(This is for the Slice of Life challenge, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. We write on Tuesdays about the small moments in the larger perspective and then all through March — every single day … You write, too.)
Her eyes drift up,
a dog’s curiosity piqued
by shadows in the tree,
where a huge red-tailed hawk,
talons clutching winter branch,
gazes down with hunter’s eyes,
uninterested in the attentions
of neither her nor me
Peace (in the noticing),
Kevin
(This is for the Slice of Life challenge, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. We write on Tuesdays about the small moments in the larger perspective and then all through March — every single day … You write, too.)
I’m watching her talk;
the first time in the classroom
with her mask, fully off,
and there’s something wondrous
about such a moment
of clarity that comes coupled,
uncomfortably, with concern
Peace (first day with no mask requirement),
Kevin
If you are a teacher who writes, or a teacher who wants to write more, or maybe you’re more of a writer who also teaches — ah, whatever the circumstance — consider joining the Slice of Life for its 15th year of daily writing in March.
I’ve been at it, thanks to my friend Bonnie K, since the start of it 15 years ago and I always fret: What if I have nothing to write? Yet I always do. Sometimes, it’s an observation from school. Sometimes, it’s the smallest moment imaginable, but the noticing brings it into something larger. Sometimes, I’ve done multimedia posts. Last year, I did a Day in a Sentence theme for March.
This year, I hope to do a Poem a Day theme when I can, which will be convenient for my on-going personal writing goal of writing a poem every day. But I will toggle between formats, and media, etc.
I have consistently found that connecting with other teachers and writers through comments and interactions across blogging spaces is a powerful experience, worth celebrating.
No pressure. But if you are interested, there is more information and a sign-up form, if you so inclined. I recently took part in a conversation about the Slice of Life and the energy that one can get from writing with others.
Peace (in the noticing),
Kevin
(This is for the Slice of Life challenge, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. We write on Tuesdays about the small moments in the larger perspective and then all through March — every single day … You write, too.)
Our School Committee members voted the other night to lift our mask mandate at our school when we return from February break next week. They had sent out surveys to teachers and parents, but not students. That got me irritated, as they seem to consistently avoid asking students what they think, so I revamped their parent survey and had my sixth graders voice their opinions. I sent it off to the School Committee before their meeting, and to its credit, the chairman shared the students survey in the meeting before any other results.
The School Committee ignored advice from the health officials on the timing of lifting the mask mandate, but the discussions – even in the public hearing section – were civil and thoughtful, a rarity in today’s meetings (even in our town).
I wasn’t surprised to see my students voting in the majority to lift the mask mandate, as this is a fairly conservative community and students are generally just tired of wearing masks, but I was curious and a little concerned about the second question, asking them whether they will still wear masks even if the mandate was dropped.
A full third of the students who took the survey indicated they weren’t sure, although I know many have thought about it and talked about it, and as we approach this moment of shift in masking, I know there are going to be some students who want to wear a mask for protection, and are allowed to, but may not, due to pressure from friends, either overt or not.
I don’t know how family decisions will play into all of this either, since we are not going to be policing which students have been given permission to wear masks and which have not.
As a teaching team, we’re already mulling on ways to make all students comfortable in whatever decision they make, and to accept and support any decision anyone else makes, as well. We’ve had discussions about Morning Meeting as a time to reinforce talk of respecting opinions in a larger community and we’ve talked about us, teachers, wearing masks, even if we wouldn’t otherwise, as an act of solidarity to any students feeling on the edge or uncertain. I am sure the administration has information going home, as well.
It seems as if every step of the way in this Pandemic, we keep having to learn new ways to navigate forward, and strategies to help our students do the same.
Peace (in choice),
Kevin
(This is for the Slice of Life challenge, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. We write on Tuesdays about the small moments in the larger perspective … or is that the larger perspective in the smaller moments? You write, too.)
It’s not that I don’t ever see my students without masks — snack, lunch, walks outside, etc. — but with our state now lifting mask requirements for schools at the end of the month and my school district likely this week to follow suit at the local level (although what that will look like, we don’t quite know), I’m trying to remember what it was like to see all those young faces, to see all the smiles, to notice the full looks and emotional reactions on faces, as it once was, all the time.
In class discussions, there’s a wide range of reactions by students to this possible news of ending the mask mandate. Some can’t wait. Others seem nervous. When something lasts two years, it becomes a sort of reality, the way things are. Masks have protected, hidden and defined us in many ways.
Maybe we can step forward, carefully and guided by science, into a new reality yet again (same as the old reality) and as a teacher, I will be able to better read the room again, the way things might yet still be.
Peace (thinking forward),
Kevin
PS — the downside to loosening masks? Litter. This was my morning poem today after noticing our playground area yesterday:
Beneath this snow
and ice pack of winter,
abandoned masks
litter this place –It’s confetti, like loose parts
and colored fabric bits,
so we bide our time
to gather on itThe ripped strings
as abandoned seeds,
but nothing here’s rooted
or anchored by trees
(This is for the Slice of Life challenge, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. We write on Tuesdays about the small moments in the larger perspective … or is that the larger perspective in the smaller moments? You write, too.)
My wife and I, along with a friend of ours, took a day trip into Boston the other day to explore one of two immersive Van Gogh shows in the city, and it was pretty marvelous. The show had taken over a huge cavernous space inside a building in South Boston, hung massive black curtains, and set up a stunning array of high-definition movie projectors and sound systems.
After wandering through a poster display of information about Van Gogh and the technical mechanics of the show itself, you step into the room, and it’s like stepping inside a Vincent Van Gogh field of art, and not just his most famous paintings, either. Here, we wandered through his sketches, his period of art inspired by Japanese paintings, and so much more. Although this show did not feature any VR headsets or anything, the curation was thoughtful — the paintings moved across the curtains of the huge room, in a synchronized dance of visual experience. You could sit on a bench, and let the art unfold around you, or you could wander through the room.
What struck me was the array and choice of colors and the brush strokes, the way this kind of different experience brings you close to the canvas, like an insect crawling along the edges of an artist at work. It’s as if every decision by the artist is there, made visible, if you can read it, and yet that does not spoil the beauty of the art, either.
Afterwards, we chatted about the experience and what lingers with me is how the scaling up of the art gave a different perspective, and opened my eyes further, to what Van Gogh was attempting to capture, even with all of his financial and mental health difficulties. It gave another glimpse of how an artist of his caliber must see the world.
I also marveled at the technical aspects of the show itself, noticing the placement of computers in the rafters and the sound system setup, and the way the choice of music fit so perfectly with the mood of each round of paintings (there were themed rotations in the room, one theme segueing into another).
Peace (wandering through),
Kevin
(This is for the Slice of Life challenge, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. We write on Tuesdays about the small moments in the larger perspective … or is that the larger perspective in the smaller moments? You write, too.)
I looked around the classroom as the bell range and realized: We’re all here.
Every single one of my students was in the building, at their seats, chatting and working as the first day of the week began. Full house. So unusual these days between Covid absences, regular sick absences and more. So much so that I completely forgot to do our online attendance, and got a call from the office, wondering if anyone was absent.
“Nobody!” I shouted into the phone with a smile. “Everyone’s here.”
It’s been weeks since we, as a class, were whole like this, and when I mentioned my observation during our Morning Meeting, they all looked around, as if noticing the room anew and seeing themselves as a complete package — 21 students, one paraprofessional, and one classroom teacher — for the first time in weeks.
It was.
Let’s hope today remains full, too.
Peace (looking about),
Kevin
(This is for the Slice of Life challenge, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. We write on Tuesdays about the small moments in the larger perspective … or is that the larger perspective in the smaller moments? You write, too.)
It’s easy to forget, amid the hubbub of life and school and family, that the Winter Solistice was a month ago, and the days are indeed beginning to stretch longer.
I find, it’s only when I am in a moment of quiet that I observe more sunlight later in the afternoon, and the days of darkness at 4 pm are gone.
Yesterday, as I waited to get my son from indoor track practice, I noticed the sun was still mostly up, and it was 5 pm and that made me smile, even as the cold air was circulating all around me and more snow was coming (only an inch or two, but still … winter).
So, a poem with this morning’s Slice:
Peace (in the moment),
Kevin
(This is for the Slice of Life challenge, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. We write on Tuesdays about the small moments in the larger perspective … or is that the larger perspective in the smaller moments? You write, too.)
I let Rayna, our young dog, loose in the yard early in the morning, as wet snowfall was just starting to turn to rain here. The slush would come later as the temperatures shifted.
For now, it was a few inches of pure white packable snow from overnight, the kind you could use to build a snow-fort, or snow-person, or perhaps have the most epic snowball fight of the world.
From the back deck, I smiled and laughed out loud as Rayna ran and ran and ran, in circles and then in zigzags, and then in reverse circles, then around the tree and along the fence, and then leaping over the tipped chair, just being so glorious in the moment of pure joy of what the night could bring that all I could do was join her.
So I did, leaping off the steps and running with her in my heavy boots, dashing alongside her, at her, in shared winter exhilaration, the dog and I, together in a moment of play.
Peace (one moment at a time),
Kevin
(This is for the Slice of Life challenge, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. We write on Tuesdays about the small moments in the larger perspective … or is that the larger perspective in the smaller moments? You write, too.)
My sixth graders were working on creating new words as part of our Word Origins unit (and they will be donating one of their newly invented words into an ongoing, 18-year project to build an online dictionary of invented words, called The Crazy Collaborative Dictionary Project, which has more than 1,000 words from students.)
I rarely expect complete quiet when doing this kind of work (and with this year’s antsy social crew, even less so) but the noise of students sharing out loud their words and definitions was a bit of a cacophony yesterday, one I didn’t tamp down on because the excitement and energy level for being creative was just so high, I had to let it go on.
One of my more reluctant young writers was over the moon with this word invention activity, and as I walked by, he turned to a neighbor friend and declared: “This is the BEST writing assignment we’ve had the entire year. I just LOVE doing this!”
I had to smile. You never know what is going to capture the interest of students, and his excitement, along with others, was infectious in the classroom. Heads nodded in agreement with him and then more voices began to float over the room in a strange orchestra of absurd words.
Peace (capturing it),
Kevin