superintendents, four principals, and five assistant principals. I have not been observed since 1999. At this point in my career, I have no clue if I am the least bit competent at my job. My ego says I'm doing a decent job, but my ego is a pathological liar. When I started teaching American Literature 10 years ago, there were no copies of either The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn or The Grapes of Wrath in the school. I don't know what the hell students were reading. I went to every used bookstore in Metro Detroit and bought every copy I could. On one hand, I know that my culturally disparate students have probably benefited from reading those books and having a common American cultural touchstone with other American students, but have I done those works of art justice? I don't know.

We won't know if our school moves from failing to passing until July. Every pressing decision in my life is on hold, causing more anxiety. I try not to discuss it at work because we are all feeling the load on our shoulders. Even the agnostics and atheists (a party of at least one) on staff are probably saying silent prayers. If I don't discuss it at work, I don't discuss it at all. My isolation in a foreign land has become a locked closet. I know this is yet another issue to handle, but at the moment, I can barely handle laundry and dishes on the same day.

The news of the firing of all the teachers at Central Falls High School in Rhode Island has not helped. There is much that we in Hamtramck have in common with Central Falls. High rate of poverty, a large population of non-English speakers, and a transient population are just a few of the issues we share. More on that later this week.

In the meantime, I will spend the weekend reading many wonderful narrative written by the students in AP Literature and Composition. These will lift my spirits, at least until Moday.

Windsor Writers' Group

I've just gotten back from the first meeting of the Windsor Writers' Group. It was held at Pause Cafe in downtown. Technically, the cafe was closed, but the owner (whose name I can't recall) held it open just for us.

I am very bad at guesstimating crowd sizes, but certainly more than 20 people were in attendance. I had to chuckle as it appeared that I was one of the younger people in the crowd. That's really saying something for a middle-aged English teacher. The meeting was organized by Lenore of Cranberry Press and Elaine of Walkerville Press, both local self-publishing companies. They both mentioned that the city of Windsor had not had a proper writer's community, but small pockets of writers who regularly got together. This meeting was an attempt to bring many writers together for mutual support and idea sharing.

There was a fair amount of discussion about what people were looking for from a writers' group. Not everyone shared, but the loud-mouth that I am, I tossed in my two cents. It was decided that the people in the group would e-mail their ideas to Elaine and Lenore. For example, should poets just meet with poets and prose writers just with prose writers? How would the group come back as a whole to share or hold readings? Hopefully, all of those issues will get hashed out quickly and the writers can really sit down and get to work.

I am really looking forward to this group for a lot of reasons. One, it's important to be reminded that others are struggling with some of the same issues as me. Whether it's writer's block or that eternal struggle between balancing work, child-rearing, and the writing passion, we all suffer at one time or another. why reinvent the wheel when others can offer valid help. Moreover, I hope to make real connections in this group. Not working in Windsor doesn't give me a natural entree into the Windsor social scene and I've been relying on others to help me. Frankly, after eight years of living here, I still basically know no one. That's my fault and I hope to rectify that by meeting people with common interests.

Since the concert on Friday, I've written quite a bit. I "finished" Chapter Seven and I started the eighth. I find that I need a fair amount of external stimulus to help my brain generate ideas. If I spend too much time in my own brain, I get mired in stale musty cobwebs. I hope that just getting out of my normal routine and talking about writing will shake things up for me a bit.

Having said all that, I am looking forward to the next meeting.

Patti Smith at St. Andrew's

One of those goals I set for myself this year was to attend a few concerts (the non-Tilbrook kind). Last night, I kicked it old school (such a ridiculous phrase I just had to write it) and went to St. Andrew's on Congress in Detroit to see the legendary Patti Smith. Going into the show, I knew very little of her music, but I did know that she is a poet, had been on the cutting edge of the emergent US punk scene, and had married Fred Smith - guitarist from the legendary Detroit band the MC5. If you don't know the name of the band, you are likely to know their most famous lyric, "Kick out the jams motherfuckers." To be honest, I really only knew one song, "Because the Night," a song she had written with Bruce Springsteen and she recorded. Tickets were only $20, so I thought that was a bargain to see a legend and to hand out in St. Andrew's, so I dragged my girlfriend Laurie and we went.

We had dinner at Sweet Water Tavern. It's a BBQ place, so an odd choice for this beginning vegetarian. Luckily they had fish and chips on the menu, and it was quite delicious. From there, we walked across the street to St. Andrew's. All ticket holders were sent around to the back and sent down into the Shelter (oh my, those were the days) to wait to go up to the show. Considering that the gross majority of the audience consisted of aging punkers 40 or older, I'm sure we were sent in to save us from the nippy winter air.

I wasn't watching the time, but I figure we were in The Shelter for about 15 minutes before being sent up stairs to stake out a spot. At this point, my back started hurting quite badly and I truly thought that I wasn't going to make it to the concert. We eased our way over to the bar and at least I could brace myself against that for a while.

The opening act came on around 8:45. It was Patti's daughter and son-in-law. She played keyboards and he played vibraphone and sang. The music was remarkably lullabyesque and threatened to put us to sleep. From those around us, there was a general polite tolerance for the opening act. They seemed to play for about 45 minutes.

Finally, at 10, Patti Smith and her band hit the stage to thunderous. Much of the music was familiar to be, but I did not know the names. I just know that the woman on stage in the hate, long dark hair, man's sport coat, and t-shirt kicked ass. She told the story of how "Because the Night" came to be written and reason behind the line "love is a ring, the telephone." Apparently she sat up very late one night waiting for Sonic (Fred Smith) to call her, which he eventually did - five hours late. One surprise highlight for me was her cover of Jim Carrol's "People Who Died." I know that I haven't bounced and danced like that in forever.

The show ended with an amazing finale. She performed an astounding cover of "Gloria" which then merged into "People Have the Power." Throughout the evening, she exhorted us Detroiters to take back our city and to bring it out of these hard times.

The one funny crowd story I want to share involves some people we met and started to hang out with during the evening: two women and one man. At some point, I looked over at one of the women and she was talking with a young man who was, uh, um constructing some smoking material for her! I looked at someone who had squeezed in next to me and she looked at me and we both just smiled. I went back to enjoying the show and I could smell the smoking material to my right and I knew the transaction had been completed. The material had been passed off behind us when I noticed the bouncer coming our way. I tried to impede his progress, but he was a much bigger person than I and pushed right past me. He got to the guy (a stranger) who now had the smoking material and took him away. This is the funny part, ten minutes later, the smoking guy came back with a huge smile on his face. Apparently, he had been allowed to finish his smoking material and come back to the show with no further consequences.

Who doesn't love sex, drugs, and rock n' roll?

Digital age problem update

I wrote a very simple happy birthday on said person's wall. I took a peek to see if she had removed it ( I don't know why I thought that). She had replied with a thank you to every other birthday wish - except mine.

Well. isn't that interesting?

A digital age problem

I am really quite bad a remembering birthdays. Unless I am specifically reminded or we have made plans, I will forget your birthday. I know that on some levels that makes me a shitty friend.

Here is an example of technology to the rescue. Facebook reminds a person of all his/her "friends'" birthdays. Now, it's easy to write a superficial "happy birthday" on someone's wall. Plus, when it's your special day, you'll feel the FB wall love yourself. Now, what happens if the friend with a birthday is a real life friend with whom you have recently had a silent falling out?

I don't want to get too far into the details, but this is a person whom I considered sister-like and my son adores her and she him. The cause of the falling out is inconsequential, but considering where I think my life may be headed, the rift is likely irreparable. The question is: do I write a quick "happy birthday" on this person's wall. I would very much like to retain this person's friendship and love, but does this reach out a tentative hand to aid in that endeavor?

Still alive

I totally have the mid-winter blahs. I go through this every year. I feel like I have nothing to offer the world and I should crawl under a blanket and stay there. I'll get over it, but I think that I need to sneak away for a long weekend and curl up with a book and my book and see what happens.

Perhaps in the meantime, I will begin to plan my big European tour for my 45th birthday. I think that I have the team assembled: Laurie, Laura, and Amy. We've got our destinations" one week in London, one week and a bit in Paris, one week in Ireland, and a couple of lost days consuming brownies in Amsterdam. The trip isn't until the summer of 2012, but I'm so excited at the prospect of seeing these wonderful places, I can hardly contain myself. I think it's time to start assigning research jobs to everyone so we can get a sense of the cost and properly save. That and a road trip should pick up my wintry soul.

Cheese please

Last year, I started a tradition with Andrew. Every Sunday, he and I go the the cheese market to purchase cheese that he will take as a snack to school. Before I go further, I have to tell you that Andrew has always (or almost always) had an adventurous palate. He loves olives and beans of all sorts. I have been very lucky that he is not a picky eater. It makes planning meals much easier.

Anyway, he and I go every Sunday to choose his snack cheese for the week. The people at the cheese shop are super nice and will give customers a small taste of a cheese if requested. This is an essential part of our tradition. Andrew points to a cheese and politely asks for a taste. We get a taste and he proclaims that he either likes it or not. If he does, we purchase enough for a week's worth of snacks. He, true to his adventurous nature, does not stick with the simple cheddar cheeses of the world. Nope, has tried everything from Wesleydale (with a variety of fruits inside) to some strong Dutch cheese, that most adults can't handle. He has had dozens of world cheeses and has liked them all. I really need to remind myself to keep track of all of them.

Today at the market, he declared that he wanted brie for lunch (oh, okay, twist my arm) and that for snack, he wanted a French cheese, that he had NOT tried before, that also contained no wine. I thought the ladies behind the counter were going to bust a gut. Then, he asked me to read the signs that were at the top of the display case. He did not wish to hear about the Canadian cheeses nor the Quebecois cheeses. The next sign said French and this was our stop. I read through the list and nothing caught his attention until the last one- Chaumes. It was of course, the most expensive French cheese available. We tried it and it was lovely, so I dug in my pocket and bought 6 ounces, along with some fancy crackers. I have a feeling that my kid is the only one in his class to not bring string cheese to school and I am way beyond okay with that.

I know that I can't bring them home with me, but...

Over my 15 year teaching career, I have had far too many students with heartbreaking stories. No child should have to experience what these babies had to endure. There was the boy whose mother was a prostitute who was murdered in a hotel. There were the sisters who witnessed their father kill their mother and then himself. There are the far too many to count kids with addicts for parents. There was the kid whose mom called him an asshole in front of me. With all of them, I have tried my best to be both sympathetic and empathetic, without giving up my own comforts and life, because I know how it easy it would be to try and take on their burdens.

Today, I gave a student a ride home. He is a special education student with a reading level around 3rd grade. I've been trying to work with him, but he has been very reluctant. He is a very nice young man, who occasionally acts far too impulsively and immaturely. He has no parents. Well, after giving birth to a series (4 or 5) of babies, his mother lost custody of them. I haven't even attempted to ask him about his dad, though I will. This young man with a big cheery smile has raised himself. Sure he's been in foster care and boys' homes, but as he told me today, he has taught himself all the survival skills he currently possesses. That doesn't make me feel very good.

He does not live in Hamtramck (where I actually teach), but in Detroit. He has not always lived in this current location, but this looks like it's going to be home for a while. He usually catches a ride or the bus, which is a hell of a ride. I think that he said he had to be on the bus by 6 a.m. if he is going to be on time for the 7:50 start. As we drove to his street, the main street became rougher looking, with fewer and fewer open store fronts. I was too busy chatting and driving, but I did not see anything that resembled a major grocery store. When we approached his street, he warned me to be sure to go slow, because there were huge potholes and sure enough, there was a construction barrel in the middle of the street, sitting in a hole about three feet wide and a half-foot deep. I didn't count, but at least 90 percent of the homes were abandoned and boarded up. He told me that he never goes outside in this neighborhood because some crackhead will start harassing him. When he gets home from wrestling, he goes in the house and watches t.v. Homework doesn't happen because his skills are too low and he lives alone - no adult supervision. This is the first year that he has been my student and he did not start off in our system. He is supposed to graduate in June. What will he do? I want to wrap him up, bring him home, and make sure that someone finally looks out for him. I can't, but he will be my project for the rest of the year. He cannot leave high school with so few options.

He's just one kid. Now think about a city like Detroit where the poverty rate in through the roof. How do we let our babies down like this?

One of those women

When I got married, I decided to NOT change my last name. I cannot really say why, I just did not want to. I like my last name. It is funny how here in the 21st century people will still not fully accept a woman for making that decision.

At the time, the wife of a friend asked me, basically, what my problem was. My mother hyphenated all the mail she sent to my house. My friends also hyphenated my name. Heck, sometimes my friends, who knew my decision, would send a card to me with my husband's last name. I understood older people, for example my mother-in-law, but I just did not understand those people under fifty, especially women.

Even better is if I cross the border with Andrew alone. He and his father have the same last name. The Homeland Security officers often ask me why I have a different last name. I usually try to lighten the mood, rather than snap, and explain that I am one of THOSE women. That actually works. Is there still a stigma attached to women who do not change their names after marriage?

Now what

I had an appointment with an editor today and I am currently more confused than I had been previously.

I made the appointment because I wanted some neutral third party feedback. A couple of my friends from school and a writer friend have read my book, but who among them will tell me to get my damn verbs in order or tell me that my characters are flat. I might cry upon hearing those words, but if that is the case (and I know that my verb tenses are a mess) than I need to hear it.

This editor works at home and is currently editing a full-length non-fiction book. I can only imagine that a task like that is enormous. She asked me about my story and I told her and the reaction was, well, nothing. Not even a hint that my story might spark some interest in people outside of the teaching profession. I have always realized that my target audience might be too narrow, but I have been working hard at keep teacher-talk to a minimum.

She gave it a cursory glance, told me that my beginning was a little confusing and could be stronger. Okay, fair. That was it. I did not expect her to read all 31 pages that I brought, but I thought that a glace at each chapter might be in order.We then talked about the process, how extensive the notes would be, cost, and a time frame. I don't expect to be done with the book until next December. I could not, however, expect any feedback from her until March. I did not sign a contract, and I am glad, because I am having some second thoughts.

Should I look for an editor with a little more time? Should I look for one that seems to show a hint of interest in the story? I just don't know.

Goals, not resolutions

A resolution sounds so definitive. That is why I don't make New Year's resolutions. I usually end up completely disappointed in myself for breaking these grand proclamations. What I prefer to do is to set some reasonably attainable goals and see how that goes.

My first goal is to finish the novel by the end of 2010. I am currently in chapter seven and I need to go back and fill in some research. I'm not worried about that. I need to try and give myself 30 minutes 3 or 4 times a week to write. Ideally, I would write everyday, but I'm trying to be reasonable.

Another goal is to have more Andrew and momma dates. Since I've returned to work, I've become completely bogged down in grading, planning, or recovering. I have not spent time with Andrew the way I'd like, so that will change.

I'd like to read more, primarily non-school books. I'm hoping to be able to get through a book every month, either fiction or non-fiction. Again, since school started, I hardly have time to read the paper and that has to stop.

When I was in high school, I lived and breathed music. I knew the coolest bands not on regular radio. I'd like to discover a few of those bands this year. If a radio station plays Lady Gaga, then it won't play the bands I want to hear. If you've got any suggestions, I'll take them. Also in the category of music, I would love to attend four or five non-Tilbrook concerts. Of course, I'd settle for two Tilbrook Detroit area shows.

There are a gazillion jobs to do here in my old house. Many of them can be done without the aid of a contractor. Alas, they remain undone. I have decided to just do them myself and if I can't I am going to hire someone who can.

Finally, after attending my uncle's funeral, I realize that there are three cousins with whom I'd really like to reconnect. I'm going to work hard to make that happen.

Do you make resolutions or set goals for a new year? What are they?