As a teacher I must adhere to a couple of musts and one of those is taking attendance. I still find myself referring to it as “taking roll” which brings to mind me in a drill sergeant uniform and yelling out last names of my students as they stand at attention at their desks before sitting down to receive instruction. Now there’s a movie in the making, I know there is. Kind of a GI Jane meets Dead Poets Society. Wait a minute–I think Michelle Pfeiffer did it already. Never mind.
Seriously, taking attendance or taking roll, is a must-do within the first ten minutes of class. I have to scamper over to my desk computer and make sure all my darlings are in plus before dishing out my lesson du jour. So where did roll call come from?
Back in the day before books were bound, important documents were rolled up sheets of parchment, eventually become rolled paper. When a group assembled and the need to know who was present and who was not, the one taking attendance would unroll the paper and call out the names. Aah–so attendance and roll taking are in cahoots. I have a role in taking roll. I’ll take mine with cinnamon, thank you.
image: livestrong.com (I wouldn’t mind attending to these rolls…)
Teachers make judgments all the time. Sometimes I have time to make a quantitative decision based on fact and experience, no science involved at all, while other times I take a rule of thumb measurement and hope for the best. Seat of the pants decision making–but that term is somewhere in the S zone coming up.
Rule of thumb–an odd little expression that harkens back to the days when people measured not with accurate tools but with their body parts. Yes, the ark was built with elbow power (check out cubit sometime). In this case thumbs and fingers measured a given unit. It probably wasn’t as accurate as a measuring tape or a ruler, but if those are invented yet a person improvises. Yes, improvised decisions are called rule of thumb.
You know something–why we say these sayings do make more than sense. Although putting a crown on my thumb would be kind of weird.
When I received my manuscript comments I was a bit taken by one particular sentence from the agent. She seemed to hesitate at reading about a family who had traditional roles: women in the kitchen, menfolk working outside. She didn’t think it would be readily accepted. Maybe I hadn’t emphasized in my pitch that the setting is 1860s gold rush era or maybe she missed that point. Back then, women and men did function in traditional roles. Yes, we like those Annie Oakley stories, where someone steps out and does some gender bending, yet history is chock full of regular people in regularly expected roles.
I shelf my manuscript comments, but then another historical noticeable comes up on my radar.
Instead of deleting the email, I decide to take up the offer of teaching a trial rhetorical analysis lesson with Taylor Swift’s “Wildest Dreams”–yes, it was indeed a hit with my students. What proved interesting was the backlash Swift received for marketing a perceived colonialism video since the cast and crew were about 99% white on location in Africa. And here I thought she was channeling Elizabeth Taylor ala 1950s.
Once again historically the setting details were correct in that whites dominated the fifties Hollywood scene and the video would not look quite right having a multi-ethnic set.
Another recent creative endeavor got me thinking that we are becoming either enlightened to the point of oversensitivity or we’re becoming very confused. I refer to Hamilton the musical. The cast is anything goes in terms of ethnicity. And I have no problem with casting for ability rather than color, yet I see this reluctance towards accepting history as it really was. Are we uncomfortable with defined roles as they were set down in the history books?
This loose interpretation of roles has even drifted into ballroom dancing, very traditionally gender coded: men lead, women follow. A recent TedTalk revealed this is changing into what is called “liquid lead,” which I can relate to since I never know what I’m doing when dancing and end up inadvertently leading. The most fascinating implications at stake as women now have the option of taking the lead when on the floor. Except–I don’t think scenes like this would be the same…
As a writer I am aware of trends and it’s worrisome that to write a story set in a time period where men were men and the women women, makes the publishing powers uncomfortable. Do I have to ignore history to radically shape it to fit modern audiences? Does a character have to chose an alternate path to deserve notice?
What are your thoughts, readers? Are we dissatisfied with history enough to change it to reflect our contemporary concerns in all artistic endeavors–from stories to musicals to even dancing?
“I would rather have a hard copy, if that’s okay.” This is from a new AP recruit wanting the summer reading text How to read Literature Like a Professor in book format rather than the PDF version I found on-line. Curious, I asked why. Her response? She had difficulty connecting with the on-screen type. Not what I expected from eyes way younger than mine. I, of course spout off about how much I prefer hard copies to e-copies as well because of my need to connect sensory-wise and as I’m talking, I’m flipping pages and smelling them and listening to them and when I finally notice my student nodding and edging toward the door, like she’d really like to leave because I’m a looney lady (more than one student has commented on me being a bit crazy), I hand over the book and wish her a great summer.
I am a looney lady when it comes to books–hence the Book Booster thing I do. Books aren’t just a pasttime or a channel of information, they are an introduction. Ahem, a new quote from moi:
A book in hand is a friendship in the making.
Beyond making a new friend, there is joy, a celebration of the senses holding a book in hand. I’m talking honest to goodness REAL paper-in-hand book. I do so enjoy paper, maybe that’s why I always answer “paper” instead of “plastic” at the store. Perhaps it’s because paper comes from trees and trees come from the earth and holding a book bound in paper produces more connection to the world around me. I have little or no sensory connection to my plastic e-reader even though it’s a book in hand. Oh oh–I feel the looney lady coming on and before I go on about trees, books and their connection to the world and mankind, here is my list of reasons for preferring a book of paper when reading:
1. Smell: that inky pungency stimulates my imagination to anticipation
2. Hearing: the flip-swish of pages signifies my involvement and commitment and helps me to further escape
3. Taste: no, I don’t lick the book, but reading a paper book whets my appetite for setting aside time to open up the pages to fall into another time, another place, another person’s story
4. Touch: there has got to be a study out there concerning the connection between the tactile aspect of reading and brain synapse when communing with a book–I am so much more involved when I am holding the book instead of just listening to it by audio or thumbing up a new screen. Think about this: glass does not conduct electricity, which means no synapse boost. Plus, when I see my book lying on the bed, table, chair it beckons me to pick it up, so there must be a some kind of magnetism involved.
5. Visual: perhaps the most notable because of the cover has all those colors and interesting bits to feed my eyes and mind, and then, of course, there all those illustrations and photographs and drawings sometimes waiting inside.
I’ve shown this video before, yet it definitely illustrates the visual appeal of books.
Reading is definitely a sensory experience for me. What about you? Paper or plastic?
Both my sophomores and seniors are in the midst of studying poetry. I like poetry. Lots.
image: zazzle
However, I understand the deeper truth in the popular saying:
Truth is like poetry..most people hate poetry.
I suppose this statement is saying truth is found in poetry, yet while most people desire the truth, they really don’t want to hear it. Connect this epiphany to poetry. If poetry represents truth, then people don’t want to hear or read poetry.
Welcome to my world.
(Most of) my students don’t want to hear, read, and most of all, study poetry. I make them anyway. Yes, I’m that kind of teacher.
I do try to make it a bit more fun, (after all I did dress up like Mary Poppins for homecoming week) by adding clips and such that discuss the importance of poetry or I present poetry in an paradigm shifting way.
Do you know that if you write poetry you could become a famous award winning writer?
Beyond analyzing and writing responses to poetry, I have students create their own poetry. Here is a mini-poetry workshop from my Creative Writing I files:
REPETITION POETRY 1.Pick a word or short phrase for the first line
2.Add a word or phrase to it for the second line
3.Take the ending line to create the consecutive lines, adding a new word or phrase each time until poem reaches a satisfactory conclusion.
In the garden there is a tree. And in that tree is thinking spot. And in that thinking spot are my daydreams. And in my daydreams are pathways. And on those pathways are choices to make. And from those choices to make I will decide. And from those decisions will become my destiny.
And from that destiny I will live my life.
And I will live my life always dreaming, always thinking. I am thankful for trees. pdw
I have I have a I have a nap I have a nap hiding I have a nap hiding in I have a nap hiding in my I have a nap hiding in my backpocket I have a nap hiding in my backpocket and It found me. pdw
DEFINITION POETRY Take any word or concept or topic and define through a mix or poetical flow and concrete definition to better understand what it is all about, especially on a personal level.
Grammar is the spine Of prose and all we know That is called language, Which can be spoken Or written down. And all those nouns And verbs And prepositions And modifiers that often dangle And nominative clauses that Sometimes tangle Up Our understanding Are the vertebrae.
And without our vertebrae There would be not enough spine To stand us up.
So it is with language.
pdw
SECRETS REVEALED POEM All of us carry secrets. Some should stay hidden and some can be released. Secrets Revealed poems help ease the burden of confession in a light-hearted manner. Secrets can be real (“I ate the last piece of cake and blamed it on my cousin Bobbie”) to creative (“I am Captain America’s favorite niece”)
Chocolate Cake Ache It’s said secrets nestle in our stomach like tasty morsels, yet, I don’t think that can be said for stolen chocolate cake.
For there it sat like a lump, like a great big chocolate bump of guilt.
Oh, it was tasty: fork-licking, hit-the-spot, lick-my-lips, glad-I-ate-it tasty, until the realization settled down on top of that confectionary indiscretion.
“The last piece?” “I don’t know.” “Maybe Bobbie.” “Yeah, I think she did.”
For undisclosed penance I passed on dessert that night. And I do like tapioca pudding.
“Sure, Bobbie—you can have mine.”
Unexpressed confession, even though it is rerouted through unexplained acts of sudden generosity, does not relieve the ache of stolen chocolate cake.
This I know. pdw
INSIDE, UNDERNEATH, AND BEYOND This is a poem of exploring matters contained within, or underneath, or beyond something everyday, or even unexplained. Choose something to explore and decide which direction of discovery to investigate: will it be to dive inside to see what makes it tick, or will it be a burrowing sense of exploration where layers are removed and examined, or does the exploration go beyond known boundaries?
Inside all poems Is a question And inside this question Is a quest
The poet rides out
on a journey to find the meaning or an answer– or maybe to hear an echo of reply from one who seeks an answer to the same question quest. pdw
Underneath is not a place I like to be places especially not chosen would be:
underneath our house– dank earth of spider habitat bug haven and perhaps where the neighbor’s cat did hide and done died.
No, not under the house.
Not under the sea either– All fishiness, and no way to breathe. Sharks and stingrays and eels—oh, my…
And thanks, but no for caves.
In fact, anywhere it’s dark. Dark is underneath and where the light Cannot be–
You’ll not find me.
pdw
SNAPSHOT POEMS The idea is to write with imagery and detail in a way that it places the reader in that particular moment of time. Actual photographs can be chosen for inspiration as can a reflective moment. Employing the senses, playing with figurative language such as alliteration, onomatopoeia, internal rhyme can help create a moment rich with remembrance.
AIRPORT The crowd swelled, receded, and swirled Around you
Yet you did not pay heed
To the push and jostle Of the nameless faces.
Anticipation’s scent lingered in the air.
Shuffle and adjustment of frustration, excitement Mingled and settled As the one face in a million became spotlighted As he traversed the passenger-smoothed steps
The continuance of celebrating the 400 year passing of Shakespeare continues–I hope it just keeps continuing.
My mission this month is to convince high school students to join my Students for Shakespeare Club. I’m doing this not only because I want students to know the amazingness of Billy Bard, I’m also promoting the club because I don’t want to lose $400.
You see many years ago a batch of drama students formed the Students for Shakespeare Club so they could perform the Scottish play at the town’s local theatre. It was a success. Money was generated from tickets, the students graduated, and the club somewhat languished until it became the starting point for sponsoring the yearly Shakesperience drama production. Long story short: it’s well known on campus how much I like Shakespeare, so it wasn’t too difficult to convince me to take on the task of scheduling the annual play. So what’s with the $400?
Basically if a club does not use its funds it loses them–they get dispersed to other clubs. At least that’s what I understand. If I can get a few students dropping by my classroom now and then to learn Shakespeare stuff, like stage fighting, tossing out insults, arranging a flash mob, playing around with scenes, I think I’ll be safe.
Here’s my promo for the morning announcements. It was a hit.
At the homecoming carnival I provided the game of “Thou Art” which involved selecting a slip from three available baskets in order to form a personal Shakespearean compliment. Such as: THOU ART A…
MELTING TIGER-BOOTED GODDESS
It was a hit. As a thanks for playing, participants got Smarties for becoming smarter about the Bard. Candy is always a hit.
I thought it’s time for one of my own poems. Sky is extremely important to me. I need blue skies to function properly. Often summer begins with that blah gray overcast that has hints of promise, as if a blue sky day is hiding under its canvas.
A gesso sky
replaced the
forecast of partly
cloudy.
The day remained
blank with possibilities.
Yet, none pursued.
Restless,
even oppressed,
by the sky’s indecision,
I laze through the day.
A splash of blue sky
cautiously peeps out,
rendering the pale absence,
and then the wan is replaced …
Ah–
This artist captures well the aspect of gesso sky.
I began summer in the place I’m ending summer with a reverse visit switch–the same folk, different locale.
Starting my break with GiGi duty (grandma) proved an auspicious start to summer. After a week of reading Narnia, scoping out Portland’s playgrounds, tromping in summer rain, and frolicking in a water park I reloaded the car and headed for a self-imposed writer’s retreat, by borrowing my mom’s condo. I managed to get some solid work done on my authors and their cats manuscript.
Situated in my hometown, Mom’s condo is old (built in 1966) yet boasts amenities such as a pool and a large private balcony overlooking a tree lined creek. Veddy nice.
Quiet? Mostly, except for the occasional boomers who like to meet up in the community service parking lot next door after hours and their rap music bass rattles the sliding glass doors. Or the garbage truck on Tuesdsys at 5 a.m.
Peaceful is a better word. Most of the time it’s peaceful here. No constant interruptions of the trains, fairground events, traffic patterns, and ongoing construction behind our house, just a day’s drive away. The condo is perfect for decompressing.
I usually don’t need too much R&R after the school year ends. This year though… *sigh* It’d been one of those years where I wondered if it’s time I should retire. However, a rest up of two weeks in June and I was back planning lessons for the upcoming year.
July spent at home with the Hubs, I have the condo to myself after a visit my mom, who came up from Arizona to see the family, and to escape 114 degrees as well. She left, I stayed, thinking the peacefulness encountered at summer’s start would greet me once again.
I’m not quite finding it.
It must have something to do with the anticipation of school starting. Instead of reading books lounging at on the balcony in solitude, I’m polishing lesson plans. Instead of reveling in the quiet respite, I’m trying to persuade the Hubs to drop projects (even though I would really like the fact that the garage is being tidied, and the kitchen painted) and to pop in the truck and pop over. “Are you lonely?” he inquires. “Not at all,” I reply.
I believe I’m restless.
Well, dinner with my boyos and a weekend visit with my girlies and summer will be done.
It’s funny how different June can be from August in the same place.
A June donut even tastes different than an August donut.
To the Moon [fragment] by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)
Art thou pale for weariness
Of climbing Heaven, and gazing on the earth,
Wandering companionless
Among the stars that have a different birth,—
And ever changing, like a joyless eye
That finds no object worth its constancy?
With school starting up again, red is an appropriate color for this month.
image: Twitter
Before delving into our feature, here is another word related to school:
Quiz
Have you ever wanted to be the originator of a word, to be the one Wikipedia can proclaim as the inventor, to be the one who is lauded as the first to start it all? It can be done, at least according to Why We Say…
Apparently, about a hundred or so years ago, a Dublin theatre manager proclaimed he could create a new word and make it popular enough that it would become part of everyday use, and he could accomplish this in 24 hours. He printed Q-U-I-Z on walls all over the city. The meaning of the word: practical joke. Its use then moved towards meaning a question or a series of questions. I think that explains why my students always say, “Is this a joke?” when they find out there is a pop quiz.
Read the Riot Act
More than one student has been read the riot act for bringing home bad grades–usually a result of not doing well on all those pop quizzes. While getting read the riot act today can involve an angry parent scolding a child, King George I of England in 1716 meant it to be something else. It seems King George did not want any disturbances to break out and one way to stop them was to let the people know of the consequences before they acted up. If the riot did occur the penalty would be servitude for life. Whether that was for the law enforcers or the law breakers is a bit hazy.
Red Cross
What would school be without the school nurse? Due to budget cuts, the school nurse is most likely a box attached to wall with medical supplies. That red cross on the box signifies the Red Cross organization. It’s the reverse of the Swiss flag design of a white cross on a red field. The original intent of the Red Cross was to relieve the suffering caused by wartime injuries, the idea being the inspiration of a Swiss man named Jean Henry Dunant in 1862.
Red Sea
Should this question pop up on a quiz you’ll now know the answer: The Red Sea is so named because the water is so clear that a person can see the beds of red coral, which gives the sea the appearance of being red.
Red Letter Day
Getting an “A” on a quiz (especially a tough one that hadn’t been studied for) might cause celebration as a Red Letter Day. Originally a red letter day signified a feast day for Christians marked on the 15th century calendar. A red letter day came to mean a special day or a special event.
Red Tape
When you think of a process that gets slowed down because it’s tied up in red tape, you aren’t too far from the true meaning. Way back in England, government documents were stored in envelopes secured with red tape because string might damage the contents. Why red? Unknown at this press release. If someone could not get access to a document they needed it was due to it being tied up in red tape. A case of the literal moving to the metaphorical.
Seeing Red
If you are seeing red, perhaps due to a bad quiz grade or getting paperwork work mired in red tape, that you are no doubt as mad as a bull being taunted by a matador waving a red cape. Actually, bulls are color blind, it’s the waving of the flag that annoys them. So next time you are really mad, get away from whatever is waving at your face. You’ll feel much better.
Hoping your back to school season is a red letter day that avoids red tape and pop quizzes so you can sea clearly and not see red enough to require Red Cross.
My usual method of taking on a new Shakespeare play is through immersion by multitudinous pathway: reading it, watching it live and an adaptation, listening to an audio play, and for good measure, a simpler version such as a graphic novel. For some reason Richard III has fallen on my path and I keep tripping over him on my way to brighter choices like Twelfth Night or Much Ado.
I suppose it began with hints of Richard. After all, I wasn’t particularly attracted to this rotter of a king whose “bunched back toad” appearance served as a metaphor for his morals. Family get togethers must have been terribly strained when he showed up at the table, having offed brothers, and nephews and not even showing a drop of remorse.
I think the interest began with Terry Jones’ superb Medieval history series when he mentioned Richard’s deformities probably weren’t true. Well, that’s the Bard for you, isn’t it? Making metaphors out of molehills, or just moles. I got your back took on a different once penned and crowned.
I came stumbled upon Ian Holm’s teledrama years ago, but it was so horribly dreary I didn’t think about Richard until recently. All of a sudden there a Richard factor emerged: skeletons, a steamy Philippa adaptation, Benedict’s Hollow Crown, Mark Rylance’s stand up comic version, with Sir Ian’s despotic 1930’s cinematic splash tossed into the mix.
And then I came upon Joshephine Tey’s The Daughter of Time in which the history of Richard becomes a whodunnit or in this case, didhedoit?
The hubs pointed out that the Shakespeare in the Park production this year will be–who guessed it, Richard III.
I’m still not a fan of Richard, in fact, I’m not sure I’m richer with my wealth of Richard. I do appreciate the Bard all the more because he convinced people for hundreds of years that Richard was a “bottled spider” and with imagery like that, why believe anything else?
Pam Webb 