Author: Kelly Love

WIHWT: Something to sing along to

Blackbird

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

 
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
all your life
you were only waiting for this moment to be free

Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise,
You were only waiting for this moment to arise,
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Lennon/McCartney

Sacrilege.

I hesitate on confessing this next post: let the stone-throwing and those-without-sin meeting commence now.

The past few years, (and really few–I’ve only been teaching for a short time) I’ve enjoyed the role of Curriculum Leader. Some call it Department Head. This job has never been defined for me per se; no rubric or framework from the district. The process involves a lengthy application, the willingness to do it, and a small stipend. I have carved out my own path by creating curriculum, running and organizing the Language Arts meetings, filing meeting minutes, gathering resources, sharing and collaborating on all sorts of creative solutions to help our students grow and think. I work with amazing colleagues–smart, funny, and who “get me.” One colleague suggested that my room and manner of teaching was like being in an almost-scary part of a Tim Burton movie. My colleagues know my moods and understand when there is a call-to-arms I am ready to fight for and with them on our students’ behalves. And though this measurement is proven to be somewhat hollow, up until last year we demonstrated great growth in the standardized testing of our students. Last year’s, and perhaps this year’s, story of data unfortunately may be different, but that is a post for another time.

(Get to it, Kelly – what did you do?)

Of all the lofty, ambitious goals I have challenged, and succeeded, as Curriculum Leader, my one nemesis, THE BOOK ROOM, continues to thwart me. The BOOK ROOM is, well, full of books. We adopted a new literacy curriculum (I proudly served on that committee), and have worked closely with the district on choosing more books, organizing, maintaining, etc. I have requested a bar coding system, but no go. I have asked that the books be part of the library collection. No. We have tubs of novels for units (which I helped create, including the Journey of the Hero, and the Conflict/Pacific Northwest unit), old literacy books, book sets, etc. This storage room also houses ASB merchandise. During one of the transitions of schools, somehow boxes of very, very old paperbacks were sent to us. This was probably three years ago. I sorted them, took out ones that I thought were still relevant, in good condition, offered them up to anyone who would take them, asked, repeatedly, if anyone wanted them. I had one taker.

The BOOK ROOM still needs to be cleaned out. In a pique of frustration, I went in there yesterday morning to discover the same shopping cart full of the paperbacks no one claimed. Enough. I am overwhelmed as it is, and it was time to clean house. Looking over one more time, made the (impulsive) decision to recycle them (there were about 40 misc junk paperbacks).

Let the flogging begin.

Someone saw them, and sent out notices that there were books in the recycling can. Flurries of emails and face-to-face communication later, many of these books were rescued, stoically, by other teachers, I am hanging my head in deep shame, and we are moving on. Should I have lugged the boxes out to my truck to take to Goodwill? Probably. I had even toyed with the idea of using them for hand-made book projects, but they weren’t fit for even that. (I am an artist first and foremost, and am a pretty good judge of materials.)

I’m not sure why it took my drastic, impulsive act of clearing the decks to get everyone’s attention. Those boxes have been offered up many times, and were in the BOOK ROOM for years. I’m on my eighth or eightieth time to reorganize and catalog that room. (And for the record, it is like a dungeon in there: no iron maidens or shackles, but as stuffy and gritty as a small storage room can get.) I’m feeling a bit betrayed, too, I must admit, kind of little-red-hen-ish. I asked people if they wanted to help bake the bread, yet until I threw the moldy bread out….

In any case, I cherish books, and have every book I have ever owned. I have spent over $4500 on my own classroom library. Why a box of old paperbacks has me spinning, well, I think I just need to let this one go. Next time I’ll put deadlines on emails and action items. But perhaps my colleagues will also see that I have a “clear the deck” mindset too, and take me at my word.

Comments? Insults? Eye rolling?

Be my guest.

Theme song for this post: All My Life by the Foo Fighters:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xQ04WbgI9rg

Social contracts.

Yesterday, I decided to break up with Facebook. I don’t even want to be “just FB friends.” I didn’t totally disable my account, but did venture there. The fine borgs at Facebook presented me with a survey of reasons why I was considering this move. The questions were a bit loaded and self-serving, in my opinion.

These should be considered as possible reasons why:

  • Because others misunderstand your posts
  • Because the political views of strangers and family members gives you panic attacks at the level of willful ignorance and inflexibility in thought
  • If you get one more request to work on the collective kibbutz of Farmville you will go insane
  • Your body language, smile, big brown eyes, laugh, and nuances are lost in the bandwidth, and have become irrelevant here.

I also found out this morning that “it is strongly suggested” that we educators do not include a certain group amongst our contacts. If anything, this “group” should be encouraged most of all to have proper Internet interactions modeled: courtesy, kindness, and knowing when NOT to post an opinion or every passing thought. Are we furthering distancing ourselves from helping each other? Is this the paradox of a ‘social’ network? I realize blaming Facebook is like blaming a grocery store for selling cookies and ice cream along with apples and grapes: they’re just providing a (commercialized) service. It’s not Facebook, but how others, and myself, use it. If I’ve abused the power of distancing myself between conflict, collaboration, or conceit via a social network then shame on me.

I will go back on Facebook soon to do two things:

1. Write each of the “friends” I must drop why I need to do this

2. Send myself an email list of those I need to know and cherish – some of these old friends are too important and wonderful to lose in the noise and steam

And then we’ll take a break.

WIHWT: the beginning of The Graveyard Book

There was a hand in the darkness, and it held a knife.

The knife had a handle of polished black bone, and a blade finer and sharper than any razor. If it sliced you, you might not even know you had been cut, not immediately.

The knife had done almost everything it was brought to that house to do, and both the blade and the handle were wet.

The Graveyard Book  by Neil Gaiman Copyright 2008

WIHWT: The Widow's Broom by Chris Van Allsburg

Witches’ brooms don’t last forever. They grow old, and even the best of them, one day, lose the power of flight.

Fortunately, this does not happen in an instant. A witch can feel the strength slowly leaving her broom. The sudden burst of energy that once carried her quickly into the sky become weak. Long and longer running starts are needed for takeoff. Speedy brooms that, in their youth, outraced hawks are passed by slow flying geese. When these things happen, a witch knows it’s time to put her old broom aside and have a new one made.

On very rare occasions, however, a broom can lose its power without warning, and fall, with its passenger, to the earth below…which is just what happened one cold autumn night many years ago.

–The Widow’s Broomby Chris Van Allsburg