Mosaic Monday: Winter Play

It was a snow day this past Friday. I think my students knew more than I did; several asked me on Thursday what time it was supposed to snow on Friday. Hmmmm. I couldn't answer that question, nor did I really, truly think we would have snow. But we did. And the official notice came in plenty of time for us to get ready to enjoy a four-day weekend.

We played in the snow on Friday and went for a walk, marveling out how so many snowflakes would join together in bunches as they fell from the sky. We would eye one cluster high above us, then stick out our tongues and try to catch them... giggling when they would land on our noses or splat in an eye instead.

I'm sure that if anyone peeked out of their windows as we walked by, they would have thought we looked a bit like Maggie chasing after snowflakes.

I'd like to order another snow day and four-day weekend.... Perhaps two weeks from now?


I'm taking part in Mary's Mosaic Monday at Little Red House. If you want a visual treat, click on over!

If you happen to see a heart floating around...

it's from us....

Happy Valentine's Day!

xoxo

Hannah got this idea from the clever Color Me Katie site. If you haven't met Katie yet, you should go for a visit. But be prepared, you'll want to stay a while.

Getting it Right....

Have you ever thought, really thought, about how empty your life would be without certain people in it? How just knowing certain people helps you stay on an even keel during both smooth and tumultuous times? For me, that person is my sister, Traci. An idealist, a dreamer, a rock-solid realist all rolled into one.

With four years between us, she was often a little too old to play with her little sister, but I remember spending hours and hours in the floor with her, Barbies and Barbie clothes spread out before us....

I remember peering from the stairs to catch glimpses of "Dark Shadows," too afraid to sit out in the open without my sister close by....

I remember my sister slipping me money, so I could buy a slice of pizza at the skating rink.

When she went off to college, I remember writing her pages and pages of letters, many of which were recaps of the latest novel I was reading. But for me, it was a way of talking to her even when she wasn't there.

I remember how she never said one ill word toward me when I went to her house "to help her out" after her first child was born. Me. A skydiving, plane-flying, non-child-rearing person at the time. I got so lost on my way back from the grocery store, I ended up in the next town. She had to get out at night to help me find my way back to her home.

Not long ago, I posted a list of people and things for which I was grateful. Leave it to me to leave her off that list. My sister. My cheerleader. My confidante. My friend. I told her that she was in a realm of her own. That the gratitude list just didn't go high enough to include her. And she should know.

A couple of years ago when she was preparing to go on an Emmaus Walk, I wrote a letter to her that shared my feelings and made it clear how very special she is in my life. She never got the letter. It never arrived. And while I could never come up with the same words that I used that day, the feeling is the same. She is a precious person to me, and I can't imagine how empty my life would be without her.

I'm thankful to be a part of her world and that she is a part of mine... a big part that can't be filled by any other. You know the saying, "you're more than a sister, you're a friend?" It's absolutely true.

The photo is of Traci with her son as they welcome his baby sister into the world. Can't you just see the love?

I have another sister, Parris, who is also a dear and special part of my life. She'll take center stage soon in an upcoming post. xoxo

Nineteen Years.... Really?

I remember

the proposal at a University of Alabama football game

saying "yes," then immediately locking our keys in the car

I remember

finding the perfect dress, but then buying it a size too big in another town

the perfect shoes and veil all within my budget

I remember

walking down the aisle and saying "I do"

knowing it was the best thing that had happened in my life

I remember

Mom and Traci and Parris

Carson, Mikal, and Matt

I remember

how perfect the weather was that day... warm breezes and blue sky

and how perfect the weather was for our honeymoon

a ski trip where buckets of snow seemed to fall from the sky

But what I didn't realize then

was just how blessed my life truly would be

with a comfortable home

and a precious family of my own.

Happy Anniversary to us!

Today Could Have Been a Celebration....

We've been reading and studying poetry the last couple of weeks, a nice repreive from all of the essay-writing we tackled during the fall. It's such a nice change of pace as we peer into the words of poets past looking for examples of alliteration, personification, and imagery... the magic pixie dust of writing.

This week, as we read about Sidney Lanier, we realized that this is his birthday week, and that today, February 3, is his birthday. Oh how I wish I had thought ahead and bought a birthday cake in honor of this amazing poet. How fun it would have been to bring party hats to school and let my students partake in the festivities. But, I thought too late and wasn't too sure I would be willing to pay for a sheet-cake big enough for 93 hungry eighth-graders. And they wouldn't want me to bake one myself.

But it was a good idea. Maybe next year?

In the meantime, here's a favorite of mine...

The Song of the Chattahoochee

Out of the hills of Habersham,

Down the valleys of Hall,

I hurry amain to reach the plain,

Run the rapid and leap the fall,

Split at the rock and together again,

Accept my bed, or narrow or wide,

And flee from folly on every side

With a lover's pain to attain the plain

Far from the hills of Habersham,

Far from the valleys of Hall.

All down the hills of Habersham,

All through the valleys of Hall,

The rushes cried `Abide, abide,'

The willful waterweeds held me thrall,

The laving laurel turned my tide,

The ferns and the fondling grass said `Stay,'

The dewberry dipped for to work delay,

And the little reeds sighed `Abide, abide,

Here in the hills of Habersham,

Here in the valleys of Hall.'

High o'er the hills of Habersham,

Veiling the valleys of Hall,

The hickory told me manifold

Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall

Wrought me her shadowy self to hold,

The chestnut, the oak, the walnut, the pine,

Overleaning, with flickering meaning and sign,

Said, `Pass not, so cold, these manifold

Deep shades of the hills of Habersham,

These glades in the valleys of Hall.'

And oft in the hills of Habersham,

And oft in the valleys of Hall,

The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone

Did bar me of passage with friendly brawl,

And many a luminous jewel lone --

Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist,

Ruby, garnet and amethyst --

Made lures with the lights of streaming stone

In the clefts of the hills of Habersham,

In the beds of the valleys of Hall.

But oh, not the hills of Habersham,

And oh, not the valleys of Hall

Avail: I am fain for to water the plain.

Downward the voices of Duty call --

Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main,

The dry fields burn, and the mills are to turn,

And a myriad flowers mortally yearn,

And the lordly main from beyond the plain

Calls o'er the hills of Habersham,

Calls through the valleys of Hall.

~ Sidney Lanier 1877

P.S. Happy Birthday!

Photo: Sierra Club

Have you ever fallen in love...

with someone you just couldn't have? Years ago, during a college astronomy class, I fell head over heels in love with the constellation, Orion. That gallant hunter who fills part of the winter sky with his presence....

At the time, young and working my way through college, I felt a connection with Orion. I considered him a guardian watching over me. Even now with the passage of time, I find myself waiting for that first glimpse of him during late fall and early winter. Soon, he will be gone again, watching over someone else in another part of the world. But I know that as soon as the nights lengthen across the shadows of day, he'll be back to watch over me. And I'll send another kiss his way.

I wrote the poem during college and remember it still.

This is when I stop and wonder...

if all of the hard work will pay off. Today is the big day.... The day my students get to show me and show themselves how they have progressed as writers this year. And, oh, how I've worked them! I see myself through their eyes.... glasses perched on the tip of my nose, imaginary whip in hand as I have them write one more time... as I have them add details one more time... as I have them re-read that sentence to make sure it makes sense... one more time.

Since August, I've graded between 450 and 500 essays. The last batch over the weekend after my students had put pen to paper once again for a practice writing test. And as much as I love to write and enjoy seeing my students mature as writers, I'm ready for the push to be over. I'm ready to redirect our efforts toward literature and poetry. Toward rhythm and rhyme.

I bet you can hear the relief in my voice.

And hope.

Hope that my students remember what they've learned so far this year as they face the final prompt tomorrow.

Hope that they will capitalize the first words of their sentences and put periods at the end.

Hope that they will craft interesting phrases and call on imagery and figurative language to help them express their thoughts, their ideas.

That they'll know the difference between persuasive and expository.

And that they'll proofread their papers one last time.

I've been reminded more than once that our scores on the writing test don't affect our Adequate Yearly Progress. That they won't hold us back. That I really could get by without grading so many essays each year... without teaching so much about writing. But, you know what? My students will have to pass the 11th-grade writing test to graduate from high school. And I want them to be ready for it.

I want them to face a blank page with confidence and assurance, and then...

I want them to get out their pens and write.