Loss At Summer's End

for Courtney

The sirens called to villages all around.
"Send your fire trucks!  We've got
lives to save!  A house is ablaze!"
Brave men in yellow with oxygen masks and tanks
could do little except cool the cinders and cry.

As we struggled to accept this we said,
"...a good young woman."  "...a selfless soul."
"...died trying to save her grandmother."  "...so like her."
Her life ended with so much
for her to experience.

And the news reports say:
"Tragedy," "Loss," and
"Courtney Fischer, 19..."
And lots has been said about being shocked,
and lots has been thought about her absense.

As a high school student she often said,
"But Mr. Lentz, what if..." "I can't get it done?,"
or "I forget it?," or "I don't understand?," or "I get it wrong?"
The world will still be here for you tomorrow
to try again, to make it right.

Grieve as we must, we also must live.
"How lucky you were to know her. 
How sad for those who will not."
If we cannot revel in being alive on this day,
then we will likely never find a day to be happy.
-----
Go here to read Courtney's obituary:  http://juneaumessenger.com/2015/08/12/courtney-helen-marie-fischer-age-19-of-lyndon-station/
And here to read her grandmother's obituary:  http://juneaumessenger.com/2015/08/12/judy-fischer-age-68-of-lyndon-station/ 

Missy Marie

I always had the sense that Missy was seeing things we
humans couldn't see and that she couldn't understand.

In 13 years you never hissed
or bared your teeth, peace kitty.
And only in your last
days did you cry in pain.

As a kitten you had large,
rabbit legs (one of which
was orange and apparently
stolen from another cat).

The laser pointer was okay,
but you obsessed over plastic,
Coke-bottle caps.  Hand targeted
head-butts continued until you

had gotten enough attention
or resorted to a loud,
endearing mew.  You interrupted
when I least wanted, but most needed,

to set aside what I was working on.
And it was the rare minute that
passed in 13 years without your purr,
sometimes audible across a room.

As patient as you were demanding,
I could hold you when I cried and
you insisted on sitting with/on me
when I wasn't feeling well, doctor kitty.

You snuck onto the deck
a few days before you died
even though you never liked
being outside.  What did you

think of the sunshine that day?
Of the birds at the feeder?
Life is brief, philosopher kitty.
Your "goodbye" to the world?

The Song Remembers When: A One Scene Play.

NPR's "A Life Story In 6 Songs" (http://www.npr.org/blogs/theprotojournalist/2014/02/22/263352268/a-life-story-in-6-songs-part-1) reminded me of this short drama I wrote for my creative writing class in college.

-----

CHARACTERS:

Business Man, a 90's businessman. He carries a cell phone and briefcase. He wears an expensive suit (that still doesn't quite fit him right).

Waitress, She suits her surroundings. Dressed in a waitress outfit, hairstyle, and make-up that matches the era of the diner itself. She is very plain-Jane but charming none the less.

Future Man, he is approximately 50 years old and he looks a lot like Business Man but his clothes do not match any recognizable nation or time period. He lives some time in the future.

SETTING:

The entire stage will be decorated to resemble a diner. The decor should be from the late 1950's /early 1960's. Stage right, almost parallel to the front of the stage is a counter with stools bolted to the ground in front of it. Behind the counter is a wall with a serving window. A wheel hangs from one side of the opening with green order slips clipped to it. The middle of the stage contain six tables with chairs. Stage left there is a jukebox.

THE SCENE:

[The Curtain opens. The scene is dark and everybody is freeze-framed. Business Man is sitting at the counter on the middle stool. Waitress is caught in mid motion as she wipes tables up stage. Future Man is sitting at one of the tables down stage. A spotlight focuses on the jukebox and its lights turn on. Music comes up in the background--"R-E-S-P-E-C-T"---and a spotlight comes up on gentleman. The spotlight dims on the jukebox. Music fades but continues to play as Business Man talks. We also hear the chatter and clatter of other diners but we do not see them (these sounds will be present only when the Business Man is in the spot light alone). The spotlight comes up on Business Man and everyone else remains frozen as he speaks.]

Business Man

[Talking into a cell phone]

... what...What! Quit bringing all these bogus investments to me. I'm sick of you throwing my money around. Wait a minute, I'll have to call you from a pay phone I think my battery is going dead.

[He stuffs the phone into an inside pocket. He picks up a menu and looks at it a second, he then turns to his left and says]

Hey, Jim, have you ever tried the meat loaf platter? [He listens for a moment.]

No, I haven't been brave enough to either. I guess I'll go with my usual. [A bell rings indicating that someone has entered the diner. Business Man turns to his left to see who it is but he stops and seems to focus his attention on Waitress instead.]

Business Man

[Not looking back]

Sam, why did you take down my grandmother's picture from the corner over there. I know you don't like the fact that your grandfater chose her to marry after your grandmother's death bothers you but come on, what would the old man say? John was a good man. And she was a good woman. Don't disrespect them.

[Waitress, while still motionless and in darkness, and Business Man seem to be looking into each other's eyes. The light on Business Man fades and Waitress is now in a spotlight. Business Man freezes with hand on counter. The jukebox lights flash and Elvis is now heard singing "Love me Tender"]

Waitress

[Singing]

Love me tender. Love me true... [Stops singing and listens for a moment]

Very funny John. I don't plan on quitting my day job. [She hums along to a few more lines.]

No, he was simply an animal. The first date; and he expected... Well, he certainly wasn't worth that. [Listens for a moment.]

No, I've given up trying. There might be more fish in the sea but they all stink. [Listens, thinks, laughs briefly. As she finishes wiping the table most upstage she sets the chairs upside down on the table. She moves to a space where there is no table and acts as if she is wiping a table, putting up chairs...]

Yeah, Gerald was the only man I ever thought was worth anything. You know that I kept his name. I tell everybody it is for little Gerald's sake but it is really for me. [Listens...]

I keep thinking...Well that is why I still wear the ring. [By this time she has reached the table that Future Man is sitting at. She continues to wipe and set chairs on the table. She pulls the chair right out from under Future Man; he remains sitting and motionless.]

I know...I know. I should really think about moving on. It has been five years. But...I still wonder some times. And to be honest John, you've been the only one who seems to understand. [She stops wiping a minute and brushes her face as if to wipe away a tear but there is no tear on her cheek. She sighs, takes the towel she was wiping the table with and walks over to the counter and begins wiping. Singing all the way to cover the pain. She starts as far upstage as possible and quickly works her way to the middle of the counter. Her hand rests on Gent's hand and the spotlight fades. Jukebox lights flash again and "Love Me Tender" starts over.]

She Said Yes - new poem "Victoria"

The reading went very well.  There was one poem, however, I didn't include in my earlier post.  Here is the poem I ended my reading set with.

------------------------------

Victoria

Victoria's ring was made by Sarah DeAngelo.

One day I walked into a store.

I wasn't buying; I was selling my bad poetry.

I left a book and left without much hope.

But I am the luckiest man you will ever meet;

I have had two loving relationships in my life.

And you, Victoria, aren't second; you are now.

What I didn't know is that this shop keeper

and I had things in common. Like,

we had both been looking for belonging.

Your life changed for the better.

And when we met again, you asked if I

would like to "chat about business;" I wasn't sure.

In a follow-up email you mentioned possibly

meeting for a "social thing." So, I

asked you to a movie; I still wasn't sure.

What I didn't know is that this marketing expert

and I had so much in common. Like,

we had both been looking and longing.

Two introverts on a date, yet

we found so much to talk about.

That one night would never be enough.

Neither was it enough when we "happened"

to meet the next evening; sometimes chosen

encounters are better than chance meetings.

What I didn't know is that this intelligent, brown-eyed,

nerdy, funny beauty and I had a lot in common. Like,

we had both been looking for the other.

Now, not only can I tell you that I love you;

I am telling you that I want to marry you.

Victoria, will you marry me?

Winter Festival of Poetry - Reading Selections

Today I will be taking part in one of the Winter Festival of Poetry readings.  Each Sunday in January and February the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets organizes a reading to showcase Wisconsin poets.

This is the first time I have ever taken part in anything like this.  I'm excited and nervous.  I'm looking forward to hearing a lot of poetry that will make me fell ashamed to be calling myself a poet.  But I also know that I will learn from this experience and make connections with others who appreciate good writing and storytelling.

I am the last to read today so that is even more intimidating.  Reading before me are:  Marilyn Taylor, Lori Lipsky, Gary Powell, Shoshauna Shy, and Dave Scheler.  If you clicked on any of the links, it is clear that I am out of my league.  But I am honored to be even the least amongst them.

For more about the event you can check here:  http://www.thedailypage.com/theguide/details.php?event=318130&name=Winter-Festival-of-Poetry

Below are the selections I will be reading.

------------------------------------------------------

Excerpts from “Colleen”

Colleen was the most unanticipated person

in my life.

Having given up on love years before,

I had no hope of finding someone

I did not want to live without.

I often just wanted to watch her because

she was so graceful and deliberate.

I came to love her when I realized that

most of her life was approached

with that same style, dedication, and insight.

Colleen never gave up on people.

She was friendly in the most stubborn way possible.

She greeted every person, every day.

If someone snubbed her, she made a point

of being friendly to them until they cracked;

sometimes it was just a warm smile, but she had changed a life.

People I would not have given a second thought to,

she saw the value in being kind to.

It wasn't a game or a matter of pride;

she knew that everyone was worthy

of a kind word and a smile;

those who cannot reciprocate need it even more.

Colleen did not mind hurting, suffering, and sacrificing.

At times holding her hands hurt her.

And so many nights I feel asleep holding her hand.

My love was honest unless it would hurt someone else;

I never knew how much she hurt or for how long.

On a Saturday afternoon in May, the doctors explained the situation:

An infection

they could not adequately treat had developed.

(and Colleen was always afraid of dying from an infection)

Aren't I too young to make this decision?

Aren't I too young to have to make it?

Isn't the doctor too young to know for sure?

"Will treatment cause her more pain?"

"Yes, it will cause her more pain;

though it might prolong her life slightly.

She is too weak to respond well.

Colleen likely has brain damage."

Colleen likely has brain damage?

Likely?

Yes, you will have to push a button every 15 minutes

to help ease her pain,

you will have to tell her

it is okay "to go" and

"I will be okay"

The last thing you hear her say (yell) will be

"Oh, God make it stop!"

In a few days you will have to hold her close

as her last breath is taken,

you will have to sit with

her dead body to wait for her lifelong friend

to come and say goodbye,

you will watch

as her blood settles and her skin turns alabaster,

you will be haunted by all you have seen,

you will often be alone now,

you will have to endure the "knowing" glances of everyone who knows

and the "ignorant" remarks of those who don't,

you will sometimes find yourself wandering around your
home looking for

something you can never find,

you will die some day too but you will be

far less afraid of death. 

How Do I Look?

Will
I make it
through the day
without my morning
blessing, "You look
handsome!"?

I
am never handsome
but I believed;
all that mattered
was what you
thought.

Can
I make it
through the day
knowing you are
not waiting for
me to come
home?

Do
I make it
through the day
without anticipation of
reward, returning home
for your love?
I guess I
"muddle through somehow"
as the lyric
goes.

The Mother Of Certainty

In Mother's home
there will always
be a hot
kettle for tea
on the stove
(or iced tea
in the fridge),
a peanut butter
jar on the
table, and dishes
of baked goods.

It may be
unwise to take
comfort in certainty
when life is
so unsure. What
else drowns out
our death clock's
ticking, winding down?

Grief stricken and
wallowing Mom said,
"Now you have
only to do
what Carney wants.
You have to
figure out what
you really want."
Wisdom mixed with
love, sadness, anticipation...

Mom's message is:
life is to
be enjoyed, beloved
are to be
held close, truth
is to be
accepted as a
vital first step,
choices are to
be doubted even
while moving on;
life is to
be lived so
it is always
worth being remembered.

Cleaning List

clear out junk cupboard
dump out catch-all drawer
give away poor fitting clothes
throw ratty sneakers
sell lonely guitar on Craigslist
cash in gold with jeweler
give away rock collection

You might find room for the unexpected.

burn old greeting cards
donate a box of random
isolate photos in one box
toss wilted bouquet
fling musty blankets
put empty vases aside
bundle papers for pulp

You might find room for the unexpected.
Life expands to fill every void.

un-bury secrets near tree roots
air dirty laundry
shake lose unseen pests
walk skeletons out of closet
sweep cobwebs everywhere
open doors for breeze
show fears the sun

You might find room for the unexpected.
Life expands to fill every void.
Anticipate all the newness to come.

One Who Loves Me Must...

idolize my ugliness

and be turned off by my vanities.

tolerate my gloominess,
remembering my smiles.

be fulfilled in us
though made vulnerable by sharing.

admire my focus
while ignoring my stubborn ways.

despise my distant moments,
seeking renewal in my affections.

love me
as much as one could loathe me.

To reverse any
above would make
hate, not love.

Too Right To Be Scared

The last woman in
my arms was dying.
Now, your response
to my touch reawakened
the joys of mingled flesh.

I feel vulnerable, but I'm crying
happy tears.
I want so much, but I thought
I had quit trying.

Met you months ago and
never thought we'd be here.
Now, being in each others'
arms seems inevitable. How
lucky to have this chance.

I feel exhausted, and I'm writing
weepy poetry.
I want so much, but I thought
I had quit trying.

That you are possible and real
is why I stayed up all night.
Now, I have memories of
you trying to sleep and of
how close we can be.

I feel anticipation, and I'm saying
"Thank You."
I want so much, but I thought
I had quit trying.

new poem - Christmas 2013

--for Victoria

For our first Christmas together, we exchanged ornaments.

Winter windshield reflections
distort the present,
tell possible futures.
I stop snow
shoveling, ignoring cold
body parts to
dream.

They are noise
without order, yet
seductive enough to
distract.  The snow
erases my work;
leaves me all
alone.

From behind me
she calls, "Early
thaw this year?"
Reflections are gone,
sun set, and
shovel empty.  I'm
set.

Brown eyed beauty
wraps arms around
mine, pulls me
from winter work,
and we dig,
planting the world
anew.

new poem - The World Needs More Mirrors

I can't
change the world;
I'm barely
able to change my mind.

But I
can change
    where I stand. 
And if someone chooses to
    stand by me,
        two worlds have changed,
        two new ways of seeing
    are created. 

We can,
if we are skilled enough
or lucky enough, get our students
        to stand with us at the
            edge of the
            reflecting pool,
                kneel down, and
                        look deeply
                                into themselves.

What they see
    is more true than
        anything said about them.
What they see
    is undeniable and
        needs to be accepted.
What they see
    can be shaped,
        cleaned, and polished.
What they see
                    is okay.

No, dear ones,
you can't
change the world;
    but we can change where we stand. 

    And if we each hold a mirror
            we might convince
                    the whole world to
                                take a deeper look.

-----
This piece was written during the Greater Madison Writing Project Summer Institute this past July.

new poem - Concert On The Square

"...old couples emboldened with swinging harmonica vibrations
lean into each other."

--photo is of Robert Bonfiglio, who performed
at a concert on the square in Madison this summer

Young girls twirl and old couples
emboldened with swinging harmonica vibrations
lean into each other.

We all could.

Maybe you prefer to sing a child's song,
making up a new language, and
leaning to reach the most demanding notes.

We all could.

After the music fades, some might choose to speak
a verse that moves the crowd to
lean closer, feeling the whispered sadness.

We all could.

The reflected sun shifts though the crowd,
lands on faces, and makes them glow;

we all could.

-----
I started writing this piece while attending the Greater Madison Writing Project Summer Institute this past July.

new poem - "Opportunity Awaits You Next Monday"

"On next Monday, we'll
    solve all our problems.
Next Monday, we'll
    end all our longings."

On next Monday, I'll
    win that award.
Next Monday, I'll
    bust down the door.
Next Monday, I'll
    finish my novel.
Next Monday, I'll
    learn about loving.

On next Monday, you'll
    have to choose.
Next Monday, you'll
    be the one to lose.
Next Monday, you'll
    see how it feels.
Next Monday, you'll
    be crushed under our wheels.

On next Monday, we'll
    solve all our problems.
Next Monday, we'll
    end all our longings.
Next Monday, we'll
    find space in our life.
Next Monday, we'll
    forget who is right.

-----
This is a piece I started for a write-in during this past summer's Greater Madison Writing Project Summer Institute.  It was inspired by a fortune cookie slip.

Blessed Are You When They Insult You

In front of St. Patrick's Catholic Church in Mauston, WI.

from Flickr http://flic.kr/p/hX11Po

Who Killed Frosty? Who Killed Frosty?

Was it Snoopy, Baby It's Cold Outside Snowman, or Santa?

Double Dead Double Dead

I'm guessing one of the signs will be removed eventually.

new poem - Cleaning List

clear out junk cupboard
dump out catch-all drawer
give away poor fitting clothes
throw ratty sneakers
sell lonely guitar on Craigslist
cash in gold with jeweler
give away rock collection

    You might find room for the unexpected.

burn old greeting cards
donate a box of random
isolate photos in one box
toss wilted bouquet
fling musty blankets
put empty vases aside
bundle papers for pulp

    You might find room for the unexpected.
    Life expands to fill every void.

un-bury secrets near tree roots
air dirty laundry
shake lose unseen pests
walk skeletons out of closet
sweep cobwebs everywhere
open doors for breeze
show fears the sun

    You might find room for the unexpected.
    Life expands to fill every void.
    Anticipate all the newness to come.

Grateful Today For...

Love's return;

she is great to be around
though she often brings her
bitchy friends, pain and confusion.

Crow calls
and snow flurries
over a peaceful field
that remind me my senses
are sources of beauty.

Friends who
make demands of our time
which we welcome because
we know they will answer
when we too are in need.

Thinking, creating
and wondering;
my often over-active mind
is the tool I use
to sort, experience, and
use the world around me.

Family can
sometimes help with
a cliche phrase like
"It will be okay"
when I am
most confused.

My healthy body;
I never know when
this will change.

-----
Note:  I gave one group of my students a prompt yesterday to write about what they were grateful for.  I think of gratitude as being more significant and deeper.  Thankfulness denotes appreciation for what happened because it was expected or appreciation that what was feared didn't happen.  Gratitude is about being appreciative of what you are given/have regardless of whether it was expected or not. 

Yesterday I didn't have the time to sit down and write this out with my students like I wanted to.  I'm actually kind of glad for that because I definitely need to remind myself of all of the good things in my life whether I expected them or not.  I also like the idea of being grateful because since it takes our expectations out of the equation it is an act of letting go of our illusion of control.

The way I explained it to my students is that you can be thankful for warm fuzzy slippers while what you are grateful for should be the things that bring a deeper meaning to your life and add to the richness of your life.

New Poem - When Can I Say?

    Afraid to, even though
    in this moment I'm tempted.

When is it no longer too soon?

    Caring about someone means
    giving up control, while
    being wanted gives strength.

Do I wait until after Thanksgiving? 

    After you've met family,
    understand more, and
    still choose me.

And what about your family?

    I can get away with telling you
    "I'm falling" and "What if he's
    madly in love with you?" 

But why bullshit ourselves?

    We know it now; so, we can say
    it when we choose, say it when
    the words will mean something new.

Is that on Christmas day? 

    Our lives might be without precedent
    for such a situation but
    life is full of examples.

I think the world is patient enough for that?

    Our new year could start with
    a new phrase in our relationship.

New Poem - Too Right To Be Scared

The last woman in
my arms was dying.
Now, your response
to my touch reawakened
the joys of mingled flesh.  

I feel vulnerable, but I'm crying
happy tears.
I want so much, but I thought
I had quit trying.

Met you months ago and
never thought we'd be here. 
Now, being in each others'
arms seems inevitable.  How
lucky to have this chance.

I feel exhausted, and I'm writing
weepy poetry.
I want so much, but I thought
I had quit trying.

That you are possible and real
is why I stayed up all night.
Now, I have memories of
you trying to sleep and of
how close we can be. 

I feel anticipation, and I'm saying
"Thank You."
I want so much, but I thought
I had quit trying.

A Place Of Respite In A Chaotic World

I was settling into the routine of the classroom as a student teacher on Tuesday, September 11, 2001.  As much as I wanted to panic, I had to remain calm. One young woman chose to stay with me in the “quiet” room rather than watch the news because her mother worked for the Department of Defense and was in the Pentagon that day. It took seven days to find out her mother was alive and well.

I will never forget the intensity of that day and those that immediately followed. I learned that regardless of maturity level, the students still need me to set the emotional thermostat of the room. The content that I teach is important; the content of my character as a model for my students is more important. It wouldn't be right to say I find something to “love” in each of my high school students. For one thing, they can be annoying, egotistical, and confrontational. However, I believe my students need me to acknowledge their humanity while calmly leading our learning efforts.

I sometimes think of my students as characters in a novel; I am naturally drawn to the characters that experience the greatest change in personality, understanding, and/or disposition. Even my dependable, stable, and focused students are coping with the difficult transition from childhood to young adulthood. Some students have to deal with additional upheavals in their world as well; I am fascinated by the resiliency and drive of these students who must struggle. I know that I have something to learn in their successes and their failures.

At first it was a continual battle to get Steve to take off his hat, and when he took it off, the hat magically popped back on his head. As a “reader” of this character I inferred that the hat was about something more to him but I had to be careful not to jump to conclusions. Over a quarter we developed a good working relationship because I remained calm and took time to talk about his interests. He would take his hat off for me and take part in class.

When Steve's mother came in for parent teacher conferences she gave me more pieces of his story.  She started crying as she told me about how they had been homeless for the previous three months. Steve's hat, an adolescent version of a security blanket, was one of few things he owned.  Steve couldn't explain it to me; emotions are confusing like that. If I had yelled, written him up, sent him to the office, or in some other way broken our relationship over a ridiculous hat policy, he would have never worked for me again.  I would have crushed his already weak ego.

I am only part of a small segment of my students’ developmental journey. Often I am reminded that the goal is progress not perfection. My students appreciate having a calm, kind, and understanding person to turn to in their chaotic lives; for some, my classroom is the only respite they get from a noisy world that reduces them to a set of numbers.

New Poem - One Who Loves Me Must...

   idolize my ugliness

"One who loves me must
tolerate my gloominess,
remembering my smiles."

and be turned off by my vanities.

   tolerate my gloominess,
remembering my smiles.

   be fulfilled in us
though made vulnerable by sharing.

   admire my focus
while ignoring my stubborn ways.

   despise my distant moments,
seeking renewal in my affections.

   love me
as much as one could loathe me.

    To reverse any
    above would make
    hate, not love.
-----

I wrote "The Birth Of A Poem" about writing this piece.  You can find this here.

Five Lessons From The Greater Madison Writing Project Summer Institute

I spent the month of July taking part in the Greater Madison Writing Project's summer institute. I know that the interactions with my 14 fellow participants and the three site facilitators is only the start of GMWP's influence on my life, my career, and my abilities as a teacher.

While the topics explored ranged widely there were five ideas that wove through every conversation, workshop, and sharing session. These are insights that became clearer every day because we were living them; my experience in that month of the institute proved these things to me.

3330 Atwood Ave., Madison Wisconsin is where Olbrich Botanical Gardens is located and where the GMWP holds its summer institute.

Collaborative inquiry around individual interests trumps top down initiatives.

Why would anyone want to spend a month of their summer in professional development? There are the obvious reasons of working toward a degree, getting trained to use some new system, or earning credit for license renewal. While GMWP does provide six credits, this is not why I was so eager to be involved. I was intrigued by the prospect of being encouraged to explore any aspect of writing instruction I desired. I had never had this experience in my undergraduate work nor in my teaching experience. Sure, I had experience with teaching technology related professional development and my district had held a "literacy camp" that was lightly attended. This summer institute was different.

I wasn't expected to be an expert in my topic. I wasn't expected to be able to answer all the questions. That was the point. The work I had to put in before leading my teachers workshop (inquiry session) was to develop a question and research an answer to the point where I could share my initial findings with the group. In each session we further explored the topic. This model allowed me to bring my passion and interest in a topic into a room of education professionals and share what insights I had while also benefiting from all of their perspectives and experience. How cool is that? And more important, how different from what usually passes for "professional development?"

My question was about incorporating the work of Daniel Pink in To Sell Is Human into my professional practice. One of the points Pink makes is that leaders need to recognize the necessity of problem identification. We cannot solve a problem until we really know what it is. This self directed inquiry approach followed by group collaboration allowed each of us to identify a real problem we faced in our classrooms.

How could any of the "professional development" presenters I've been subjected to over the years know what our problems are? I learned in this institute that there are administrators out there willing to allow teachers to pursue inquiry based professional development; we need more of this. Let us work to identify and solve our own problems. However well meaning, outsiders never know us, the problems we deal with, or what we've already tried; their ability to help us is minimal at best.

We teach who we are.

I will get to the corollary ("The students learn who they are") below, but it will help to talk about teachers first. Another teacher in the GMWP summer institute included in her workshop an explanation of the importance of learning styles and how we as teachers need to be aware of how our students might need information in a way that is different from the way we prefer it. This is an important idea to keep in mind, but I believe that we can only stretch ourselves so much before we break. I am reminded of the often quoted advice that Polonius gives Laertes: "To thine own self be true." We do our students a much greater service if we help them develop strategies to cope with learning conditions outside of what is optimal for them. This is one of the ways that students learn who they are.

We have a duty to be aware of our impact on student identity. Students learn who they are at least in part during the experiences they have in our schools. I guess WKCE scores, ACT test results, exam grades, report card grades, etc. have their place. I used to think of them as a necessary evil; lately, however, I've begun to just think of them as just evil.

While I could tell you a handful of stories about students who have gone on to accomplish much more than their ACT score would have indicated they were capable of, I am too troubled by the countless number of students who let a test score, grade report, or some other externally applied label become part of their identities to simply focus on the positives. Since these "necessary" evils aren't going away anytime soon, we need to be very clear what a test result means and what a grade means when we communicate this information to students.

I was excellent at school from my very first days of kindergarten. I always tested above grade level and this fueled my ego and became part of my identity. This carried me through high school, and I graduated with honors and a lot of cords and sashes. College was a shock. I quickly realized that my writing skills were lacking compared to my counterparts. Out of necessity, I learned more about writing in my first year of college than I had since my family first taught me how to form letters before I entered kindergarten. I also realized quickly that I had not read many of the texts I was expected to have already read.

Test scores lie because they tell only a very small part of an individual's story. Our students deserve to know that.

As much as possible, give direction not directions.

The facilitators of the summer institute explained early on the principle of direction not directions. As a student I want the ten steps to check off and the specific requirements to meet. So, this direction not directions thing drove me crazy at first. It took me some time to figure out that this really represented the most respect for my status as a professional I had ever experienced.

In addition to the respect it showed, this approach encouraged creative and varied responses from me and my fellow institute participants.  The difference between “student” and “learner” was explored In another workshop session . Direction encouraged us to be learners while directions would have forced us to be students.

I need to make it clear to the learners in my classroom that it is their path to walk and therefore I cannot tell them exactly how to get to the destination. I need to help and guide while allowing them to discover their own strengths and supporting them in their weaknesses. And who knows what unexpected, creative work will come from this approach.

Go for a walk, write a poem, take a yoga class, dance your heart out, or sing a song; live a balanced life.

Teaching is part of who I am. I spend a large amount of time engaged in my professional practice, reflecting on that practice, and refining my approach. But teaching is not the entirety of who I am.

I am also a writer and photographer. It is important that I attend to my relationships with family and friends. I enjoy art museums, gardens, and movies. I am teaching myself to play the ukulele. And so much more.

The more true I am to my needs, do the things I enjoy, and maintain the healthy relationships in my life the better I am at my work. My experience in the GMWP summer institute crystallized a feeling I've had over the last year into a thought: if I work at my own writing, I will be a better teacher of writing and a better human being.

Teachers ARE at the center...act accordingly!

Part of the required reading for the GMWP summer institute was Teachers at the Center by James Gray. In this book, Gray tells the story of the founding of the National Writing Project. As the title suggests, his central philosophy is that teachers are the source for real development and change in education. It is the experiences and passions of teachers that combine in beautiful ways to make an impact on learners.

Gray's revolutionary approach was to put teachers in charge of their own professional development and to give them a space and time in which to share their work with colleagues. I discussed my own experience with this approach above. I've had numerous colleagues sing the praises of Kelly Gallagher and the professional development he provides, and one of the reasons they respect his suggests more than others is because he is still in the classroom. This approach works.

So, when will we accept this truth as a society? Why are there no teachers included in local school board discussions? Why are teachers shut out of the halls of power when decisions about education are being made? I will praise the Wisconsin DPI and the federal Department of Education because they are seeking out teacher voices. But if corporations can have direct contact with policy makers in crafting laws related to their areas of expertise, why aren't teachers involved directly in crafting legislation related to education?

All of these issues are complex. It certainly doesn't make them less complex to involve more people. It does, however, mean that the policy work being done would have a better chance of having a real impact.  There is no other profession in recent history that has been as heavily debated and regulated by outsiders and yet so underrepresented by practitioners.

My Friday In The "Institution"

I am taking part in the Greater Madison Writing Project summer institute from July 8 to August 1.  Each participant must log the work done during one day of the institute.  This is my photo essay log for Friday, July 19.

The sunrise of Friday, July 19, 2013 finds me traveling to Madison, WI for
a short day in the Greater Madison Writing Project (GMWP) 2013 summer
institute.  Most of the days are 9:00 am to 4:00 pm.  Today we meet from
9:00 am to noon.  This is the tenth day of the 18 day institute and I already
feel overwhelmed with all of the new ideas for my classroom learned from
my new GMWP friends. 

While walking to the Teacher Education building a freak rain shower starts.
Later I am reminded that it is times like these, when you can see both the rain
and the sun, that rainbows are possible.  I'll have to remember that for a poem.  

Normally we meet at Olbrich Botanical Gardens.  Our two Friday sessions
are, however, held here at the Teacher Education building at 225 North Mills
Street on the UW-Madison campus.  This is a relatively quiet part of campus,
which seems fitting for a place where teachers gather to learn. 

In front of the teacher education building is a hole.  Sadly it is not a sinkhole.
We have had an ongoing joke about banishing our problems to a sinkhole.
I also learned that you must be very careful walking on the rubber, temporary
"sidewalk" when it is raining since it becomes a slip-n-slide.

I am early.  I have never mastered the art of showing up "on time."  I like it
this way.  I've found a quiet corner near the stairwell to sit and write a little.

When Christine enters the room she asks if I saw the double rainbow on
my way in; I didn't but I'm glad she asks me about rainbows.  It has made me
think of the picture I took earlier in the rain.  The other members of the summer
institute arrive eager to take part in Christine's teachers workshop.  Since we
will need our computers, David helps Beth get her laptop connected to the
wi-fi and logged in to the UW network. 

Erica starts the day by giving us our write in prompt.  Her prompt is based
on the fact that today is her cousin's birthday.  Her cousin was the first baby
she ever held.  We are to write about firsts.  I suspect that Carol's first is far
more interesting than mine which is about my first attempt to get a driver's
license (I failed but passed the driving test the second time).

Andy (and everyone else) listens as Jen delivers her log from Thursday.  She
frames it as a trial transcript that proves quite well that teachers are neither
being lazy or loafing in our summer's "off."

We relocate to the PC Classroom 348 in the MERIT Library (still in the Teacher
Education building).  We get logged on and settled in as Christine prepares
to start her workshop.

The teacher workshop is a big piece of the summer institute experience.  Each
member of the group prepares an inquiry based, 90 minute session that focuses
on answering some question he or she has about the classroom.  Often this 
inquiry leads to some new technique, practice, or understanding that will become
part of his or her classroom.  Christine's teachers workshop is about incorporating
wikis and blogs into the work she does at the Wisconsin Center for Academically
Talented Youth.  She summarizes her current teaching practices, explains
how she envisions using wikis and blogs as part of her work, and lets
us explore these two tools in order to contemplate how we might use them
in our own classrooms.

These are three of the resources that Christine has us experiment with.
Mindmup.com is an online mind mapping/webbing tool that lets you easily
create webs without buying expensive software.  Kidblog.org is a blogging
platform designed for classrooms.  Wikispaces.com is one of many wiki hosts
that specialize in serving the education community.

After Christine's workshop, my table group (Cindy, Angela, and Mary Ann)
types up a review of the session.  Each of the four table groups is doing the same
at this time.  The feedback from peers is extremely valuable when trying
to decide what worked and what didn't, what ways this might be used in a
class, and what pitfalls might have gone unconsidered.

At the same time, Christine meets with Mark D., Beth, and Mark N. to discuss
the workshop.  This discussion with the organizers of the summer institute
also provides valuable information when thinking about how to proceed
after the workshop is over.

Since this is a short day, the next thing on the agenda is our write out.  Mark
tells us that today's prompt is to add to the shared Google doc called "GMWP
Questions About the World."  For example, Stephanie adds this question:
"If the earth was a head and trees were its hair, would it feel like people are
lice running all over its skin?"

Each day ends with the wauthors (writers/authors) chair.  Mark shares the
story of a friend proposing to his girlfriend in Rome on the previous day.  It
was a happy story to end the week on.  The normal days of the institute
include reading group time, writing response groups, and choice time for us to
read and write whatever we need to get done at that time.  It is hard to
believe that there are only eight more days left.