Photo Hunt: Strings

I caught this picture of Annie as we sat out in the garden this morning. Doesn't it just pull on your heart strings?
For other photo hunters using string go here.

Kiki Aru Becomes a Teenager!!

My friend EM took this picture at my wedding celebration eleven years ago of Kiki Aru. This precious niece has grown up into a intelligent, energetic, talented teenager. She is celebrating her thirteenth birthday today. Happy birthday and best wishes for an awesome first year as a teenager Kiki. I wish I could be there to celebrate.

Classroom Conversations: Beginning a Teaching Year

I have now spent three days back at school. As I reflected back on those first days with sixth, seventh, and eighth graders (and a few high schoolers that came down the hall to visit) this evening, I smiled and even laughed out loud at some of the conversations that have already taken place.

" I really know that I could draw this so much better if I could use that cool extra fine black Expresso pen I saw on your desk!" ( After letting him use it I think he was right.)
" I really want to read this book that has lots of stories about wolves... but can you just ask me questions about one story? I may forget some stuff with this many facts and this many stories in one book." ( Of course.).
"How did you know I wasn't reading? What? You really do have eyes on the back of your head?" as he peered a bit closer. (smile)
While writing a story a new student asked," Is having a guy bring a big gun in and shoot all the people in a bank before he steals the money too violent for you?" ( before I could say a word most of my students replied, "Yes... she doesn't allow violence to that degree!).
" What is that "s" word we can't say in this class again?" ( A voice next to her whispered "shut up".)
When having a discussion about respect one student raised his hand and with all seriousness replied, " I think you should always say excuse me when you fart in class." (" I agree"I said, trying not to laugh.).
" Since it's my birthday could I have a day off from schoolwork? (stern look) Well... it was worth a try." ( "Happy Birthday... now begin writing.")
" Here teacher... .I drew this picture just for you. " ( smile)
" Do I have to read my book today?" ( "No, you don't have to... you get to. It is a privilege to be able to go to a big shelf of books and pick any one you want to read.")

and at least once the first week I always hear, " Are we going to do anything in here today?"
"No... we are going to do everything today... and if we don't get to everything thank goodness there is tomorrow and the next day. Aren't you glad you are ready to learn?" (smile)

A Rare Peek at the Morning Glory

It isn't often I get to see this morning glory in bloom. I don't think it is open when I leave in the morning. I am usually a bit too rushed to check. It is closed by the time I return home. I am glad I caught it over the week-end at the right time of the morning to get some photo images. It was very slow at blooming. It was worth the wait!

Attack of the Squash People

Recently I did a blog post on the poem entitled " My Mother Gives Me Her Recipe'" by Marge Piercy posted here. I had a blog friend Tinker suggest the one below. I laughed so hard when I read it. Now I know why I love Marge Piercy's work so well. Enjoy!

Attack of the Squash People
by Marge Piercy

And thus the people every year
in the valley of humid July
did sacrifice themselves
to the long green phallic god
and eat and eat and eat.
They're coming, they're on us,
the long striped gourds, the silky
babies, the hairy adolescents,
the lumpy vast adults
like the trunks of green elephants.
Recite fifty zucchini recipes!

Zucchini tempura; creamed soup;
sauté with olive oil and cumin,
tomatoes, onion; frittata;
casserole of lamb; baked
topped with cheese; marinated;
stuffed; stewed; driven
through the heart like a stake.

Get rid of old friends: they too
have gardens and full trunks.
Look for newcomers: befriend
them in the post office, unload
on them and run. Stop tourists
in the street. Take truckloads
to Boston. Give to your Red Cross.
Beg on the highway: please
take my zucchini, I have a crippled
mother at home with heartburn.

Sneak out before dawn to drop
them in other people's gardens,
in baby buggies at churchdoors.
Shot, smuggling zucchini into
mailboxes, a federal offense.

With a suave reptilian glitter
you bask among your raspy
fronds sudden and huge as
alligators. You give and give
too much, like summer days
limp with heat, thunderstorms
bursting their bags on our heads,
as we salt and freeze and pickle
for the too little to come.

Sibling Assignment #73: Growing a Writer

rvd1513's at flickr

I gave the sibling assignment this week. "As we near the start of the school year here is the assignment. Write about a school experience that was significant to your school life. Describe the experience and why it was significant." You will find Raymond Pert's here
soon and and Silver Valley Girl's enlightening post about essay writing here.


I started first grade at Silver King school in the Kellogg School District. It is in the process of being torn down. I caught this picture last winter. I then moved to Sunnyside School where I went to grades 2-6. I also substitute taught there while attending college. Dave Smith Motors now uses it for offices. This is Kellogg High School situated among the hills and evergreens in Jacob's Gulch in Kellogg.

I began my school experience in kindergarten in September of 1960. Every September since that year I have been in a classroom as a student or a teacher. Tomorrow I will celebrate the beginning of my 31st year of teaching. Those thirty-one years have included teaching all elementary grades, middle school language arts, drama, social studies, high school reading, college education courses, and three student teachers. My first three years of teaching were done here at Pinehurst Elementary in the Kellogg School District.


Along the way I have learned many lessons about myself, my surroundings, and life itself. I have had the privilege of working with amazing groups of students, parents, teachers, college professors, and administrators. I have been able to stay with a vocation that I love for my whole career. Not every day is a picnic. Sometimes I have wondered if there was anything else I could have done to reach a certain student. I questioned myself as I sat in a college math class wondering if it was ever going to make sense. I have had students that carried burdens heavier than I could imagine. I also had students that are making our world a better place today.



It is hard to focus on one school experience, but this is one that came to mind today. If you have read my blog much you know I have a passion for poetry. This passion began early in my life. My mom read poems aloud to us at home and my teachers made poetry reading an important ritual in my elementary classes. There was a tradition at Sunnyside School that the sixth graders wrote poems at Halloween for a contest. If a poem was chosen the writer got the privilege of reading it over the loudspeaker on the day of the Halloween party.

In my younger grades I remember students older than me reading their poems annually. It was like a rite of passage. I can remember working feverishly on the stanzas of that poem. At that time I knew all poems had to rhyme and I can remember adjusting words so they would work into lines of rhyme. My poem was chosen and I knew I would get to read it aloud. Our loudspeaker was only reserved for the deep voice of our principal as he would announce it was time to line up for shots or review a rule about snowballs in a stern voice. It seemed like a magical machine that was a bit like the microphone the wizard talked into from behind the curtain at Oz.

Not only was I excited I was chosen, but I marveled at the idea of using the loudspeaker. I practiced and practiced and used good expression when I read that day from the office. That was the moment I realized I was a poet. A copy of the poem may be somewhere in my mother's archives. It was called "The Haunted House". I would like to find it. This event was significant because I remember former teachers and other students praising me after I read my poem. It is that recognition that often begins to grow a writer. From there I continued my path to writing poetry all through my school years. In high school I finally realized poetry didn't have to rhyme. I look back on that experience at the start of a writing life and realize how it gave me confidence in myself. Perhaps I will do something like this this fall with my students.My classroom door today leading out to the basketball courts.