Today marks my last day at the ALC. Usually, this is a time of great celebration and relief, but I could go all summer with this crew. Sure, the emos weigh on my patience but right now in my Accessing Information class each student is working quietly on their various projects.
Outside of a troubled apple here and there, each class is very good. Usually I have a few good students here and there and the rest are troubled apples.
****
A sure sign of fall? The crops are beginning to ripen. Soon the combines will be out and we might as well start inservice.
****
I’m looking forward to the fourth (or is fifth?) edition of our week long summer MNHS class. Though Mandy, Mike, and Lisa won’t be there, working with them was always a delight, it should still be great.
We are focusing on “The Guilded and the Gritty: America 1870-1912.” This is going to be much better than last summer’s focus on the Civil War.
This is the time period of “The Jungle” and the industrial revolution in America. I could study this stuff forever.
I’m particularly looking forward to reading some of the Autobiography of Andrew Carnegie.
I like this period because I think it was a time of purpose and focus in America. We were becoming a major player in the world, rivaling Britain and France for supremacy. Both of the those countries, though, would lose considerable power after WWI.
American was amassing the wealth that would lead to the roaring twenties. Of course, lavish spending and wild economic speculation and ventures would lead to the Great Depression (at least that’s what I recall from my high school history courses – most of my history minor in college focused on British history).
I often wonder what similarities exist between the Guilded and Gritty age in America and China’s recent economic overhaul.
When I looked at all that China had done to prepare for the Olympics, I couldn’t help but be reminded of all that America had accomplished in this time frame – establishing a transcontinental railroad, the subways, the major buildings, and so on.
The only worry I have is that maybe our current war will leave us declining as Britain and France had after WWI. But they’re still around and not helpless by any means. But they aren’t the dominant powers they once were either.
Maybe we are witnessing the torch being passed.
*****
The patio and landscaping in the back yard is 99.9% complete. Last night Kristie and I finished the edging project, which turned out quite nice. Now I just need to fill in dirt and plant some grass.
We grilled out, moved our furniture onto the patio for the first time, and had a nice fire last night. It was our first chance to relax and enjoy all of our work.
Kristie wanted to get all of the patio furniture onto the patio and get it situated just right. I just wanted to relax. However, her persistence paid off – and she was right – it was nice to get it all set up rather than just being lazy and doing it half ass.
Before sitting down to eat, though, I decided to light a fire. But since we had gotten some rain earlier in the week, getting the fire going was no small feat. As I searched for new (and dry) wood to put in – and for paper to get the blasted thing going (a process which took about 15 minutes) – Kristie could only shake her head and remind me how much I lamented setting up all the patio furniture, yet I was working twice as hard getting that fire going. Point taken.
Finally, I got it going and we could relax.
That was for long, though, as we realized that our patio is in the midst of the bats’ feeding ground and had the joy (my point of view) or horror (Kristie’s point of view) of watching the bats swoop around a mere foot or two above us.
If you ask me, we couldn’t have picked a better spot for the patio!
*****
More on the Brett Favre drama.
It seems that Brett was offered 20 million dollars by the Packers to STAY retired.
It’s hard to feel sorry for him. I mean he has made a spectacal out of her possible retirement for at least the past four years. Does he love the attention that much? Is it not enough that he is a sure fire first ballot Hall of Famer? Or being one of the top five quarterbacks of all-time? To be a hero to a community and league?
Apparently not.
Tact and professionalism are things that God missed handing out to Favre when he gave him extra doses of guts, arm strength, and passion for the game.
It is too bad because I think a lot of people are losing respect for him.
Has he learned nothing from the likes of Jerry Rice (Oakland and Denver), Joe Namath (Rams), Emmitt Smith (Phoenix), and OJ Simpson (49ers), who limped to the ends of their careers with lesser teams than the franchises they made winners.
What happened to retiring on top like Jim Brown, John Elway, Barry Sanders, Michael Strahan, and Tiki Barber?
Apparently, even some of the people in the state that worships Favre have lost some respect for him. Evidently, some drives to garner support for Favre in Wisconsin have been sparsely attended at best.
You can’t blame the Packers for wanting to move on with Aaron Rogers. I mean they have millions invested in him and he has ridden the bench for several years. After next year he is going to be a free agent. Quarterbacks always command big bucks to resign, so why fork over that money when you don’t know what you have? Time to play the young kid and see what you’ve got.
Plus, Favre cried on national TV and said it was over and walked away. The Packer organization faced the inevitable and moved on. Now are they just supposed to scrap all of the work they’ve done in six months and let Favre come back for one more glory year? Though, you never know. Maybe he’ll pull this stunt again after the ’08 season. I mean he has been threatening to retire for what seems like a decade now.
Had Favre done the right thing – as Elway did – and take some time to think it over before letting his emotions get the best of him – he might have decided to return and not alienated the Packers. In which case, they would have welcomed him back and prepared for him and not gotten ready to hand things over to Rogers.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Thursday
The more things change the more they stay the same.
This is great. My kids are always talking about how sick they are of being judged because of the way their hair is dyed or how dark their shirts are or how baggy their pants are. They give the illusion that they are so enlightened and accepting.
Yet, one of my emos, was just telling me how Fosston has supposedly had some crop circles appear this week.
Then his fellow emo piped up, “Well, what else are they supposed to do in that town? They must have tired of beating their wives.”
So much for open minds.
*****
The upside of training camps.
NFL training camps are in full swing and hope springs eternal. This is the time of the year where everyone is positive and upbeat.
And for good reason.
I mean who would have fathomed that the Giants would have won the Super Bowl? Everyone knew going in to the season that the Patriots were loaded. As were the Colts and the Chargers.
But the Giants?
The Giants?
This is a team that was never the same since they suffered an inexplicable collapse in a wild card playoff game at San Francisco, squandering a 17 point lead late in fourth quarter. Then their hold botched the snap on a game winning field goal attempt.
The Giants? They had a dictator for a coach, Tom Coughlin, and many of the players were sick of his strict rules – fining them for being late or even – gasp – too early to meetings and so on. Their best player, Tiki Barber, chose to retire rather than put up with another season of Coughlin’s totalitarian regime.
Then comes the total collapse mid season against the Vikings where Manning throws four interceptions. Yet, they go on a roll and sneak into the playoffs and win four straight road games to become world champs.
But the Giants?
That is why every NFL team has hope. Who will be this year’s version of the Giants?
The down side of training camps.
One drawback though of NFL training camps is that the positive commentary can be overwhelming.
Take Green Bay for instance.
Aaron Rogers is preparing to take over for Brett Favre. The coaches are glowing about his potential and how good he looks in practice.
Find me an article or report on a player that doesn’t look good in a training camp practice.
This is the time where coaches love to talk a player up. I mean would McCarthy ever come out and say, “Well, Aaron Rogers is really struggling right now. There is no way he can handle the pressure. He hasn’t completed a pass yet.”
The same is true for the Vikings. Of course Tarvarious Jackson is looking good. He is wearing one of those red jerseys that means no one can touch him. Of course the players and media are talking about him taking them to the Super Bowl.
It’s training camp! Everyone can talk like that.
Never mind Jackson threw a whopping 9 touchdowns in 13 games last year. Okay, he was injured and missed some time. But still. Carson Palmer had six in one game!
Another problem with training camps (and the NFL): the NFL Network.
Sure, for a rabid NFL fan like me, a channel that covers football 24 hours a day is heaven. I saw the entire broadcast of the Bengals 1981 AFC Championship game, which I had not seen since I was seven. I also saw the game that signaled the demise of the Bengals in the 1990’s when they blew a late lead to the Green Bay Packers. They even took their starting quarterback out of the game and forced the Packers to rush in a young, untested quarterback, some kid named Brett Favre, who would eventually throw a last second touchdown pass to beat them.
The Packers never looked back – winning a Super Bowl and making numerous trips to the playoffs – and the Bengals would not recover for another 13 years.
However, since there is a network covering the NFL 24 hours a day, they need something to cover – even when there isn’t anything.
So now things that the average fan wouldn’t find out about, now become major news.
Chad Johnson’s rift with the Bengals over his contract became major news all offseason.
Now we have to deal with the Brett Favre drama. It’s to the point where I wouldn’t be surprised if they devoted a half hour special to what Brett had for lunch yesterday.
Ridiculous.
Coverage of such ridiculous information makes me long for the old World League games or even meaningless NFL pre-season games.
*****
Yesterday, Kristie had a doctor’s appointment in GF.
Of course, a trip to GF, regardless of the reason, is a good chance to do some shopping.
Kristie needed some additional maternity clothes, so we stopped at Gordman’s. While she was over in the motherhood section, I went over to look at the artwork (there was a great sign we saw last time that read “All because two people fell in love” that we were going to place in Kenzie’s room – but it was gone). On the way to that section, I was shocked to see that the store had begun to display its Halloween decorations.
Already! Now, I love Halloween like no other. But it’s not even August! Kind of puts a damper on summer if you ask me. And before Halloween, stores will have their Christmas decorations up.
Stop the madness!
****
Everything is going very well. Kenzie has a solid little heartbeat of 150. I love hearing her little heart pounding away.
****
You know you teach rednecks when one kid – who appears not to have slept in days and smoked a considerable amount of pot – given his squinty, red eyes – is talking about killing a ferret or weasel yesterday with a cone and hanging it on someone’s rearview mirror.
Again, why is he here?
This is great. My kids are always talking about how sick they are of being judged because of the way their hair is dyed or how dark their shirts are or how baggy their pants are. They give the illusion that they are so enlightened and accepting.
Yet, one of my emos, was just telling me how Fosston has supposedly had some crop circles appear this week.
Then his fellow emo piped up, “Well, what else are they supposed to do in that town? They must have tired of beating their wives.”
So much for open minds.
*****
The upside of training camps.
NFL training camps are in full swing and hope springs eternal. This is the time of the year where everyone is positive and upbeat.
And for good reason.
I mean who would have fathomed that the Giants would have won the Super Bowl? Everyone knew going in to the season that the Patriots were loaded. As were the Colts and the Chargers.
But the Giants?
The Giants?
This is a team that was never the same since they suffered an inexplicable collapse in a wild card playoff game at San Francisco, squandering a 17 point lead late in fourth quarter. Then their hold botched the snap on a game winning field goal attempt.
The Giants? They had a dictator for a coach, Tom Coughlin, and many of the players were sick of his strict rules – fining them for being late or even – gasp – too early to meetings and so on. Their best player, Tiki Barber, chose to retire rather than put up with another season of Coughlin’s totalitarian regime.
Then comes the total collapse mid season against the Vikings where Manning throws four interceptions. Yet, they go on a roll and sneak into the playoffs and win four straight road games to become world champs.
But the Giants?
That is why every NFL team has hope. Who will be this year’s version of the Giants?
The down side of training camps.
One drawback though of NFL training camps is that the positive commentary can be overwhelming.
Take Green Bay for instance.
Aaron Rogers is preparing to take over for Brett Favre. The coaches are glowing about his potential and how good he looks in practice.
Find me an article or report on a player that doesn’t look good in a training camp practice.
This is the time where coaches love to talk a player up. I mean would McCarthy ever come out and say, “Well, Aaron Rogers is really struggling right now. There is no way he can handle the pressure. He hasn’t completed a pass yet.”
The same is true for the Vikings. Of course Tarvarious Jackson is looking good. He is wearing one of those red jerseys that means no one can touch him. Of course the players and media are talking about him taking them to the Super Bowl.
It’s training camp! Everyone can talk like that.
Never mind Jackson threw a whopping 9 touchdowns in 13 games last year. Okay, he was injured and missed some time. But still. Carson Palmer had six in one game!
Another problem with training camps (and the NFL): the NFL Network.
Sure, for a rabid NFL fan like me, a channel that covers football 24 hours a day is heaven. I saw the entire broadcast of the Bengals 1981 AFC Championship game, which I had not seen since I was seven. I also saw the game that signaled the demise of the Bengals in the 1990’s when they blew a late lead to the Green Bay Packers. They even took their starting quarterback out of the game and forced the Packers to rush in a young, untested quarterback, some kid named Brett Favre, who would eventually throw a last second touchdown pass to beat them.
The Packers never looked back – winning a Super Bowl and making numerous trips to the playoffs – and the Bengals would not recover for another 13 years.
However, since there is a network covering the NFL 24 hours a day, they need something to cover – even when there isn’t anything.
So now things that the average fan wouldn’t find out about, now become major news.
Chad Johnson’s rift with the Bengals over his contract became major news all offseason.
Now we have to deal with the Brett Favre drama. It’s to the point where I wouldn’t be surprised if they devoted a half hour special to what Brett had for lunch yesterday.
Ridiculous.
Coverage of such ridiculous information makes me long for the old World League games or even meaningless NFL pre-season games.
*****
Yesterday, Kristie had a doctor’s appointment in GF.
Of course, a trip to GF, regardless of the reason, is a good chance to do some shopping.
Kristie needed some additional maternity clothes, so we stopped at Gordman’s. While she was over in the motherhood section, I went over to look at the artwork (there was a great sign we saw last time that read “All because two people fell in love” that we were going to place in Kenzie’s room – but it was gone). On the way to that section, I was shocked to see that the store had begun to display its Halloween decorations.
Already! Now, I love Halloween like no other. But it’s not even August! Kind of puts a damper on summer if you ask me. And before Halloween, stores will have their Christmas decorations up.
Stop the madness!
****
Everything is going very well. Kenzie has a solid little heartbeat of 150. I love hearing her little heart pounding away.
****
You know you teach rednecks when one kid – who appears not to have slept in days and smoked a considerable amount of pot – given his squinty, red eyes – is talking about killing a ferret or weasel yesterday with a cone and hanging it on someone’s rearview mirror.
Again, why is he here?
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Tuesday
Despite my students being well behaved and nice, it never ceases to amaze me how much teaching summer school wears on me. I don’t know how Mandy and Pete do it all year long. Although students are more motivated during the school year.
I just had to get after a student – 45 minutes into class – who would rather do nothing than simply draw a map of her childhood neighborhood for the first part of her assignment. Finally after about the third prodding, she got around to doing it. On the other hand, I have another student who finished the map yesterday and already has her final draft in!
I have another who complains about not remembering anything about her childhood, so she can’t do it. Again, I’m puzzled as to why she is in summer school.
Do the work and turn it in. How hard is that? I don’t’ even care if they visit or check their text messages or surf the net while they work. Just get the work in?
Why would you come to summer school and NOT do the work? Why not skip and do something fun?
Can they really be that stupid?
What will some of these kids do in the real world? Will they forget to take orders in the drive thru? Live on welfare? I don’t know.
It makes me appreciate the ones who do their work.
After today, I have two days left. I can manage that.
*****
I thought the patio was finished. However, because I came across the propane line, we decided to shorten the patio by about a foot. That left us with one full palet of flagstone plus several left over pieces.
We decided to use up some of the assorted pieces, we put in a little spot for the grill. However, I cracked one of the pieces, so I had to steal one from the full palet of flagstone, which we were hoping to return.
Just as I was finishing that, I thought, “you know, it would be cool if I had a slab down for the wood.”
I mentioned this to Kristie, who thought it was an excellent idea, and instead of being done, we were working on the patio again – I was putting down yet another slap and Kristie was working on the brick edging around our flower bed bordering the patio.
Of course, as I finished that, Kristie mentioned how it would be nice to have a slab for the grill!
Not this time. Enough is enough. Before we know it, it’ll be November and we’re still tinkering with it.
However, after Kristie’s doctor visit today, we are headed back to Lowes, that place has to be loving us by now, for some more brick for the edging and a couple of other things.
I can’t wait to just sit and relax on it. And maybe throw a party.
I just had to get after a student – 45 minutes into class – who would rather do nothing than simply draw a map of her childhood neighborhood for the first part of her assignment. Finally after about the third prodding, she got around to doing it. On the other hand, I have another student who finished the map yesterday and already has her final draft in!
I have another who complains about not remembering anything about her childhood, so she can’t do it. Again, I’m puzzled as to why she is in summer school.
Do the work and turn it in. How hard is that? I don’t’ even care if they visit or check their text messages or surf the net while they work. Just get the work in?
Why would you come to summer school and NOT do the work? Why not skip and do something fun?
Can they really be that stupid?
What will some of these kids do in the real world? Will they forget to take orders in the drive thru? Live on welfare? I don’t know.
It makes me appreciate the ones who do their work.
After today, I have two days left. I can manage that.
*****
I thought the patio was finished. However, because I came across the propane line, we decided to shorten the patio by about a foot. That left us with one full palet of flagstone plus several left over pieces.
We decided to use up some of the assorted pieces, we put in a little spot for the grill. However, I cracked one of the pieces, so I had to steal one from the full palet of flagstone, which we were hoping to return.
Just as I was finishing that, I thought, “you know, it would be cool if I had a slab down for the wood.”
I mentioned this to Kristie, who thought it was an excellent idea, and instead of being done, we were working on the patio again – I was putting down yet another slap and Kristie was working on the brick edging around our flower bed bordering the patio.
Of course, as I finished that, Kristie mentioned how it would be nice to have a slab for the grill!
Not this time. Enough is enough. Before we know it, it’ll be November and we’re still tinkering with it.
However, after Kristie’s doctor visit today, we are headed back to Lowes, that place has to be loving us by now, for some more brick for the edging and a couple of other things.
I can’t wait to just sit and relax on it. And maybe throw a party.
Stuff like this used to piss me off – I have two emo kids in my Sci Fi class. If you don’t know what an emo is – and I’m not sure I really do either – it appears to be a kid with long hair that covers their face (usually swept to one side) dyed black and blond – but mostly black. They wear skinny jeans which severely taper toward the ankles. They may also wear girl jeans. DC shoes are a must. They are quite skinny and androgynous. Dark, angst ridden T-shirts and chains are also musts. Oh yeah – and tattoos (since when did parents allow their teenagers to get tattoos? I know more than a few students whose parents get tattoos right along with their kids. They family that gets inked together . . .
Anyway, back to my point – I have two of them in my class and they don’t do much. One likes to check his cell phone all the time and twirl his hair. The other can do his work – but usually the former one distracts him so that they tend to stew in their own pot and teen drama and pain.
This used to drive me nuts. But not anymore. They are at the ALC. What would the point be of me reminding them to do their work? You would think the classes they failed, which is what got them here, would be clue enough.
Maybe they are convinced they’ll form a band and be the next Panic at the Disco or Fallout Boy.
Now, I just let their actions ride.
Why get worked up? It’s not worth it.
I used to want to grab these kids and wake them up and get them straightened out.
I no longer can do that.
You have to want to help yourself first. Then I’ll do everything I can to help you.
This latest product isn’t dumb. He’s a smart kid with ability. But he’s been trapped by his genes and the environment. He might even be trapped by his jeans – they are so tight I don’t know how he breathes. They certainly can’t stay on his butt because they are following down – despite his studded belt – and his boxers are showing all the time.
Thankfully, this has been the lone low point for this summer session. The kids, overall, have been great. They aren’t overjoyed to be here, but they have been well behaved and energetic. And I’ve enjoyed working with them.
I even learned what an emo is.
****
Now, fair is fair. Not that I’m into all of this political correct, touchy feely crap where you have to give one positive comment for every negative one. However, this one merits it.
I have a student in my ALC classes who comes from a very troubled family. I had his brother over the years and while he was a nice kid, he was a horrible student. And we butted heads quite often. In fact, I had to have him removed from my class.
His brother, though, is totally different. Not only is he a nice kid but he seems to be a good student. He was just asking about one story they are reading in Sci Fi by Isaac Assimov called “Robbie.”
He said, “Is this the story I, Robot is based off of?”
I said that I thought it was.
“You know I like to read,” he began. “And I bought a book that said it was the story I, Robot was based and I recognize all of these names,” he said as he scanned over the worksheet on the story.
Then we had a great conversation about the movie and story and book. Sometimes, that’s as good as it gets.
Tomorrow, I find out what else he has read and what he likes to read. I already have a list of stuff he might like.
Anyway, back to my point – I have two of them in my class and they don’t do much. One likes to check his cell phone all the time and twirl his hair. The other can do his work – but usually the former one distracts him so that they tend to stew in their own pot and teen drama and pain.
This used to drive me nuts. But not anymore. They are at the ALC. What would the point be of me reminding them to do their work? You would think the classes they failed, which is what got them here, would be clue enough.
Maybe they are convinced they’ll form a band and be the next Panic at the Disco or Fallout Boy.
Now, I just let their actions ride.
Why get worked up? It’s not worth it.
I used to want to grab these kids and wake them up and get them straightened out.
I no longer can do that.
You have to want to help yourself first. Then I’ll do everything I can to help you.
This latest product isn’t dumb. He’s a smart kid with ability. But he’s been trapped by his genes and the environment. He might even be trapped by his jeans – they are so tight I don’t know how he breathes. They certainly can’t stay on his butt because they are following down – despite his studded belt – and his boxers are showing all the time.
Thankfully, this has been the lone low point for this summer session. The kids, overall, have been great. They aren’t overjoyed to be here, but they have been well behaved and energetic. And I’ve enjoyed working with them.
I even learned what an emo is.
****
Now, fair is fair. Not that I’m into all of this political correct, touchy feely crap where you have to give one positive comment for every negative one. However, this one merits it.
I have a student in my ALC classes who comes from a very troubled family. I had his brother over the years and while he was a nice kid, he was a horrible student. And we butted heads quite often. In fact, I had to have him removed from my class.
His brother, though, is totally different. Not only is he a nice kid but he seems to be a good student. He was just asking about one story they are reading in Sci Fi by Isaac Assimov called “Robbie.”
He said, “Is this the story I, Robot is based off of?”
I said that I thought it was.
“You know I like to read,” he began. “And I bought a book that said it was the story I, Robot was based and I recognize all of these names,” he said as he scanned over the worksheet on the story.
Then we had a great conversation about the movie and story and book. Sometimes, that’s as good as it gets.
Tomorrow, I find out what else he has read and what he likes to read. I already have a list of stuff he might like.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Some fun with the pets
We couldn't work nonstop on the patio over the weekend, so Kristie and Casey took a break to play fetch with Kozy. Einstein made a cameo.
The patio is done. Pictures to follow.
The patio is done. Pictures to follow.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
End of July
In my Accessing Information class, I was thinking of something to keep my students busy on this Thursday, which is the last class of the week for them. I used to try and have them write an actual research paper, but the results last summer were laughable. There simply isn’t enough time in 16 meetings to get them to write a research paper.
So I’ve broke the class down into smaller chunks. But because of technological issues and no help from other outside sources whom I contacted, I decided to break it down into a series of scavenger hunts and source evaluations. It sucks, but that’s survival.
This morning I thought of an internet scavenger hunt where the kids would search, read, and evaluate some sources. I included questions on the Starbucks closings, minimum wage increase, The Dark Knight success, an some local issues – a large dairy farm just outside of town has a mountain of law suits filed against it.
The last search I had them do was to type their own names into google and see what they come up with.
I did this too to make sure it would work. I found that my old website for my freshman comp class at BSU was cited in someone’s thesis or research paper. Interesting.
The kids here, though, are going nuts with this assignment. One girl found that there is a street named after her in Bemidji, well it shares her first name. A boy found that he shares the same name as a member of the HGTV network who rescues homes and repairs them. Another boy, who finished early, came up to me with his laptop and showed me a website where he found all of my relatives and my previous addresses. Sure enough, he had. There was my dad and brother and me on there (though they spelled my first name wrong).
Amazing what you can find!
****
Kafir Boy is now no longer part of our curriculum.
Our principal called to tell me the news yesterday. I supported his decision. I don’t agree with it. But it’s complex. He is in a no-win situation. If he bans it, there are several staff members who will be irate. Plus, the students lose out. If he keeps it, there are some powerful parents who will be miffed.
As he joked, that’s what he gets paid the big bucks for – to make the hard decisions.
Of course, if you have read this blog, you know I’ve decried the lack of decisions around here at time. However, we have one and now I stand behind it.
I guess what made me do this is that had we read the book before choosing it, I don’t think it would have been chosen at all.
Had we read it and felt in appropriate and valid, then I’d dig my heels in.
Life goes on.
Kristie had me read this article by Anna Quindlen from Newsweek. It makes for an interesting comparison to our plight.
http://www.newsweek.com/id/145871
At least no one lost their job over this book.
****
What’s in a name? It’s too bad some parents are morons.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080724/ap_on_re_au_an/new_zealand_bizarre_names
This morning I was listening to a podcast that was taking a look back at NCLB and a current look at this document urging the federal government to step in and help the state of public education called “A Democracy at Risk.”
http://www.forumforeducation.org/upload_files/files/FED_ReportRevised415.pdf
One ‘expert’ said that a goal of NCLB was to get, as we all know, every kid up to grade level in core subjects. He said that every teacher would have students arrive willing to work and learn.
That’s a joke. Parents like the ones who named the child in the story above have just as much blame leveled at them as do teachers. It’s a partnership. Until parents learn how to raise their kids – or at least give them a fighting chance – then there’s not going to be much change.
***
Today a student here wanted some help passing the ASVAP test. She said that there were many words that she didn’t understand on the verbal part of the test. She said something about ‘maimed’ – she had no clue what that meant. She wanted some tips from me on how to improve her vocabulary for the test, which she takes this weekend I believe.
What can you say to that? I told her there really isn’t much use cramming vocab in. She instead should rely on the skills she learned throughout three years of high school.
Of course, she is here because she failed several of her English classes.
Ironic. I tried to explain that all the vocab and reading done in her English classes were designed to help her with these type of tests, as well as other college entrance exams. However, if she didn’t put a great deal of effort into them then she just cheated herself.
She didn’t have much to say to that.
So I’ve broke the class down into smaller chunks. But because of technological issues and no help from other outside sources whom I contacted, I decided to break it down into a series of scavenger hunts and source evaluations. It sucks, but that’s survival.
This morning I thought of an internet scavenger hunt where the kids would search, read, and evaluate some sources. I included questions on the Starbucks closings, minimum wage increase, The Dark Knight success, an some local issues – a large dairy farm just outside of town has a mountain of law suits filed against it.
The last search I had them do was to type their own names into google and see what they come up with.
I did this too to make sure it would work. I found that my old website for my freshman comp class at BSU was cited in someone’s thesis or research paper. Interesting.
The kids here, though, are going nuts with this assignment. One girl found that there is a street named after her in Bemidji, well it shares her first name. A boy found that he shares the same name as a member of the HGTV network who rescues homes and repairs them. Another boy, who finished early, came up to me with his laptop and showed me a website where he found all of my relatives and my previous addresses. Sure enough, he had. There was my dad and brother and me on there (though they spelled my first name wrong).
Amazing what you can find!
****
Kafir Boy is now no longer part of our curriculum.
Our principal called to tell me the news yesterday. I supported his decision. I don’t agree with it. But it’s complex. He is in a no-win situation. If he bans it, there are several staff members who will be irate. Plus, the students lose out. If he keeps it, there are some powerful parents who will be miffed.
As he joked, that’s what he gets paid the big bucks for – to make the hard decisions.
Of course, if you have read this blog, you know I’ve decried the lack of decisions around here at time. However, we have one and now I stand behind it.
I guess what made me do this is that had we read the book before choosing it, I don’t think it would have been chosen at all.
Had we read it and felt in appropriate and valid, then I’d dig my heels in.
Life goes on.
Kristie had me read this article by Anna Quindlen from Newsweek. It makes for an interesting comparison to our plight.
http://www.newsweek.com/id/145871
At least no one lost their job over this book.
****
What’s in a name? It’s too bad some parents are morons.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080724/ap_on_re_au_an/new_zealand_bizarre_names
This morning I was listening to a podcast that was taking a look back at NCLB and a current look at this document urging the federal government to step in and help the state of public education called “A Democracy at Risk.”
http://www.forumforeducation.org/upload_files/files/FED_ReportRevised415.pdf
One ‘expert’ said that a goal of NCLB was to get, as we all know, every kid up to grade level in core subjects. He said that every teacher would have students arrive willing to work and learn.
That’s a joke. Parents like the ones who named the child in the story above have just as much blame leveled at them as do teachers. It’s a partnership. Until parents learn how to raise their kids – or at least give them a fighting chance – then there’s not going to be much change.
***
Today a student here wanted some help passing the ASVAP test. She said that there were many words that she didn’t understand on the verbal part of the test. She said something about ‘maimed’ – she had no clue what that meant. She wanted some tips from me on how to improve her vocabulary for the test, which she takes this weekend I believe.
What can you say to that? I told her there really isn’t much use cramming vocab in. She instead should rely on the skills she learned throughout three years of high school.
Of course, she is here because she failed several of her English classes.
Ironic. I tried to explain that all the vocab and reading done in her English classes were designed to help her with these type of tests, as well as other college entrance exams. However, if she didn’t put a great deal of effort into them then she just cheated herself.
She didn’t have much to say to that.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
imovie example of lesson plan
Here is an imovie version of what I want my students to do as part of the lesson plan I had to design for my Boston project.
For The Crucible I want them to select a character. Then they are going to create their own mock wikipedia entry. What I find so useful about wikipedia is that there are so many supplemental links on every entry. The other day I began looking at "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes" by Crosby, Stills, and Nash. However, at the end of an hour, I had somehow navigated my way to the entry on the song "The Trees" by Rush. I made my way there entirely by clicking on the hyperlinks in each entry.
My students will have to consult a variety of on-line sources concerning their character. Then using keynote or powerpoint, they will not only write an entry on their character, but they will also have to create five shorter, supplement entries on issues related to their character - just like your average wikipedia entry.
I chose to model the author of The Crucible, Arthur Miller.
So I began researching his life and works. But then I had to create supplemental entries for such things as The Crucible and Death of a Salesman. From the supplemental link for The Crucible, for which Miller won an academy award, I included a link to a page that features the movie poster. When talking about the impetus for that play, I mentioned how Miller was called before Congress during the McCarthy communist craze. So I included a link to PBS's page on McCarthyism. I also include pages defining two key concepts of The Crucible, 'witch hunt' and 'scapegoat.'
I hope this allows students to develop a better foundation of what they study. Maybe they'll find themselves off on a search like I did with "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes."
For The Crucible I want them to select a character. Then they are going to create their own mock wikipedia entry. What I find so useful about wikipedia is that there are so many supplemental links on every entry. The other day I began looking at "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes" by Crosby, Stills, and Nash. However, at the end of an hour, I had somehow navigated my way to the entry on the song "The Trees" by Rush. I made my way there entirely by clicking on the hyperlinks in each entry.
My students will have to consult a variety of on-line sources concerning their character. Then using keynote or powerpoint, they will not only write an entry on their character, but they will also have to create five shorter, supplement entries on issues related to their character - just like your average wikipedia entry.
I chose to model the author of The Crucible, Arthur Miller.
So I began researching his life and works. But then I had to create supplemental entries for such things as The Crucible and Death of a Salesman. From the supplemental link for The Crucible, for which Miller won an academy award, I included a link to a page that features the movie poster. When talking about the impetus for that play, I mentioned how Miller was called before Congress during the McCarthy communist craze. So I included a link to PBS's page on McCarthyism. I also include pages defining two key concepts of The Crucible, 'witch hunt' and 'scapegoat.'
I hope this allows students to develop a better foundation of what they study. Maybe they'll find themselves off on a search like I did with "Suite: Judy Blue Eyes."
The weather
I swear one night lying on the couch Kristie and I saw that the weather was supposed to be mid 80s and sunny all week. Needless to say I just had to cease work because of the rain. Another snag.
Patio
Spent my first day digging the patio. Manual labor sucks. Actually, I’m thoroughly enjoying it. I used to have to do work like this all the time for the county. Well, maybe not all the time, but I’ve helped dig trenches for culverts many times, which is similar to this. But I had no real stake in that work. The culverts weren’t for me, so it was just grunt labor.
This is different though. It reminds me of one job I actually took some pride in when working for the county. Out towards Brooks there was a new centerline culvert put in – one of those big cement ones.
Over the weekend it rained quite a bit and there were washouts in the dish where the rain ran down the side of the culvert and took the soil with it.
Jim, my boss at the time, charged me with hauling rocks from the Plummer pit over to the culvert and placing them along the edges to prevent further washouts. Those might have been the best two days I spent at the county (and I know what some of you are thinking – a normal person would have taken care of the job in a single afternoon, but no. I had to load all the rocks by hand since I couldn’t get at them with the tractor and loader – so I didn’t milk the job). Suddenly, I had a personal stake in that damned culvert.
I chose each rock with care and strategically placed it to hold back anymore rain water runoff. That really didn’t seem like work at all (compared to tarring a road, which I usually ended up helping with). And it worked too. For whenever I had some downtime, and there was more than enough of that, I would find some reason to head over to Oklee – via Brooks – and I’d drive past the culvert and check on my work.
No washouts since.
Digging the patio is like that. This work is personally rewarding. Only it still seems like work. My hand is cramped from the shovel and last night my lower back was killing me.
Today, I’m refreshed and ready to dig some more.
I have about ¼ of the patio dug out and leveled (leveling it was easier than I thought it would be). The real problems are all of the tree roots I’m running into. The damned things are everywhere. Finally, I broke out the rototiller (Casey’s idea) and worked up the ground as much as I could to chew up the weeds.
But I still ran into several thick ones that were beneath the rototiller blades. Oh yeah, I ran into the propane line too. Luckily, I didn’t hit that sucker with the rototiller.
Relax, Barb. I called gopher one and waited – well, waited for awhile anyway – before digging. The REA and cable guys showed up right away and the city was there this morning, but no sign of our propane provider.
Oh well, I know where the line is now.
Actually, I thought of tapping into it and then building a little brick area around it and having it as a baking stone or natural hot spot. But I decided against it.
My original plan called for two days of digging, one for hauling gravel in, another for hauling in the sand and yet another for laying the stones. I thought I was being conservative, but I don’t know now.
Unexpected things always happen (like the discovery of the copper propane line about four inches under the ground). I never really expected there to be so much dirt. I have a huge pile already and I’m not even close to done. I figured Casey and I could load it up and haul it out to Dad’s since we have to get the gravel from there anyway, but that is time spent on something I didn’t schedule in to my time frame. And, of course, when I headed out for work this morning, I noticed that one of Casey’s truck tires is flat. Another unforeseen obstacle.
With any luck, it will be ready by Sunday.
This is different though. It reminds me of one job I actually took some pride in when working for the county. Out towards Brooks there was a new centerline culvert put in – one of those big cement ones.
Over the weekend it rained quite a bit and there were washouts in the dish where the rain ran down the side of the culvert and took the soil with it.
Jim, my boss at the time, charged me with hauling rocks from the Plummer pit over to the culvert and placing them along the edges to prevent further washouts. Those might have been the best two days I spent at the county (and I know what some of you are thinking – a normal person would have taken care of the job in a single afternoon, but no. I had to load all the rocks by hand since I couldn’t get at them with the tractor and loader – so I didn’t milk the job). Suddenly, I had a personal stake in that damned culvert.
I chose each rock with care and strategically placed it to hold back anymore rain water runoff. That really didn’t seem like work at all (compared to tarring a road, which I usually ended up helping with). And it worked too. For whenever I had some downtime, and there was more than enough of that, I would find some reason to head over to Oklee – via Brooks – and I’d drive past the culvert and check on my work.
No washouts since.
Digging the patio is like that. This work is personally rewarding. Only it still seems like work. My hand is cramped from the shovel and last night my lower back was killing me.
Today, I’m refreshed and ready to dig some more.
I have about ¼ of the patio dug out and leveled (leveling it was easier than I thought it would be). The real problems are all of the tree roots I’m running into. The damned things are everywhere. Finally, I broke out the rototiller (Casey’s idea) and worked up the ground as much as I could to chew up the weeds.
But I still ran into several thick ones that were beneath the rototiller blades. Oh yeah, I ran into the propane line too. Luckily, I didn’t hit that sucker with the rototiller.
Relax, Barb. I called gopher one and waited – well, waited for awhile anyway – before digging. The REA and cable guys showed up right away and the city was there this morning, but no sign of our propane provider.
Oh well, I know where the line is now.
Actually, I thought of tapping into it and then building a little brick area around it and having it as a baking stone or natural hot spot. But I decided against it.
My original plan called for two days of digging, one for hauling gravel in, another for hauling in the sand and yet another for laying the stones. I thought I was being conservative, but I don’t know now.
Unexpected things always happen (like the discovery of the copper propane line about four inches under the ground). I never really expected there to be so much dirt. I have a huge pile already and I’m not even close to done. I figured Casey and I could load it up and haul it out to Dad’s since we have to get the gravel from there anyway, but that is time spent on something I didn’t schedule in to my time frame. And, of course, when I headed out for work this morning, I noticed that one of Casey’s truck tires is flat. Another unforeseen obstacle.
With any luck, it will be ready by Sunday.
Amazing
Slideshow of China’s architecture.
This is pretty amazing, especially that first building. It makes that monstrosity in Korea look pathetic.
http://news.yahoo.com/nphotos/Beijing-Architecture-Beijing/ss/events/lf/071808olyarchitectur/s:/mcclatchy/20080720/wl_mcclatchy/2994196/im:/080717/483/97b82c5a30b94f648d50b863b878335d/;_ylt=AijxbYZjZkW3YNIt83ULcDxBXYh4#photoViewer=/080717/483/97b82c5a30b94f648d50b863b878335d
This is pretty amazing, especially that first building. It makes that monstrosity in Korea look pathetic.
http://news.yahoo.com/nphotos/Beijing-Architecture-Beijing/ss/events/lf/071808olyarchitectur/s:/mcclatchy/20080720/wl_mcclatchy/2994196/im:/080717/483/97b82c5a30b94f648d50b863b878335d/;_ylt=AijxbYZjZkW3YNIt83ULcDxBXYh4#photoViewer=/080717/483/97b82c5a30b94f648d50b863b878335d
Monday
My quest to begin the patio has hit a snag – gopher one. I was not going to call before digging – I can hear my sister gasping right now. I will only be digging seven inches down. But to err on the side of caution, Kristie recommended calling.
They will have everything marked by Wednesday. I am hoping to devote two days to digging and leveling. I think another day to drop in four inches of gravel. That will be a bit time consuming because I have to load the gravel by hand. I hope to be able to just back Casey’s truck up to the patio and shovel/sweep the gravel in. After that I’ll try to level it. Then I’ll devote another day to getting the sand from Dad’s. I won’t need near as much sand as gravel, probably two inches or so. I’ll devote another day to laying the flagstones and pouring in the finishing sand. Plus, I’ll add another day for troubleshooting. Hopefully, in a week, we’ll be able to have our patio in place. Since I have all Friday off, though, I might be able to get quite a bit of work done then too.
If it turns out, I’ll have pictures. If it is a disaster, you won’t hear about it again.
****
Believe it or not, but I really am going to miss these ALC classes and the kids. In every year prior to this, I was all too glad to have the sessions over with. But I could teach these kids all summer.
They will have everything marked by Wednesday. I am hoping to devote two days to digging and leveling. I think another day to drop in four inches of gravel. That will be a bit time consuming because I have to load the gravel by hand. I hope to be able to just back Casey’s truck up to the patio and shovel/sweep the gravel in. After that I’ll try to level it. Then I’ll devote another day to getting the sand from Dad’s. I won’t need near as much sand as gravel, probably two inches or so. I’ll devote another day to laying the flagstones and pouring in the finishing sand. Plus, I’ll add another day for troubleshooting. Hopefully, in a week, we’ll be able to have our patio in place. Since I have all Friday off, though, I might be able to get quite a bit of work done then too.
If it turns out, I’ll have pictures. If it is a disaster, you won’t hear about it again.
****
Believe it or not, but I really am going to miss these ALC classes and the kids. In every year prior to this, I was all too glad to have the sessions over with. But I could teach these kids all summer.
The 730
I stopped at Barb and Arnie's on Monday evening to borrow a wheel barrow. When Arnie finished working, he asked if Barb had shown me "it" yet.
She said no, so he ushered me into his shop.
There sat Dad's 730, which Arnie bought at the auction sale, though one his uncle was trying to outbid him for it (we would have simply given him the thing - but as Arnie said, "Fair is fair.")
I didn't recognize it right away without the 'hood' and all of the rust, grease, and oil caked on.
Arnie said, "Your dad is smiling down at all of this because he bought it four $2,000 at an auction sale and the paint job alone was a thousand and the tires were $500 a piece."
Of course, John Deere tractors are worthy plenty, so he is making a wise investment.
If only I could have convinced Dad to restore all of his tractors and keep them in pristine condition - rather than actual use them!
Arnie - as you can tell from the pictures below - has done a phenomenal job.
I could write a book on this tractor! Maybe one day I will.
She said no, so he ushered me into his shop.
There sat Dad's 730, which Arnie bought at the auction sale, though one his uncle was trying to outbid him for it (we would have simply given him the thing - but as Arnie said, "Fair is fair.")
I didn't recognize it right away without the 'hood' and all of the rust, grease, and oil caked on.
Arnie said, "Your dad is smiling down at all of this because he bought it four $2,000 at an auction sale and the paint job alone was a thousand and the tires were $500 a piece."
Of course, John Deere tractors are worthy plenty, so he is making a wise investment.
If only I could have convinced Dad to restore all of his tractors and keep them in pristine condition - rather than actual use them!
Arnie - as you can tell from the pictures below - has done a phenomenal job.
I could write a book on this tractor! Maybe one day I will.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Brilliant
Now this might be one of the best ideas ever. I know somewhere my dad is smiling down.
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/25735046/from/ET/
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/25735046/from/ET/
Friday, July 18, 2008
Typical Guilda
Kristie's mother spent the night. She came down on the condition that she would take us out for dinner. She also stopped by Lowe's and loaded up the backseat of her car with some firewood for us (five dollars a cord).
Since neither Kristie nor I felt like going out for dinner, we decided to order out instead. As Kristie and Guilda were visiting and watching Jaws on AMC, I was able to sneak out and pay for dinner. Now who pays for what has become a great source of contention between Gail and I. Whenever possible, I will pay. It's not that I'm being overly generous. I'll admit that. The real reason is that Gail hates it. So that makes me want to pick the bill up all that much more.
This, of course, completely embarrasses poor Kristie because there have been several times where Guilda and I literally wrestle over the receipt - one time at Mexican Village we actually bumped the table and nearly fell out of the booth grappling for the bill.
I was also get Gail to take $60 for the wood.
But - in typical Guilda fashion - as she left this morning, she stopped by Kristie's work with cinnamon rolls for everyone. On top of that, after she left Kristie's work instead of returning to work in GF or dying her hair (as she told me), she headed to the casino where she won $100.
Instead of then heading to work in GF or dying her hair, she returned to Kristie's work and gave her the money!
Errrr.
But that is Guilda.
Since neither Kristie nor I felt like going out for dinner, we decided to order out instead. As Kristie and Guilda were visiting and watching Jaws on AMC, I was able to sneak out and pay for dinner. Now who pays for what has become a great source of contention between Gail and I. Whenever possible, I will pay. It's not that I'm being overly generous. I'll admit that. The real reason is that Gail hates it. So that makes me want to pick the bill up all that much more.
This, of course, completely embarrasses poor Kristie because there have been several times where Guilda and I literally wrestle over the receipt - one time at Mexican Village we actually bumped the table and nearly fell out of the booth grappling for the bill.
I was also get Gail to take $60 for the wood.
But - in typical Guilda fashion - as she left this morning, she stopped by Kristie's work with cinnamon rolls for everyone. On top of that, after she left Kristie's work instead of returning to work in GF or dying her hair (as she told me), she headed to the casino where she won $100.
Instead of then heading to work in GF or dying her hair, she returned to Kristie's work and gave her the money!
Errrr.
But that is Guilda.
The Wrath of the Black Birds
I let Einer out for his afternoon stroll around the yard (he never ventures far from the bushes around the house and the shade of our back yard).
I never think twice about this.
However, that all changed today. As I was talking to Kristie on the phone, I heard the black birds squawking like mad. When I got off the phone, I opened the back door and saw a half dozen black birds squawking and hopping from our roof to our trees. I thought, oh they’re keeping an eye on Einstein and alerting any others to his presence.
That is how I usually locate Einer when I want to corral him and bring him in. Wherever the birds are making the most racket is where I will find him, usually hunkered down beneath a tree or bush.
I peered into the bushes on the side of the house, but Einer was nowhere to be found. So I walked around to the front of the house.
I saw Einer crouched on the front steps peering up at the door.
“Boy, these black birds sure have it out for you,” I said.
Then he turned to look at me.
And I saw why those black birds were in such an uproar.
He had one of their loved ones clenched in his jaws!
Its beak was open, one of its wings dangled awkwardly out from its side and its little black stick feet were in the air.
Einer’s tale thrashed and he crouched closer to the crack of the door, eager to get inside and share his prize with Mischa, who had her nose right up against the screen door, licking her chops.
It took a couple good whacks on Einer’s head to get him to release the poor animal. Then I gave his considerable rump a swift kick to get him inside.
The poor bird just sat there on the steps, mouth agape, one wing tucked in while the other was obviously damaged as it dangled off to the side, and its feet motionless.
I thought about just leaving it in the grass or bushes, but then I figured some other animal would get the poor thing so I had to put it out of its misery with a good stomp to the head.
The whole thing was worse than the time Einer caught a baby squirrel. At least when I made him relinquish it, the squirrel managed to make to a tree and climb up. This damn bird just stared up at me with those beady little eyes.
Of course, Einer was happy as a clam.
How in the hell can a 25-pound cat manage to catch a nimble bird? I figure either it was injured already (perhaps it was one of those poor birds that crash into our windows daily) or it was one hell of an ambush.
Either way, Einer looks just a bit more menacing to me now.
I banished him to the basement and he is whining to come back up. There seems to be a note in his plea that rings a little more hungrily than it used to just yesterday. Plus, that drop up blood on his chin doesn’t help matters either.
I never think twice about this.
However, that all changed today. As I was talking to Kristie on the phone, I heard the black birds squawking like mad. When I got off the phone, I opened the back door and saw a half dozen black birds squawking and hopping from our roof to our trees. I thought, oh they’re keeping an eye on Einstein and alerting any others to his presence.
That is how I usually locate Einer when I want to corral him and bring him in. Wherever the birds are making the most racket is where I will find him, usually hunkered down beneath a tree or bush.
I peered into the bushes on the side of the house, but Einer was nowhere to be found. So I walked around to the front of the house.
I saw Einer crouched on the front steps peering up at the door.
“Boy, these black birds sure have it out for you,” I said.
Then he turned to look at me.
And I saw why those black birds were in such an uproar.
He had one of their loved ones clenched in his jaws!
Its beak was open, one of its wings dangled awkwardly out from its side and its little black stick feet were in the air.
Einer’s tale thrashed and he crouched closer to the crack of the door, eager to get inside and share his prize with Mischa, who had her nose right up against the screen door, licking her chops.
It took a couple good whacks on Einer’s head to get him to release the poor animal. Then I gave his considerable rump a swift kick to get him inside.
The poor bird just sat there on the steps, mouth agape, one wing tucked in while the other was obviously damaged as it dangled off to the side, and its feet motionless.
I thought about just leaving it in the grass or bushes, but then I figured some other animal would get the poor thing so I had to put it out of its misery with a good stomp to the head.
The whole thing was worse than the time Einer caught a baby squirrel. At least when I made him relinquish it, the squirrel managed to make to a tree and climb up. This damn bird just stared up at me with those beady little eyes.
Of course, Einer was happy as a clam.
How in the hell can a 25-pound cat manage to catch a nimble bird? I figure either it was injured already (perhaps it was one of those poor birds that crash into our windows daily) or it was one hell of an ambush.
Either way, Einer looks just a bit more menacing to me now.
I banished him to the basement and he is whining to come back up. There seems to be a note in his plea that rings a little more hungrily than it used to just yesterday. Plus, that drop up blood on his chin doesn’t help matters either.
How'd you like to have to look at this sucker every day?
I thought our cell phone tower was an eye sore. At least I got used to that and don't even notice it anymore. There's no way I could not notice this monstrosity.
At least there's hope that it might actually become functional. I believe it has not been worked on since the early 90's. Suddenly, I don't feel so bad about procrastinating about the deck. And the fence. And the dog kennel.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20080717/lf_nm_life/korea_north_hotel_dc
At least there's hope that it might actually become functional. I believe it has not been worked on since the early 90's. Suddenly, I don't feel so bad about procrastinating about the deck. And the fence. And the dog kennel.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20080717/lf_nm_life/korea_north_hotel_dc
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Getting better
Because of hard work, practice, and strategy, Casey's paintball team had their first real success last weekend. They placed third in a speedball tournament. To say the boys were pleased would be quite the understatement. Since one of their regular players had a bum toe, they relegated him to filming the matches. As soon as the boys got back, Casey began editing the footage into this little montage.
Enjoy. We certainly did.
By the way, Casey's team is in the red. The last few seconds focus on Austin, who was out of paintballs and actually was able to find one on the ground and load it into his hopper. He was the lone team member left. Everyone else had been hit. He faced the only remaining member of their opponent's team. Unfortunately for Austin, his opponent had plenty of ammo. Yet, Austin was able to sneak around and charge in ready to shoot the player. But, alas, his lone paintball ended up falling out of his hopper as he sprinted over to where his opponent was bunkered.
Had he been able to make the shot, the team would have placed second. However, everyone at the tournament recognized Austin's effort and his heady manuever.
Enjoy. We certainly did.
By the way, Casey's team is in the red. The last few seconds focus on Austin, who was out of paintballs and actually was able to find one on the ground and load it into his hopper. He was the lone team member left. Everyone else had been hit. He faced the only remaining member of their opponent's team. Unfortunately for Austin, his opponent had plenty of ammo. Yet, Austin was able to sneak around and charge in ready to shoot the player. But, alas, his lone paintball ended up falling out of his hopper as he sprinted over to where his opponent was bunkered.
Had he been able to make the shot, the team would have placed second. However, everyone at the tournament recognized Austin's effort and his heady manuever.
Why Read Books
Yesterday I was re-listening to a podcast from Stanford on itunes U. It is simply a public discussion on why people love to read books. The podcast features two professors from Stanford, Seth Lerer (http://english.stanford.edu/bio.php?name_id=76) and Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht (http://www.stanford.edu/dept/HPS/gumbrecht.html), and one visiting professor from Harvard, Leah Price (http://www.people.fas.harvard.edu/~lprice/).
I found this discussion to be interesting in light of the book, Endangered Minds, which I’m reading.
Hans Urlich, who works as the moderator for the discussion, makes it a point to not just give a cliched lecture or argument for the importance of books. He assumes, given the audience and location, that that idea is a given.
Instead, he has the speakers discuss such things as why they think reading is linked to sleep, what made them into readers, what impact our electronic age will have on texts, what to do about a generation of alliterates, and so on.
This got me thinking about the first time I became cognizant of how much I loved reading - or more particular - how much I loved a particular book.
Reading didn’t come easy for me. I was not the type of reader my wife is. She recalls getting a reading textbook from her aunt, who was an elementary teacher and principal, and reading the entire thing.
When first gradel finally rolled around and her teacher passed out the reading text for that year, Kristie had to confess that she read it.
"Oh, you read the first story?" the teacher asked.
"Uh. I read the whole book," Kristie confessed.
That warranted Kristie her own book and reading time for first grade.
I was not that fortunate. What I recall most about learning to read is sitting in my mom’s lap with her arms around me and a book in my lap. She held the book open and turned the pages as I read aloud.
It was so difficult for me to get my tongue to match the words that were formed in my brain as I focused on my index finger trailing across the lone sentence on each page.
It was drudgery. But each day Mom sat me down and put me through it.
I hated it. And that might have doomed my love for reading before it ever began.
However, later in school - I imagine around third or fourth grade - I read my first book because my friend, Simon, had read it. He talked about how great it was and how much he liked it. I didn’t want to have him get one up on me in anything, so over Christmas vacation, I checked the book out and read it on my own.
I even recall the night I finished it and the sense of pride that I felt as I closed the book.
That book soon led me into the Hardy Boys series. From there I read some books by Louis Lamore (though I think he wrote them under a pen name). Finally, by fifth or sixth grade I had came to Lloyd Alexander’s The Book of Three, which was the first book in a series.
This was the first book that I truly loved. Well, I guess it was the first book where I fell in love with the characters, for Taran, the young protagonist, was a boy stuck working for his adoptive father on a pig farm. Given that we had recently moved from town to a sheep farm, I could relate. Given too that I had long been fascinated by the fantasy world of sword and sorcerers, this book captured me immediately.
After the book of three, I found The Black Cauldron (which Disney actually made into a movie). Then I found The Castle Llyr, Taran Wanderer, and the Newberry Award winner The High King.
But the moment I alluded to in the intro to this blog entry came some time after I had finished devouring the series. Our librarian met with my class. We did this every week or so, and she’d spotlight a different book, hoping to spark an interest.
This time the book she chose happened to be The Book of Three. When she held it up, I felt such a rush of jealousy, I could hardly contain it.
Who was she to talk about my book!
The jealousy quickly gave way to pride and a strong desire to share what I knew about the book - and the series.
Our librarian gave us a quick summary of the novel. By this time, my hand was trying to free itself from my shoulder as I lofted above my head
This must have shocked her, for I had never spoken up before - probably because I had not read any of the previous books she had spotlighted.
“Yes, Kurt,” she said.
And I was off rambling about the entire series - likely more to brag that I had read them - and loved them - more than anything.
Suddenly, I couldn’t comprehend how someone would not want to read this. My affection for the book was so strong that I remember the teacher having to cut me off about halfway through the events of The Castle Llyr because my spiel was cutting into the actual time we were allowed to rummage through the library to find books.
Somehow my jealousy had evaporated, leaving behind a strong desire to make everyone in my class read that book - well, not Simon - I wanted to have one up on him for once - and experience the same type of wonder that I had.
Now, after all of these years, I think it was at that moment that subconsciously, I realized I wanted to teach. Not that I wanted to blather on like I did then and gloat over the knowledge I had (well, I'm guilty of the former but I don't know enough of anything to be guilty of the latter). I wanted to get others to feel the way I did about books, writing, and learning.
And, after all of these years, I have that jealousy conquered, but not that zest for getting others to read the books - To Kill a Mockingbird, The Giver, The Things They Carried, The Dante Club, On Writing, Tuesdays With Morrie, Harry Potter, Fahrenheit 451, Of Mice and Men, Watership Down, The Great Gatsby, Heart of Darkness, and King Lear - and experience the same love and movement that I did and continue to feel.
I found this discussion to be interesting in light of the book, Endangered Minds, which I’m reading.
Hans Urlich, who works as the moderator for the discussion, makes it a point to not just give a cliched lecture or argument for the importance of books. He assumes, given the audience and location, that that idea is a given.
Instead, he has the speakers discuss such things as why they think reading is linked to sleep, what made them into readers, what impact our electronic age will have on texts, what to do about a generation of alliterates, and so on.
This got me thinking about the first time I became cognizant of how much I loved reading - or more particular - how much I loved a particular book.
Reading didn’t come easy for me. I was not the type of reader my wife is. She recalls getting a reading textbook from her aunt, who was an elementary teacher and principal, and reading the entire thing.
When first gradel finally rolled around and her teacher passed out the reading text for that year, Kristie had to confess that she read it.
"Oh, you read the first story?" the teacher asked.
"Uh. I read the whole book," Kristie confessed.
That warranted Kristie her own book and reading time for first grade.
I was not that fortunate. What I recall most about learning to read is sitting in my mom’s lap with her arms around me and a book in my lap. She held the book open and turned the pages as I read aloud.
It was so difficult for me to get my tongue to match the words that were formed in my brain as I focused on my index finger trailing across the lone sentence on each page.
It was drudgery. But each day Mom sat me down and put me through it.
I hated it. And that might have doomed my love for reading before it ever began.
However, later in school - I imagine around third or fourth grade - I read my first book because my friend, Simon, had read it. He talked about how great it was and how much he liked it. I didn’t want to have him get one up on me in anything, so over Christmas vacation, I checked the book out and read it on my own.
I even recall the night I finished it and the sense of pride that I felt as I closed the book.
That book soon led me into the Hardy Boys series. From there I read some books by Louis Lamore (though I think he wrote them under a pen name). Finally, by fifth or sixth grade I had came to Lloyd Alexander’s The Book of Three, which was the first book in a series.
This was the first book that I truly loved. Well, I guess it was the first book where I fell in love with the characters, for Taran, the young protagonist, was a boy stuck working for his adoptive father on a pig farm. Given that we had recently moved from town to a sheep farm, I could relate. Given too that I had long been fascinated by the fantasy world of sword and sorcerers, this book captured me immediately.
After the book of three, I found The Black Cauldron (which Disney actually made into a movie). Then I found The Castle Llyr, Taran Wanderer, and the Newberry Award winner The High King.
But the moment I alluded to in the intro to this blog entry came some time after I had finished devouring the series. Our librarian met with my class. We did this every week or so, and she’d spotlight a different book, hoping to spark an interest.
This time the book she chose happened to be The Book of Three. When she held it up, I felt such a rush of jealousy, I could hardly contain it.
Who was she to talk about my book!
The jealousy quickly gave way to pride and a strong desire to share what I knew about the book - and the series.
Our librarian gave us a quick summary of the novel. By this time, my hand was trying to free itself from my shoulder as I lofted above my head
This must have shocked her, for I had never spoken up before - probably because I had not read any of the previous books she had spotlighted.
“Yes, Kurt,” she said.
And I was off rambling about the entire series - likely more to brag that I had read them - and loved them - more than anything.
Suddenly, I couldn’t comprehend how someone would not want to read this. My affection for the book was so strong that I remember the teacher having to cut me off about halfway through the events of The Castle Llyr because my spiel was cutting into the actual time we were allowed to rummage through the library to find books.
Somehow my jealousy had evaporated, leaving behind a strong desire to make everyone in my class read that book - well, not Simon - I wanted to have one up on him for once - and experience the same type of wonder that I had.
Now, after all of these years, I think it was at that moment that subconsciously, I realized I wanted to teach. Not that I wanted to blather on like I did then and gloat over the knowledge I had (well, I'm guilty of the former but I don't know enough of anything to be guilty of the latter). I wanted to get others to feel the way I did about books, writing, and learning.
And, after all of these years, I have that jealousy conquered, but not that zest for getting others to read the books - To Kill a Mockingbird, The Giver, The Things They Carried, The Dante Club, On Writing, Tuesdays With Morrie, Harry Potter, Fahrenheit 451, Of Mice and Men, Watership Down, The Great Gatsby, Heart of Darkness, and King Lear - and experience the same love and movement that I did and continue to feel.
Religious nuts
Oh, those religious fanatics!
How hilarious is this?
From “News of the Weird” by Chuck Shepherd as it appeared in the July 9 Star Trib
“You’ve been Left Behind.”
LLC has begun offering an e-mail service to Christians who are preparing for the Rapture (in which all “true” Christians ascend to heaven to meet the Lord). Since the Rapture may commence suddenly, those chosen may have to depart without saying goodbye to their less worthy friends and besides will leave their property behind during the ensuing seven years before Armageddon.
That reminds me of a story that I remember either a scholar or teacher relating to use at our MNHS summer seminar. Apparently, their aunt woke, who believed herself to be one of the “true” Christians, one morning to find her husband mysteriously absent from bed. She looked out and saw that the car was still out front (I can’t remember where he actually was - I seem to recall him forgetting to tell his wife that his buddies were picking him up for a fishing excursion). She thought, “Well, this can’t be the Rapture because there is no way he’d make it and I’d get left behind.”
That’s funny!
How hilarious is this?
From “News of the Weird” by Chuck Shepherd as it appeared in the July 9 Star Trib
“You’ve been Left Behind.”
LLC has begun offering an e-mail service to Christians who are preparing for the Rapture (in which all “true” Christians ascend to heaven to meet the Lord). Since the Rapture may commence suddenly, those chosen may have to depart without saying goodbye to their less worthy friends and besides will leave their property behind during the ensuing seven years before Armageddon.
That reminds me of a story that I remember either a scholar or teacher relating to use at our MNHS summer seminar. Apparently, their aunt woke, who believed herself to be one of the “true” Christians, one morning to find her husband mysteriously absent from bed. She looked out and saw that the car was still out front (I can’t remember where he actually was - I seem to recall him forgetting to tell his wife that his buddies were picking him up for a fishing excursion). She thought, “Well, this can’t be the Rapture because there is no way he’d make it and I’d get left behind.”
That’s funny!
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
What was on Yahoo news today
This is why "professional" (and I can't think of a more ridiculous use of an adjective) wrestling is a sign of the apocalypse. Notice the “W” in this guy’s T-shirt for “Worlds Greatest Dad” is the logo for the WWF wrestling. He happened to be wearing this while busted for soliciting sex from a fourteen year old.
Can you say white trash, red neck?
Here's the rest of the story - as Paul Harvey would say.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080716/ap_on_re_us/_greatest_dad__charged;_ylt=AqeRupOOgxMPaGAQul0yYI6s0NUE
I’ve always maintained that if I end up in hell when I die, forget about a lake of fire as the Old Testament proclaims or a lake of ice as Dante envisions. My hell will be a combination monster truck rally, WWF wrestling match, and country music concert all inside an endless Walmart!
I guess I better be good!
****
History, never seems to rest, does it?
If they can still find such startling stories from WWII, what else hasn’t been discovered - or rather - uncovered yet about other major happenings?
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080716/ap_on_re_eu/france_nazi_massacre;_ylt=AjYzUZTZy1HvVF1fd9Z._Slw24cA
****
If people really want to get serious about getting more science and math majors in college, then the big business players need to get serious about overhauling our culture.
How can big business and their desire for better students compete against brainless TV, The Hills, Rock of Love, Flavor of Love, Real World, and Ugly Better or computer programs that eat so much of young peoples’ time, Facebook and myspace?
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080715/ap_on_sc/science_campaign;_ylt=AnJ4D9AglwWdlTUKY5_2EvGs0NUE
This really is just the sign that American culture seems willing to watch others take over the lead in the global economy stage.
This is the stance one of my colleagues stands by whenever we discuss this issue. He refers to an interview he read in a British magazine that featured a professor simply saying that America should get used to being second fiddle on the world stage. It happened to Britain when the US surpassed it as a world power. It happened to Spain when England surpassed it as the pre-eminent power in the world. Life goes on.
Another colleague of mine spoke to the school board about the districts declining math scores. He simply said that he can’t make kids care, nor can he consistently motivate them.
I stand by the idea that we have had it so good for so long that many of us are not accustom to working as hard as previous generations. Instead of seeing education as a means of improving one’s life, the recent generations see it as just a hurdle one must go through before getting on with their lives. That’s scary.
Yet another colleague took her class over to the University of MN at Crookston. There they listened to a professor from a Third World country who was amazed at how nice our students had it, yet the professor was saddened by how little they seemed to value learning and knowledge. This professor talked about how he had to walk miles each day just to get an education in his homeland. However, his parents knew it was a way for him to escape the life his parents were leading.
Does this sound familiar? It reminds me of the stories our grandparents used to tell us about walking uphill both ways to and from school. Maybe there was some truth to that after all.
Just look around at our supposedly ‘poor’ students. You’d be hard pressed to find a student - regardless of whether their parents have a part-time job or prey on wellfare - without an mp3 player or cell phone, let alone money to run over to Taco Johns or Arby’s for lunch.
So even those who should work even harder to escape the lives their parents are living, don’t see any need to escape it.
The current book I’m reading, discusses some of the same issues that are at the heart of many American students (and schools) falling behind. And not even knowing it. Or worse, not even caring.
Check here for an overview
http://www.newhorizons.org/future/Creating_the_Future/crfut_healy.html
Or here for reader reviews
http://www.amazon.com/Endangered-Minds-Children-Think-About/dp/0684856204
As worried as I am about my students and their futures, maybe this is all just part of a large pendulum swing. My grandfather likely never attended much schooling at all because he had to work just to help sustain his family.
Then my father’s generation came along. Unlike my grandfather, my father never had to work a part-time job just to help support his family when he was young. He played sports and attended school, though he never graduated because he decided to work full time and support his own family - which he did.
Then game our generation. My siblings and I never had to work to help support our family. We all graduated from high school, and my sister and I went on to post-secondary earn degrees. We all have provided for ourselves and our families.
I hope my children will do the same. However, I see many kids in this generation (I was just talking about one who should be in my class today but misses it because she works late) being part of a pendulum that is swinging back to view their educations as my dad did, just something that got in the way of earning a living.
The only problem is that today not many kids can find a job without a high school diploma that can really sustain them. Not to mention earning a degree that will allow them to do what they really love or even find a job that they will enjoy coming to every day.
When this generation has children, will those kids have to work instead of attending school just to help support their families the way many of our grandparents or great grandparents had to? Will the pendulum swing back or will it break and spiral downward?
Can you say white trash, red neck?
Here's the rest of the story - as Paul Harvey would say.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080716/ap_on_re_us/_greatest_dad__charged;_ylt=AqeRupOOgxMPaGAQul0yYI6s0NUE
I’ve always maintained that if I end up in hell when I die, forget about a lake of fire as the Old Testament proclaims or a lake of ice as Dante envisions. My hell will be a combination monster truck rally, WWF wrestling match, and country music concert all inside an endless Walmart!
I guess I better be good!
****
History, never seems to rest, does it?
If they can still find such startling stories from WWII, what else hasn’t been discovered - or rather - uncovered yet about other major happenings?
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080716/ap_on_re_eu/france_nazi_massacre;_ylt=AjYzUZTZy1HvVF1fd9Z._Slw24cA
****
If people really want to get serious about getting more science and math majors in college, then the big business players need to get serious about overhauling our culture.
How can big business and their desire for better students compete against brainless TV, The Hills, Rock of Love, Flavor of Love, Real World, and Ugly Better or computer programs that eat so much of young peoples’ time, Facebook and myspace?
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080715/ap_on_sc/science_campaign;_ylt=AnJ4D9AglwWdlTUKY5_2EvGs0NUE
This really is just the sign that American culture seems willing to watch others take over the lead in the global economy stage.
This is the stance one of my colleagues stands by whenever we discuss this issue. He refers to an interview he read in a British magazine that featured a professor simply saying that America should get used to being second fiddle on the world stage. It happened to Britain when the US surpassed it as a world power. It happened to Spain when England surpassed it as the pre-eminent power in the world. Life goes on.
Another colleague of mine spoke to the school board about the districts declining math scores. He simply said that he can’t make kids care, nor can he consistently motivate them.
I stand by the idea that we have had it so good for so long that many of us are not accustom to working as hard as previous generations. Instead of seeing education as a means of improving one’s life, the recent generations see it as just a hurdle one must go through before getting on with their lives. That’s scary.
Yet another colleague took her class over to the University of MN at Crookston. There they listened to a professor from a Third World country who was amazed at how nice our students had it, yet the professor was saddened by how little they seemed to value learning and knowledge. This professor talked about how he had to walk miles each day just to get an education in his homeland. However, his parents knew it was a way for him to escape the life his parents were leading.
Does this sound familiar? It reminds me of the stories our grandparents used to tell us about walking uphill both ways to and from school. Maybe there was some truth to that after all.
Just look around at our supposedly ‘poor’ students. You’d be hard pressed to find a student - regardless of whether their parents have a part-time job or prey on wellfare - without an mp3 player or cell phone, let alone money to run over to Taco Johns or Arby’s for lunch.
So even those who should work even harder to escape the lives their parents are living, don’t see any need to escape it.
The current book I’m reading, discusses some of the same issues that are at the heart of many American students (and schools) falling behind. And not even knowing it. Or worse, not even caring.
Check here for an overview
http://www.newhorizons.org/future/Creating_the_Future/crfut_healy.html
Or here for reader reviews
http://www.amazon.com/Endangered-Minds-Children-Think-About/dp/0684856204
As worried as I am about my students and their futures, maybe this is all just part of a large pendulum swing. My grandfather likely never attended much schooling at all because he had to work just to help sustain his family.
Then my father’s generation came along. Unlike my grandfather, my father never had to work a part-time job just to help support his family when he was young. He played sports and attended school, though he never graduated because he decided to work full time and support his own family - which he did.
Then game our generation. My siblings and I never had to work to help support our family. We all graduated from high school, and my sister and I went on to post-secondary earn degrees. We all have provided for ourselves and our families.
I hope my children will do the same. However, I see many kids in this generation (I was just talking about one who should be in my class today but misses it because she works late) being part of a pendulum that is swinging back to view their educations as my dad did, just something that got in the way of earning a living.
The only problem is that today not many kids can find a job without a high school diploma that can really sustain them. Not to mention earning a degree that will allow them to do what they really love or even find a job that they will enjoy coming to every day.
When this generation has children, will those kids have to work instead of attending school just to help support their families the way many of our grandparents or great grandparents had to? Will the pendulum swing back or will it break and spiral downward?
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Forgotten and Found again
It’s been quite some time since I’ve taught Creative Writing, particularly poetry. I usually do a short stint in the summers here at the ALC, but poetry is usually relegated to the final couple days.
It’s not that I dislike poetry. It’s just that I like to wait until I can motivate the ALC kids to write before thrusting poetry on them – since poetry tends not to be the true love of 16 year old boys.
This year I tried something different. I decided to start with poetry. If the 16 year old boys hate it, at least we can get it out of the way and I don’t have to dread forcing it upon them in the final week. Plus, I’ll have a sub for the final four days, and I didn’t want to dump poetry on them.
But I couldn’t have been more wrong about this group's dislike for poetry. They have really taken to it.
Yesterday, I had them come up with words that they thought of when they heard the term “poetry.”
Of course, the first word out of one kid's mouth was “fairies.”
I said that’s what I thought once too. But it’s not all “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day” type of poetry. Then I told them how many people tend to recite that sonnet at their wedding; however, it is believed (or at least I recall from my under grad Shakespeare class) that Shakespeare wrote that particular poem about another man.
That woke them up!
Fortunately, there were others who enjoyed poetry – one kid shouted out “Edgar Allan Poe.” Another “Imagery.” Yet, another “Rhyming.”
To say I was pleasantly surprised doesn’t even come close.
From there we started writing our bio poems. The format is listed at the end of this entry.
Then we started on the pantoum, which I have already blogged about.
That went very well. Today they will revise it, type it up, and submit it.
Plus, I want to introduce them to “Found Poetry,” which is where the title for the post originated. I got the idea out of an old English methods text called Bridging English. Found poetry? I had forgotten all about that. So it’s kind of Found poetry squared for me.
The authors of the text suggest ‘finding’ poetry in news articles. Then the student simply takes the article and arranges it as a poem.
We’ll try this today and tomorrow. One of my favorite columns that I always reference in Creative Writing is the News of the Weird column from the Thursday editions of the Star Trib (http://www.newsoftheweird.com/).
That should make for some very interesting poems.
Here is an example I found in the text, which I had marked but had forgotten all about.
Parents
Linda failed to return home from a dance Friday night.
On Saturday
she admitted she had spent the night
with an Air Force Lieutenant.
The Aults decided on a punishment
that would “wake Linda up.”
They ordered her
to shoot the dog
she had owned about two years.
On Sunday,
The Aults and
Linda
took the dog into the desert
near their home.
They
Had the girl
dig a shallow grave.
Then
Mr.s Ault
grasped the dog between her hands and
Mr. Ault
gave
his daughter
a .22 caliber pistol
and told her
to shoot the dog.
Instead,
the girl
put the pistol
to her right temple
and shot herself.
The police said
there were no charges
that could be filed
against the parents
except possibly
cruelty
to
animals.
This was ‘found’ from this headline
“Coed Kills Herself To Spare Pet Do Doomed By Father” from an AP story from Phoenix, AZ.
Now I’m somewhat reluctant to use this poem because the one thing I hate whenever I mix teens and poetry is that god-awful angst ridden (not to mention cliché ridden) poems about death and suicide and drama.
But the news of the weird stories often have a humorous slant to them, so that might help lighten the tone and move students away from blathering on about the perceived drama in their lives. Although that could be a good point to discuss how poetry focuses on the every day events – and it doesn’t always have to be about dramatic issues.
Bio Poem Format –
Line 1: Your first name only.
Line 2: Four traits that best describe you.
Line 3: Sibling of . . ./ or friend of . . .
Line 4: Lover of . . . (people or ideas)
Line 5: Who feels . . . (3 items)
Line 6: Who needs . . . (3 items)
Line 7: Who gives . . . (3 items)
Line 8: Who fears . . . (3 items)
Line 9: Who would like to see . . . (3 items)
Line 10: Resident of (your city), (road name)
Line 11: Your last name only
Here is an early bio poem I found from my second summer teaching at the ALC.
Kurt
Funny, gregarious, center of attention, random-abstract
Sibling of Kevin and Barb
Lover of Kristie, Casey, Koko, music, writing, and horror flicks
Who feels old, young, and absent minded
Who needs love, my family, sun, my lap top, and my kids
Who gives laughs, assignments, and encouragement
Who fears growing old, losing my father, credit cards
Who would like to see my mom celebrate her 70th birthday with my dad, the Bengals win the AFC Central, my master’s complete, a great white shark, and a new house.
Resident of RLF, 413 7th St NE
My how much has changed.
Mom and Dad are gone. We have that new house. I earned my master’s. Kenzie is now on the way. My Bengals even won the AFC Central. Through the losses, life has been wonderful.
Here is an updated bio poem
Kurt
Random-abstract, home body, child like, and absent minded.
Sibling of Kevin and Barb
Lover of Kristie, Casey, KoKo, Kenzie, Einstien, Mischa, Joker, and Kozy . . . and Harry
Potter, Halloween, trips to Grand Forks, Legos, Christmas, desserts, our
house, and lazy summer days.
Who feels loved, out of place with a tool in my hand, and currently too tight in my clothes.
Who needs love, my family, Kristie's laugh, Casey's sheepish grin, KoKo's laugh, Kenzie’s ultrasound picture on my laptop, our
backyard, and my kids.
Who still gives laughs, assignments, and encouragement
Who fears Casey going off to college and KoKo soon after, filling my father’s shoes, the
world Kenzie will have to face, and renovation projects.
Who would like to see Kristie going back to school, Casey paintballing more, KoKo
becoming an artist, Kenzie healthy and happy and our house full of friends and family.
Resident of RLF, 311 4th St SW
It’s not that I dislike poetry. It’s just that I like to wait until I can motivate the ALC kids to write before thrusting poetry on them – since poetry tends not to be the true love of 16 year old boys.
This year I tried something different. I decided to start with poetry. If the 16 year old boys hate it, at least we can get it out of the way and I don’t have to dread forcing it upon them in the final week. Plus, I’ll have a sub for the final four days, and I didn’t want to dump poetry on them.
But I couldn’t have been more wrong about this group's dislike for poetry. They have really taken to it.
Yesterday, I had them come up with words that they thought of when they heard the term “poetry.”
Of course, the first word out of one kid's mouth was “fairies.”
I said that’s what I thought once too. But it’s not all “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day” type of poetry. Then I told them how many people tend to recite that sonnet at their wedding; however, it is believed (or at least I recall from my under grad Shakespeare class) that Shakespeare wrote that particular poem about another man.
That woke them up!
Fortunately, there were others who enjoyed poetry – one kid shouted out “Edgar Allan Poe.” Another “Imagery.” Yet, another “Rhyming.”
To say I was pleasantly surprised doesn’t even come close.
From there we started writing our bio poems. The format is listed at the end of this entry.
Then we started on the pantoum, which I have already blogged about.
That went very well. Today they will revise it, type it up, and submit it.
Plus, I want to introduce them to “Found Poetry,” which is where the title for the post originated. I got the idea out of an old English methods text called Bridging English. Found poetry? I had forgotten all about that. So it’s kind of Found poetry squared for me.
The authors of the text suggest ‘finding’ poetry in news articles. Then the student simply takes the article and arranges it as a poem.
We’ll try this today and tomorrow. One of my favorite columns that I always reference in Creative Writing is the News of the Weird column from the Thursday editions of the Star Trib (http://www.newsoftheweird.com/).
That should make for some very interesting poems.
Here is an example I found in the text, which I had marked but had forgotten all about.
Parents
Linda failed to return home from a dance Friday night.
On Saturday
she admitted she had spent the night
with an Air Force Lieutenant.
The Aults decided on a punishment
that would “wake Linda up.”
They ordered her
to shoot the dog
she had owned about two years.
On Sunday,
The Aults and
Linda
took the dog into the desert
near their home.
They
Had the girl
dig a shallow grave.
Then
Mr.s Ault
grasped the dog between her hands and
Mr. Ault
gave
his daughter
a .22 caliber pistol
and told her
to shoot the dog.
Instead,
the girl
put the pistol
to her right temple
and shot herself.
The police said
there were no charges
that could be filed
against the parents
except possibly
cruelty
to
animals.
This was ‘found’ from this headline
“Coed Kills Herself To Spare Pet Do Doomed By Father” from an AP story from Phoenix, AZ.
Now I’m somewhat reluctant to use this poem because the one thing I hate whenever I mix teens and poetry is that god-awful angst ridden (not to mention cliché ridden) poems about death and suicide and drama.
But the news of the weird stories often have a humorous slant to them, so that might help lighten the tone and move students away from blathering on about the perceived drama in their lives. Although that could be a good point to discuss how poetry focuses on the every day events – and it doesn’t always have to be about dramatic issues.
Bio Poem Format –
Line 1: Your first name only.
Line 2: Four traits that best describe you.
Line 3: Sibling of . . ./ or friend of . . .
Line 4: Lover of . . . (people or ideas)
Line 5: Who feels . . . (3 items)
Line 6: Who needs . . . (3 items)
Line 7: Who gives . . . (3 items)
Line 8: Who fears . . . (3 items)
Line 9: Who would like to see . . . (3 items)
Line 10: Resident of (your city), (road name)
Line 11: Your last name only
Here is an early bio poem I found from my second summer teaching at the ALC.
Kurt
Funny, gregarious, center of attention, random-abstract
Sibling of Kevin and Barb
Lover of Kristie, Casey, Koko, music, writing, and horror flicks
Who feels old, young, and absent minded
Who needs love, my family, sun, my lap top, and my kids
Who gives laughs, assignments, and encouragement
Who fears growing old, losing my father, credit cards
Who would like to see my mom celebrate her 70th birthday with my dad, the Bengals win the AFC Central, my master’s complete, a great white shark, and a new house.
Resident of RLF, 413 7th St NE
My how much has changed.
Mom and Dad are gone. We have that new house. I earned my master’s. Kenzie is now on the way. My Bengals even won the AFC Central. Through the losses, life has been wonderful.
Here is an updated bio poem
Kurt
Random-abstract, home body, child like, and absent minded.
Sibling of Kevin and Barb
Lover of Kristie, Casey, KoKo, Kenzie, Einstien, Mischa, Joker, and Kozy . . . and Harry
Potter, Halloween, trips to Grand Forks, Legos, Christmas, desserts, our
house, and lazy summer days.
Who feels loved, out of place with a tool in my hand, and currently too tight in my clothes.
Who needs love, my family, Kristie's laugh, Casey's sheepish grin, KoKo's laugh, Kenzie’s ultrasound picture on my laptop, our
backyard, and my kids.
Who still gives laughs, assignments, and encouragement
Who fears Casey going off to college and KoKo soon after, filling my father’s shoes, the
world Kenzie will have to face, and renovation projects.
Who would like to see Kristie going back to school, Casey paintballing more, KoKo
becoming an artist, Kenzie healthy and happy and our house full of friends and family.
Resident of RLF, 311 4th St SW
Monday, July 14, 2008
Backyard People
I think it's official: we've become backyard people.
Not lake people. Not campers. No more couch potatoes.
We've invested in yard furniture (who ever knew there was such a thing?). Then Kristie got me a fire pit for Father's Day. On the Fourth we invested in a grill. And have we put them all to use.
Steaks, bbq chicken, hot dogs, hamburgers . . . tomorrow Kristie tries 'beer butt' chicken (it tastes much better than it sounds, deriving its name from the fact that you simply grill the chicken with an open can of beer inside it).
Tonight Casey's friend Austin was over, so we grilled steaks and had corn on the cob. Then ice cream sandwiches - the ones with chocolate chips in the ice cream. After that we all lounged out in the back yard and started a fire.
That is the way to spend an evening.
KoKo played fetch with Kozy (more like Kozy played fetch with KoKo). Casey and Austin showed us the imovie they created chronicling their latest paint ball tournament (they took third and brought home $60). Kristie and I just relaxed and took it all in. Then we waited for the bats and called it a night.
Again, that is the way to spend an evening.
Not lake people. Not campers. No more couch potatoes.
We've invested in yard furniture (who ever knew there was such a thing?). Then Kristie got me a fire pit for Father's Day. On the Fourth we invested in a grill. And have we put them all to use.
Steaks, bbq chicken, hot dogs, hamburgers . . . tomorrow Kristie tries 'beer butt' chicken (it tastes much better than it sounds, deriving its name from the fact that you simply grill the chicken with an open can of beer inside it).
Tonight Casey's friend Austin was over, so we grilled steaks and had corn on the cob. Then ice cream sandwiches - the ones with chocolate chips in the ice cream. After that we all lounged out in the back yard and started a fire.
That is the way to spend an evening.
KoKo played fetch with Kozy (more like Kozy played fetch with KoKo). Casey and Austin showed us the imovie they created chronicling their latest paint ball tournament (they took third and brought home $60). Kristie and I just relaxed and took it all in. Then we waited for the bats and called it a night.
Again, that is the way to spend an evening.
Well, my classes at the ALC are quite good. They always seem to start that way, but so far I’m familiar with many of the kids and they seem to be willing to work, which is always a bit of an issue. But it’s early. However, I’m hopeful.
The only problem to arise, and that is always bound to happen, is that the portable lab (10 imacs) here is not set up to allow students to use many of the applications I initially wanted them to use (namely comiclife and keynote). Keynote is a big one since I was going to have my accessing information class develop a research presentation. I mean it’s absurd to think you can have kids write a research paper in 16 days. My College Comp kids could pull it off, but that is an entirely different set of kids. And I don’t know that even my College Comp kids would be all that inspired in the middle of summer. I hope our tech guys can take care of these issues.
I’m crossing my fingers because we would be able to do some pretty cool thinks on the labptops (create imovies and comic strips in addition to the presentations). This throws a monkey wrench into things so far.
I guess with Science Fiction and Creative Writing, these are not really big concerns. In Sci Fi we can always fall back on films and analyzing those. In Creative Writing, we can, well, write, so as long we can type, we’ll be fine.
But the Accessing Information class is severely limited. We may have to do a very bare bones approach. Good thing the kids seem to be very good.
****
I couldn’t get to sleep last night. Part of it was being anxious for summer school. Part of it was my mind’s fascination with the patio.
I kept going over my lessons in my head. I even had to spend an hour or so this morning coming up with some back up plans, and I thought of another really good assignment on the way to work.
As far as the patio goes . . . my mind was conjuring images of a foot deep 16 by 12 foot hole in our backyard. Then I began worry about how to make sure I get the bottom of the hole level. Then I began to dread how to determine the correct depth of my fill. Do I use a screen, rope, a level, pipes along with a screed? Finally, I got up and spent an hour on the internet researching it. This gave my mind a little peace, for there was no uniform way to construct a patio.
Some sites said just to dig and fill with sand. Others advised using gravel first and then sand. Others talked about using mortar. Others still advised using edge stones to form an initial pattern. All sounded complicated. However, I figured – what is the worst that can happen? At least we can say we gave it a shot. If we have to spend a fall and winter with an ugly hole before hiring someone to do it before Casey’s graduation, then so be it.
The only problem to arise, and that is always bound to happen, is that the portable lab (10 imacs) here is not set up to allow students to use many of the applications I initially wanted them to use (namely comiclife and keynote). Keynote is a big one since I was going to have my accessing information class develop a research presentation. I mean it’s absurd to think you can have kids write a research paper in 16 days. My College Comp kids could pull it off, but that is an entirely different set of kids. And I don’t know that even my College Comp kids would be all that inspired in the middle of summer. I hope our tech guys can take care of these issues.
I’m crossing my fingers because we would be able to do some pretty cool thinks on the labptops (create imovies and comic strips in addition to the presentations). This throws a monkey wrench into things so far.
I guess with Science Fiction and Creative Writing, these are not really big concerns. In Sci Fi we can always fall back on films and analyzing those. In Creative Writing, we can, well, write, so as long we can type, we’ll be fine.
But the Accessing Information class is severely limited. We may have to do a very bare bones approach. Good thing the kids seem to be very good.
****
I couldn’t get to sleep last night. Part of it was being anxious for summer school. Part of it was my mind’s fascination with the patio.
I kept going over my lessons in my head. I even had to spend an hour or so this morning coming up with some back up plans, and I thought of another really good assignment on the way to work.
As far as the patio goes . . . my mind was conjuring images of a foot deep 16 by 12 foot hole in our backyard. Then I began worry about how to make sure I get the bottom of the hole level. Then I began to dread how to determine the correct depth of my fill. Do I use a screen, rope, a level, pipes along with a screed? Finally, I got up and spent an hour on the internet researching it. This gave my mind a little peace, for there was no uniform way to construct a patio.
Some sites said just to dig and fill with sand. Others advised using gravel first and then sand. Others talked about using mortar. Others still advised using edge stones to form an initial pattern. All sounded complicated. However, I figured – what is the worst that can happen? At least we can say we gave it a shot. If we have to spend a fall and winter with an ugly hole before hiring someone to do it before Casey’s graduation, then so be it.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Back to the classroom
This afternoon I had to head back to my classroom to prepare for my three week stretch at the ALC. First, I was amazed at the remodeling job done on the main entrance. It's spectacular. Plus, they have added some really cool art work to the walls. It really looks first rate.
It was eerie being in school with no one else there. But once I got used to the silence, I really enjoyed being back in my classroom. It was odd being in there with all of my books and personal items packed away in the closets and storage areas. I realized I missed the place. Then I realized how fortunate I am to have a job that I actually miss.
Once I located my internet cord, it was time to get down to business. I had to print out assignments for tomorrow. Mandy, the who teaches English during the school year at the ALC, set me up with some great classes: Accessing Information, Science Fiction, and Creative Writing. I'm looking forward to each of them.
I had to devise a few other assignments that I've had knocking around in my head for a couple weeks now. For Accessing Information, I copied the lyrics to Billy Joe's "We Didn't Start the Fire," which is really a long list of allusions to historical figures and events. Then I assigned each student two of the allusions. Tomorrow they will search the internet for the definitions of the allusions. Then they will write a summary of each and cite them correctly. When that is done, I have a list of topics set for them to do another research project on. This is gearing them up for their first big assignment, which I stole from Jeff, a history teacher at LHS, where students will select a song about an issue or event, such as Gordon Lightfoot's "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" (obviously, about the wreck of the ship the Edmund Fitzgerald on Lake Superior) or Iron Maiden's "The Longest Day" (about D-Day). Then they will create a keynote presentation summarizing the issue or event their song focuses on. The presentation will end with an imovie project matching the lyrics from their song to images they scour off the internet that reflect the song's topic. That should keep them buys for the rest of the week.
Then I had to make copies of the Philip K Dick's classic "The Father-Thing" for Sci Fi. I already had a reading guide to accompany the story, but I will also have students create a Comic Life comic strip of the story.
Finally, for Creative Writing, we will begin with poetry. Tomorrow they will write a bio poem and then a pantoum. We'll see how that goes. I've taught the bio poems before but not the pantoums, though I've written them previously at the RRVWP. Again, we'll see how that goes. But both poems are based on formulas, so that should make writing them easier for students, who, I fear, will be reluctant to poetry. (For more on the pantoum, see the end of this entry).
On my way out, I figured I'd stop by the upstairs bathroom first. It seems that too is undergoing a first rate renovation. I always figured that since we were tucked away on the second floor, that bathroom would never get the major overhaul our downstairs bathrooms got. I figured the powers that be only poured the big bucks into those because they were the ones the public used most often for our renovated auditorium and for athletic events in our gym.
However, I was wrong! The upstairs bathrooms are getting the full make over too.
By the time I left, I was already anxious for fall to be here.
***
My pantoum from last summer (I believe the topic had to do with sentences/descriptions of summer). There are eight original lines and eight lines that are repeated. See if you can decipher the formula. Thankfully, there is no need to worry about a rhyme scheme either.
An Early Summer Morning on Columbia Road
Clouds roll heavy on the horizon
Squirrels scurry from lawn to limb to rooftop and back
Traffic pulses, congests, grinds to a halt then flows again
Coffee roars on the tongue and wakens the brain.
Squirrels scurry from lawn to limb to rooftop and back
The fair is here; summer is almost gone
Coffee roars on the tongue and wakes the brain
The dog days are coming fast.
The fair is here; summer is almost gone
August’s hazy heat awaits
The dog days are coming fast
I should never wear a watch in the summer.
Clouds roll heavy on the horizon
Traffic pulses, congests, grinds to a halt then flows again
August’s hazy heat awaits
I should never wear a watch in the summer.
It was eerie being in school with no one else there. But once I got used to the silence, I really enjoyed being back in my classroom. It was odd being in there with all of my books and personal items packed away in the closets and storage areas. I realized I missed the place. Then I realized how fortunate I am to have a job that I actually miss.
Once I located my internet cord, it was time to get down to business. I had to print out assignments for tomorrow. Mandy, the who teaches English during the school year at the ALC, set me up with some great classes: Accessing Information, Science Fiction, and Creative Writing. I'm looking forward to each of them.
I had to devise a few other assignments that I've had knocking around in my head for a couple weeks now. For Accessing Information, I copied the lyrics to Billy Joe's "We Didn't Start the Fire," which is really a long list of allusions to historical figures and events. Then I assigned each student two of the allusions. Tomorrow they will search the internet for the definitions of the allusions. Then they will write a summary of each and cite them correctly. When that is done, I have a list of topics set for them to do another research project on. This is gearing them up for their first big assignment, which I stole from Jeff, a history teacher at LHS, where students will select a song about an issue or event, such as Gordon Lightfoot's "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" (obviously, about the wreck of the ship the Edmund Fitzgerald on Lake Superior) or Iron Maiden's "The Longest Day" (about D-Day). Then they will create a keynote presentation summarizing the issue or event their song focuses on. The presentation will end with an imovie project matching the lyrics from their song to images they scour off the internet that reflect the song's topic. That should keep them buys for the rest of the week.
Then I had to make copies of the Philip K Dick's classic "The Father-Thing" for Sci Fi. I already had a reading guide to accompany the story, but I will also have students create a Comic Life comic strip of the story.
Finally, for Creative Writing, we will begin with poetry. Tomorrow they will write a bio poem and then a pantoum. We'll see how that goes. I've taught the bio poems before but not the pantoums, though I've written them previously at the RRVWP. Again, we'll see how that goes. But both poems are based on formulas, so that should make writing them easier for students, who, I fear, will be reluctant to poetry. (For more on the pantoum, see the end of this entry).
On my way out, I figured I'd stop by the upstairs bathroom first. It seems that too is undergoing a first rate renovation. I always figured that since we were tucked away on the second floor, that bathroom would never get the major overhaul our downstairs bathrooms got. I figured the powers that be only poured the big bucks into those because they were the ones the public used most often for our renovated auditorium and for athletic events in our gym.
However, I was wrong! The upstairs bathrooms are getting the full make over too.
By the time I left, I was already anxious for fall to be here.
***
My pantoum from last summer (I believe the topic had to do with sentences/descriptions of summer). There are eight original lines and eight lines that are repeated. See if you can decipher the formula. Thankfully, there is no need to worry about a rhyme scheme either.
An Early Summer Morning on Columbia Road
Clouds roll heavy on the horizon
Squirrels scurry from lawn to limb to rooftop and back
Traffic pulses, congests, grinds to a halt then flows again
Coffee roars on the tongue and wakens the brain.
Squirrels scurry from lawn to limb to rooftop and back
The fair is here; summer is almost gone
Coffee roars on the tongue and wakes the brain
The dog days are coming fast.
The fair is here; summer is almost gone
August’s hazy heat awaits
The dog days are coming fast
I should never wear a watch in the summer.
Clouds roll heavy on the horizon
Traffic pulses, congests, grinds to a halt then flows again
August’s hazy heat awaits
I should never wear a watch in the summer.
All Quiet . . .
Last night I finally finished Ramarque's All Quite on the Western Front. Now I see why Casey raved so much about the book since he read it a few years ago.
I have always found WWI and trench warfare one of the most interesting -- and sad -- occurrences in history. One cannot imagine the horrors of any war, but there is something about the Great War that is even more horrifying than any war before or since.
Certainly the American Civil War was bloody, as was the French Revolution. Yes, D-Day and the island hopping campaigns of WWII were also horrifying. But they pale in comparison to the horrors and the horrifying impact of trench warfare. It has been said that this war was unlike any other one because it began with men fighting on horseback - some even went off to war with sabers and the same paraphernalia that they wore during the Napoleonic wars! -- and it ended with men fighting in tanks and airplanes -- the tank was a particularly grisly weapon, not only for its ability to shell but also that it could plow through any shell hole or trench - and reducing the enemy hiding/fighting in those holes or trenches to so much jelly on the treads. Horrifying, right?
And I haven't even mentioned the thing that the Great War is mostly known for: gas warfare.
All of these things are captured brilliantly in Remarque's novel. Early in the book, our main characters are enjoying a feast of rations. But it is all a mistake. The platoon has been sent rations for 150 men, but there are only 80. The rest were killed in one single battle. This helps foreshadow the atrocities to come. Our main character, Paul Baumer, witnesses a man charging his trench who gets caught in the barbwire in No Man's Land (the ungodly land between the German and French/British trenches). The soldiers attempts to climb over the wire but is mowed down by machine gun fire. The only thing left are his hands are forearms clinging to the wire.
Soon, a man, a farmer in his civilian life, is nearly killed when he cannot take the screaming of the horses anymore - they have been wounded by the English shells, and runs to put them out of their misery despite the heavy fire that is raining down on them. Finally, though, the snipers are able to put the beasts out of their misery, one having its spine broken and thrashing about in a circle and another has been gutted and tries to run away, only to become tangled in its own entrails.
Later the German soldiers must endure the whaling and begging of a comrade who has been shot in the spine and dies slowly - and painfully - out on No Man's Land. But they cannot find him. It's not for a lack of trying, though. His cries seem to come from every where. Finally, after three days the cries cease - for the dead man. The soldiers themselves, though, will never forget what they have heard.
And these are just a few of the physical and emotional horrors of the front.
Remarque does a phenomenal job of eliminating all politics and rhetoric from his novel. It is simply the story of one man's attempt to survive a war that he has no real stake in. He is persuaded to enlist thanks to his schoolmaster drunk on nationalism. However, in an ironic twist of fate, that very same schoolmaster winds up as a 'territorial' soldier (which I think is a type of military reserve force). There the soldiers can exact a bit of revenge on the man who so zealously sent them to such horrors. The first time they see their old schoolmaster subtly reinforces the lost cause of the German side of the battle, for he is ridiculously clad in a uniform that doesn't remotely fit him. His cap is too small, his shirt too big, his trousers too small, and his boots gigantic on his feet. His uniform, like the rest of the troops sent to the front, is hastily thrown together and has no hope of serving any real type of purpose. This is not lost on the soldiers.
The German troops come to the bitter realization, as all troops must unless they are completely brainwashed as a result of drills and abuse, that they are just pawns, not heroes deserving of parades or metals.
Simply pawns to be used as the higher ups wish. One of the wisest soldiers in Baumer's class recommends "a declaration or war should be a kind of popular festival with entrance-tickets and bands, like a bull fight. Then in the arena the ministers and generals of the two countries, dressed in bathing-drawers and armed with clubs, can have it out among themselves. Whoever survives, his country wins. That would be much simpler and more just than this arrangement, where the wrong people do the fighting." This passage is one that has been repeated throughout war literature. I am reminded of the poem, "The Man He Killed," by Thomas Hardy (http://www.illyria.com/hardyman.html) where a soldier realizes that had he and his enemy not been forced to meet on the battlefield, they might have actually become friends. Since their countries, though, are at war, they must attempt to kill each other.
Another interesting aspect of All Quiet on the Western Front is the importance of nature's beauty to the soldiers. This is echoed in one of the best war novels of recent times, Tim O'Brien's Vietnam novel The Things They Carried, where he confesses that being so close to death makes him feel more alive. This too has been echoed by some of the soldiers' blogs (when I could actually get access to them) from the Iraq war.
That realization was one of the most shocking to my students - after reading the blog entry, several students said that it made them feel like they wanted to go out and kick some ass (which scared the hell out of me) while others said that it horrified them, several students asked shouldn't holding your child for the first time or playing with your kids be the time you feel most alive? But I think one can hardly blame the soldiers for feeling this way given all of their training and the fact that they are thrust into such situations that forces them to feel such an adrenalin rush. And what is the alternative if they don't feel that rush or resort to the most primitive of human instincts (to kill and survive)? Death. I don't see how the soldiers can avoid feeling such things.
At the same time as a soldier is facing death, somehow they are able to see the world around them in a much different light. Knowing that this might be the last time you see the blue sky or the ocean or your wife's picture, how could you not feel an intimacy with the earth and your life? How could your perceptions not be sharpened and heightened?
Baumer observes such a state: "From the earth, from the air, sustaining forces pour into us -- mostly from the earth. To no man does the earth mean so much as to the soldier. When he presses himself down upon her long and powerfully, when he buries his face and his limbs deep in her from the fear of death by shell-fire, then she is his only friend, his brother, his mother; he stifles his terror and his cries in her silence and her security; she shelters him and releases him for ten seconds to live, to run, ten seconds of life; receives him again and often for ever."
One of the most powerful scenes in the book occurs when Baumer gets extended leave. He returns home to his mother, who is dying from cancer, his father, who constantly wants to know what it is like at the front, and his sister, who finds herself trying to do what she can to hold the family together. To escape his father's questioning and his mother's watchful gaze, Baumer heads to the streets. However, he soon is noticed by a wealthy German who ushers him in to a bar and gives him cigar after cigar. Of course, he wants to know how things are really going. When Baumer tells him that the Germans are getting their asses kicked, the man wants to hear nothing of it. Instead, he spouts off about what the German government needs to do to win the war. The juxtaposition here is powerful. How the man just brushes aside all of Baumer's knowledge and first hand encounters for his own ridiculous solutions to the problems is incredible. The man tells Baumer ". . . but this relates to the whole. And of that you are not able to judge. You see only your little sector and so cannot have any general survey. you do your duty, you risk your lives, that deserves the highest honor -- every man of you ought to have the Iron Cross -- but first of all the enemy line must be broken through in Flanders and then rolled up from the top . . . Completely rolled up they must be, from the top to the bottom. And then to Paris." Obviously, the man, though he claims to know so much more than the soldier, has no clue about how truly impossible his plan is.
This speaks volumes about any society - not just Germany's in WWI. Can't you just hear Rush Limbaugh, Ed Schultz, Bill O' Reilly, Ann Coulter and others blathering on?
Ultimately, Baumer endures.
He survives a harrowing return to the front where he spends several days trapped in a shell hole with an enemy soldier whom he thinks he kills by stabbing him three times when he falls into the shell crater as he retreats - however, Baumer realizes that he just morally wounded the man. He ends up caring for him - bandaging his wounds and bringing him water from the bottom of the crater. Here we see the true humanity in the soldiers. In that crater it makes no difference that they are enemies, it is simply one man helping another, one man helping a father and husband. Of course, Baumer also observes that he is doing this because if he is captured by the French, they will see how he tried to help their fellow soldier and won't immediately kill him.
He is eventually shot in the leg and arm along with one of his fellow soldiers, Kropp. They are sent to a hospital, which can be even more harrowing than the front. They have the fortune of landing in a Catholic hospital. Though they have to endure the morning prayers of the nuns, they are taken care of for the most part. But the horrors still persist. Baumer is able to get up and move around on crutches. He ventures outside their wing and sees how the hospital is truly organized. On one side are the facial wounds. On the other side are the blind and lung wounds as well as soldiers who have been injured in the groin, joints, and guts.
There is also a fanatical doctor who is obsessed with curing soldiers with flat feet. Two young recruits come in with superficial wounds, but the doctor notes that they are both flat footed. He quickly encourages them to have a surgery performed to cure them. A veteran of the hospital, a soldier who has been there close to two years, warns them that the doctor is nuts and that any one he operates on has club feet for the rest of their lives. Another soldier doesn't think that is so bad. Better to be a cripple the rest of your life than to return to the front and get shot in the head. Still, the veteran encourages the two young soldiers to refuse the surgery, which they do. However, the doctor hauls them in, and knowing they are too young to stand up to him, berates them for being foolish, and they relent and undergo the surgery. We see them return to the unit full of chloroform and their feet in casts. We never know their outcome.
What is most horrifying for the soldiers is being taken away by the nurses . . . to what is called "the Dying Room." Here they are left to die while their previous bed is taken up by a soldier who might recover. Here the veteran soldier warns the others of what this means. Soon a soldier who is shot in the chest is taken away. They never see him again. Then the nurses come for a young soldier. He kicks and screams and swears that he won't go. They tell him that they are just taking him to the bandaging ward, but they all know what that means. Finally, he is forced out - crying that he will return. His bed is quickly occupied. But he does returns several weeks later. A first.
However, Baumer's friend, Kropp, who was shot in the thigh, must have his leg amputated. Here we see a true fear of the soldiers (early on in the book there is the horrifying account of the death of another friend, Kemmerich, who has most of his leg amputated but never recovers). Baumer is so terrified that he might have his leg amputated that he refuses chloroform so that he can stay awake to see what is going on. He endures terrible pain as the doctor fishes around his wound and finally extracts a piece of shrapnel from his thigh, while reducing much of the muscle to hamburger. But he will not amputate his leg. It seems that many doctors resort to amputation rather than risk infections or long recoveries, which hog vital hospital beds. Cut it off and send them home seems to be a popular treatment for injuries. Kropp, though, is not as fortunate as Baumer. He swears that he will kill himself if he loses his leg. Baumer can never look at Kropp again as he tries to get up and move around on his crutches, for Kropp stares at him and thinks God knows what. Finally, Kropp is sent away to a place specializing in artificial limbs. He has his freedom from the war, but at what cost? Here I am reminded of the passage from the brief prologue which ends with "even though they may have escaped its shells, were destroyed by the war."
The ultimate impact of the novel is that the reader knows that for an entire generation of young men, and not just Germans but also Russians, Americans, Brits, and Frenchmen, have not only lost their youth and innocence, but also their places in the world. For how can one return to civilization after seeing horrors unlike any other war?
So many went to war with ideas of glory and honor -- remember wars previously were fought much differently. In previous wars, a commander, through superior skill and tactics, could lead his troops to victory in hand to hand combat. This was the embodiment of the heroic code that had been part of British society since the epic Beowulf.
However, that was not the case in WWI. A lone soldier, regardless of his skill, could open a can of mustard gas or aim a rocket and dozens of soldiers would die. Where is the glory and honor in that? The Great War marks the death of the heroic code.
Often the commanders were incompetent since their families were often able to buy powerful positions in the military. Just because on is wealthy and of a higher social class doesn't mean you have a clue about leading men into battle. This cost countless lives in the war. There is the horrifying tale of the battle of Traflager (I believe) where one British general sent thousands of men, mostly troops recruited from Australia, to their deaths while he sat on his ship and drank martinis.
The Great War was also the first time (at least in British history) where the public perception of war, where a young man does his duty by leading the empire to victor (best embodied in the poem "The Soldier" by Rupert Brooke with his famous lines
"If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England."
Here the soldier gladly gives his life for the greater good of England, just as other generations of soldiers had.
However, this idealized concept of death on the battle field is quickly crushed by the horrors of gas warfare, tanks, amputations/injuries (again, unlike any other war, the civilians could literally see the horrors of war walking or stumbling or begging right on their streets as thousands of injured soldiers came home - soldiers with no legs or arms or faces).
That is why Baumer would agree with the British Trench Poets, the most famous poem being Wilfred Owen's "Dulce Et Decorum Est" (http://www.english.emory.edu/LostPoets/Dulce.html). Baumer would also sympathize with the poor bastard in another Owen poem, "Disabled" (http://www.world-war-pictures.com/war-poems/disabled.htm).
Tragically, like so many others, Owen himself was killed one week before the end of the war.
Ultimately, Remarque has a novel that will always be relevant. I couldn't help but compare it with O'Brien's novel and the events that are taking place in Iraq now. That is the mark of a true classic.
I have always found WWI and trench warfare one of the most interesting -- and sad -- occurrences in history. One cannot imagine the horrors of any war, but there is something about the Great War that is even more horrifying than any war before or since.
Certainly the American Civil War was bloody, as was the French Revolution. Yes, D-Day and the island hopping campaigns of WWII were also horrifying. But they pale in comparison to the horrors and the horrifying impact of trench warfare. It has been said that this war was unlike any other one because it began with men fighting on horseback - some even went off to war with sabers and the same paraphernalia that they wore during the Napoleonic wars! -- and it ended with men fighting in tanks and airplanes -- the tank was a particularly grisly weapon, not only for its ability to shell but also that it could plow through any shell hole or trench - and reducing the enemy hiding/fighting in those holes or trenches to so much jelly on the treads. Horrifying, right?
And I haven't even mentioned the thing that the Great War is mostly known for: gas warfare.
All of these things are captured brilliantly in Remarque's novel. Early in the book, our main characters are enjoying a feast of rations. But it is all a mistake. The platoon has been sent rations for 150 men, but there are only 80. The rest were killed in one single battle. This helps foreshadow the atrocities to come. Our main character, Paul Baumer, witnesses a man charging his trench who gets caught in the barbwire in No Man's Land (the ungodly land between the German and French/British trenches). The soldiers attempts to climb over the wire but is mowed down by machine gun fire. The only thing left are his hands are forearms clinging to the wire.
Soon, a man, a farmer in his civilian life, is nearly killed when he cannot take the screaming of the horses anymore - they have been wounded by the English shells, and runs to put them out of their misery despite the heavy fire that is raining down on them. Finally, though, the snipers are able to put the beasts out of their misery, one having its spine broken and thrashing about in a circle and another has been gutted and tries to run away, only to become tangled in its own entrails.
Later the German soldiers must endure the whaling and begging of a comrade who has been shot in the spine and dies slowly - and painfully - out on No Man's Land. But they cannot find him. It's not for a lack of trying, though. His cries seem to come from every where. Finally, after three days the cries cease - for the dead man. The soldiers themselves, though, will never forget what they have heard.
And these are just a few of the physical and emotional horrors of the front.
Remarque does a phenomenal job of eliminating all politics and rhetoric from his novel. It is simply the story of one man's attempt to survive a war that he has no real stake in. He is persuaded to enlist thanks to his schoolmaster drunk on nationalism. However, in an ironic twist of fate, that very same schoolmaster winds up as a 'territorial' soldier (which I think is a type of military reserve force). There the soldiers can exact a bit of revenge on the man who so zealously sent them to such horrors. The first time they see their old schoolmaster subtly reinforces the lost cause of the German side of the battle, for he is ridiculously clad in a uniform that doesn't remotely fit him. His cap is too small, his shirt too big, his trousers too small, and his boots gigantic on his feet. His uniform, like the rest of the troops sent to the front, is hastily thrown together and has no hope of serving any real type of purpose. This is not lost on the soldiers.
The German troops come to the bitter realization, as all troops must unless they are completely brainwashed as a result of drills and abuse, that they are just pawns, not heroes deserving of parades or metals.
Simply pawns to be used as the higher ups wish. One of the wisest soldiers in Baumer's class recommends "a declaration or war should be a kind of popular festival with entrance-tickets and bands, like a bull fight. Then in the arena the ministers and generals of the two countries, dressed in bathing-drawers and armed with clubs, can have it out among themselves. Whoever survives, his country wins. That would be much simpler and more just than this arrangement, where the wrong people do the fighting." This passage is one that has been repeated throughout war literature. I am reminded of the poem, "The Man He Killed," by Thomas Hardy (http://www.illyria.com/hardyman.html) where a soldier realizes that had he and his enemy not been forced to meet on the battlefield, they might have actually become friends. Since their countries, though, are at war, they must attempt to kill each other.
Another interesting aspect of All Quiet on the Western Front is the importance of nature's beauty to the soldiers. This is echoed in one of the best war novels of recent times, Tim O'Brien's Vietnam novel The Things They Carried, where he confesses that being so close to death makes him feel more alive. This too has been echoed by some of the soldiers' blogs (when I could actually get access to them) from the Iraq war.
That realization was one of the most shocking to my students - after reading the blog entry, several students said that it made them feel like they wanted to go out and kick some ass (which scared the hell out of me) while others said that it horrified them, several students asked shouldn't holding your child for the first time or playing with your kids be the time you feel most alive? But I think one can hardly blame the soldiers for feeling this way given all of their training and the fact that they are thrust into such situations that forces them to feel such an adrenalin rush. And what is the alternative if they don't feel that rush or resort to the most primitive of human instincts (to kill and survive)? Death. I don't see how the soldiers can avoid feeling such things.
At the same time as a soldier is facing death, somehow they are able to see the world around them in a much different light. Knowing that this might be the last time you see the blue sky or the ocean or your wife's picture, how could you not feel an intimacy with the earth and your life? How could your perceptions not be sharpened and heightened?
Baumer observes such a state: "From the earth, from the air, sustaining forces pour into us -- mostly from the earth. To no man does the earth mean so much as to the soldier. When he presses himself down upon her long and powerfully, when he buries his face and his limbs deep in her from the fear of death by shell-fire, then she is his only friend, his brother, his mother; he stifles his terror and his cries in her silence and her security; she shelters him and releases him for ten seconds to live, to run, ten seconds of life; receives him again and often for ever."
One of the most powerful scenes in the book occurs when Baumer gets extended leave. He returns home to his mother, who is dying from cancer, his father, who constantly wants to know what it is like at the front, and his sister, who finds herself trying to do what she can to hold the family together. To escape his father's questioning and his mother's watchful gaze, Baumer heads to the streets. However, he soon is noticed by a wealthy German who ushers him in to a bar and gives him cigar after cigar. Of course, he wants to know how things are really going. When Baumer tells him that the Germans are getting their asses kicked, the man wants to hear nothing of it. Instead, he spouts off about what the German government needs to do to win the war. The juxtaposition here is powerful. How the man just brushes aside all of Baumer's knowledge and first hand encounters for his own ridiculous solutions to the problems is incredible. The man tells Baumer ". . . but this relates to the whole. And of that you are not able to judge. You see only your little sector and so cannot have any general survey. you do your duty, you risk your lives, that deserves the highest honor -- every man of you ought to have the Iron Cross -- but first of all the enemy line must be broken through in Flanders and then rolled up from the top . . . Completely rolled up they must be, from the top to the bottom. And then to Paris." Obviously, the man, though he claims to know so much more than the soldier, has no clue about how truly impossible his plan is.
This speaks volumes about any society - not just Germany's in WWI. Can't you just hear Rush Limbaugh, Ed Schultz, Bill O' Reilly, Ann Coulter and others blathering on?
Ultimately, Baumer endures.
He survives a harrowing return to the front where he spends several days trapped in a shell hole with an enemy soldier whom he thinks he kills by stabbing him three times when he falls into the shell crater as he retreats - however, Baumer realizes that he just morally wounded the man. He ends up caring for him - bandaging his wounds and bringing him water from the bottom of the crater. Here we see the true humanity in the soldiers. In that crater it makes no difference that they are enemies, it is simply one man helping another, one man helping a father and husband. Of course, Baumer also observes that he is doing this because if he is captured by the French, they will see how he tried to help their fellow soldier and won't immediately kill him.
He is eventually shot in the leg and arm along with one of his fellow soldiers, Kropp. They are sent to a hospital, which can be even more harrowing than the front. They have the fortune of landing in a Catholic hospital. Though they have to endure the morning prayers of the nuns, they are taken care of for the most part. But the horrors still persist. Baumer is able to get up and move around on crutches. He ventures outside their wing and sees how the hospital is truly organized. On one side are the facial wounds. On the other side are the blind and lung wounds as well as soldiers who have been injured in the groin, joints, and guts.
There is also a fanatical doctor who is obsessed with curing soldiers with flat feet. Two young recruits come in with superficial wounds, but the doctor notes that they are both flat footed. He quickly encourages them to have a surgery performed to cure them. A veteran of the hospital, a soldier who has been there close to two years, warns them that the doctor is nuts and that any one he operates on has club feet for the rest of their lives. Another soldier doesn't think that is so bad. Better to be a cripple the rest of your life than to return to the front and get shot in the head. Still, the veteran encourages the two young soldiers to refuse the surgery, which they do. However, the doctor hauls them in, and knowing they are too young to stand up to him, berates them for being foolish, and they relent and undergo the surgery. We see them return to the unit full of chloroform and their feet in casts. We never know their outcome.
What is most horrifying for the soldiers is being taken away by the nurses . . . to what is called "the Dying Room." Here they are left to die while their previous bed is taken up by a soldier who might recover. Here the veteran soldier warns the others of what this means. Soon a soldier who is shot in the chest is taken away. They never see him again. Then the nurses come for a young soldier. He kicks and screams and swears that he won't go. They tell him that they are just taking him to the bandaging ward, but they all know what that means. Finally, he is forced out - crying that he will return. His bed is quickly occupied. But he does returns several weeks later. A first.
However, Baumer's friend, Kropp, who was shot in the thigh, must have his leg amputated. Here we see a true fear of the soldiers (early on in the book there is the horrifying account of the death of another friend, Kemmerich, who has most of his leg amputated but never recovers). Baumer is so terrified that he might have his leg amputated that he refuses chloroform so that he can stay awake to see what is going on. He endures terrible pain as the doctor fishes around his wound and finally extracts a piece of shrapnel from his thigh, while reducing much of the muscle to hamburger. But he will not amputate his leg. It seems that many doctors resort to amputation rather than risk infections or long recoveries, which hog vital hospital beds. Cut it off and send them home seems to be a popular treatment for injuries. Kropp, though, is not as fortunate as Baumer. He swears that he will kill himself if he loses his leg. Baumer can never look at Kropp again as he tries to get up and move around on his crutches, for Kropp stares at him and thinks God knows what. Finally, Kropp is sent away to a place specializing in artificial limbs. He has his freedom from the war, but at what cost? Here I am reminded of the passage from the brief prologue which ends with "even though they may have escaped its shells, were destroyed by the war."
The ultimate impact of the novel is that the reader knows that for an entire generation of young men, and not just Germans but also Russians, Americans, Brits, and Frenchmen, have not only lost their youth and innocence, but also their places in the world. For how can one return to civilization after seeing horrors unlike any other war?
So many went to war with ideas of glory and honor -- remember wars previously were fought much differently. In previous wars, a commander, through superior skill and tactics, could lead his troops to victory in hand to hand combat. This was the embodiment of the heroic code that had been part of British society since the epic Beowulf.
However, that was not the case in WWI. A lone soldier, regardless of his skill, could open a can of mustard gas or aim a rocket and dozens of soldiers would die. Where is the glory and honor in that? The Great War marks the death of the heroic code.
Often the commanders were incompetent since their families were often able to buy powerful positions in the military. Just because on is wealthy and of a higher social class doesn't mean you have a clue about leading men into battle. This cost countless lives in the war. There is the horrifying tale of the battle of Traflager (I believe) where one British general sent thousands of men, mostly troops recruited from Australia, to their deaths while he sat on his ship and drank martinis.
The Great War was also the first time (at least in British history) where the public perception of war, where a young man does his duty by leading the empire to victor (best embodied in the poem "The Soldier" by Rupert Brooke with his famous lines
"If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England."
Here the soldier gladly gives his life for the greater good of England, just as other generations of soldiers had.
However, this idealized concept of death on the battle field is quickly crushed by the horrors of gas warfare, tanks, amputations/injuries (again, unlike any other war, the civilians could literally see the horrors of war walking or stumbling or begging right on their streets as thousands of injured soldiers came home - soldiers with no legs or arms or faces).
That is why Baumer would agree with the British Trench Poets, the most famous poem being Wilfred Owen's "Dulce Et Decorum Est" (http://www.english.emory.edu/LostPoets/Dulce.html). Baumer would also sympathize with the poor bastard in another Owen poem, "Disabled" (http://www.world-war-pictures.com/war-poems/disabled.htm).
Tragically, like so many others, Owen himself was killed one week before the end of the war.
Ultimately, Remarque has a novel that will always be relevant. I couldn't help but compare it with O'Brien's novel and the events that are taking place in Iraq now. That is the mark of a true classic.
Kenzie's Room
Saturday was clean out day. Our office is being turned into Kenzie's room.
One of Kristie's first projects was to paint and strip the carpet from the upstairs hallway. This meant putting all of the furniture and what not (a book case, a dresser, and boxes and boxes of books) in KoKo's room. However, when she returned from South Dakota, we moved all of the things into the office.
Our next project is to transform the office into Kenzie's room. The only problem: the paint. Since the room was originally intended to be an office, Kristie chose a blue paint that came with a certain type of crystal that you mixed in. When added to the paint, the crystals give the paint texture - almost like sandpaper. We used the same type of paint in KoKo's room and she loves it. But having sandpaper covered walls is not what one wants in an infants room.
But the paint is not the only obstacle we have. There is a gigantic office unit that runs along two walls in the office as well. There also happens to be all of my crap (books, pictures and letters from my childhood, toys, Legos, and all of my Bengals paraphernalia).
We spent the better part of the day boxing everything up. Don't worry. Krisite let me hang Legos above our stairwell! I was afraid I'd have to bring them to school.
As we sifted through the photos and letters we made some interesting discoveries.
Apparently, my grandmother was obsessed with recipes. My uncle Jim said once that she was an excellent cook. Judging from all of her recipes - some fully written out in long hand painstakingly describing every step, some scrolled down on the back of snippets of paper, others cut from various newspapers, and amazingly several stubs from her electrical bills that actually came with recipes on the back - Myrtle must have had an amazing repertoire of dishes and desserts.
We also discovered that Myrtle had kept every graduation and wedding invitation she received from family members. Here we found my parents' wedding invitation perfectly preserved. This will go perfectly with a great picture we have of Mom and Dad dashing down the church steps after their wedding. We also found an invitation to Jim and Bonnie's wedding. I wish we would have found this sooner because they just celebrated their 50th anniversary recently. There were also graduation invites from all of her grand kids. We also found two diplomas of Myrtle's - one from the Bemidji teachers college and one later from the actually university itself.
It was quite the trip through the past.
It also drove home the importance of journaling. While my grandmother did leave many things behind for us, most of her actual words are not preserved because we never found any type of journal. What a priceless treasure that would have been. We discovered a small "Senior Memories" book that my mother kept, containing comments from her friends wishing her well in the future as well as my mom chronicling the highlights of her senior year (going to all the sporting events and cheerleading - somehow dating my father, though, wasn't mentioned all that much, maybe she was afraid Myrtle would find it?) is beyond value. My father too kept a small journal after Mom died. How I wish he would have written more!
Even if it is to just verify dates, a journal is priceless. A dozen times a day, I'm rummaging around the past and have a question about a date -- when did we begin baling hay at Loui's? Was it in '87 or '88? I remember that I was too small to stack the bales more than three high on the wagon, so Dad would stop every round or so and come back and help me stack them higher. However, after that summer, I took pride in being able to stack them all by myself. But what year was that? A couple quick notes from Dad would solve that mystery.
What I wouldn't give to read about Mom's thoughts and feelings about moving out to the farm in the summer of '84 or about Dad's thoughts and feelings when it came to his decision to quit trucking (even though it was only for a few years) and begin raising sheep.
Or Myrtle's thoughts on her youngest grandchild . . . how amazing and gifted she thought he was!
Or what were Mom and Dad's true opinions on events? How did Mom, a staunch democrat, survive the mid to late 80s of Regan and Bush? How did she feel when she took me to the old school house in our township to cast my first vote? Of course, we both were happy to see our votes go to the winner, Clinton.
Now that Mom and Dad are gone, I doubt that there is any detail too trivial that I wouldn't treasure now. Earlier this summer while cleaning out the cemetery, a former school mate of Mom's made sure to tell me how nice my mother was and how she looked up to Mom. She even went on to tell me how fabulous of a dancer my mother was. Apparently, and I remember hearing about this from Mom or Granny when I was young, Mom travelled to Grand Forks to be on a local version of American Bandstand. She danced and people could vote for you. Well, Mom was such a good dancer that she stayed on the show for several weeks.
I cannot tell you how much I appreciated that information.
When we finished going through Myrtle's things, Kristie said, "It kind of puts things in perspective. Imagine having your life reduced to recipe cards." I knew exactly how she felt, for I had written a poem for my thesis, a memoir of my grandmother, that focused on having ones life reduced to recipes, invitations, get well cards all crammed in an old musty smelling box.
So if you don't journal or write now, do so. If not for yourself, then for your children or grandchildren. Even a few minutes a day will rapidly accumulate. I am entering my third year of blogging this fall, and I already have several hundred pages worth of material. Now much of it is me blathering on about teaching, but there is also a lot of important information - information that I have forgotten all about -- in here. I was reminded of that when I went back last summer and examined all of the blog entries on Dad's battle with cancer. I would have lost so much had I not been blogging.
So if you don't journal, start your own blog. Send me a link too so I can keep up on it!
One of Kristie's first projects was to paint and strip the carpet from the upstairs hallway. This meant putting all of the furniture and what not (a book case, a dresser, and boxes and boxes of books) in KoKo's room. However, when she returned from South Dakota, we moved all of the things into the office.
Our next project is to transform the office into Kenzie's room. The only problem: the paint. Since the room was originally intended to be an office, Kristie chose a blue paint that came with a certain type of crystal that you mixed in. When added to the paint, the crystals give the paint texture - almost like sandpaper. We used the same type of paint in KoKo's room and she loves it. But having sandpaper covered walls is not what one wants in an infants room.
But the paint is not the only obstacle we have. There is a gigantic office unit that runs along two walls in the office as well. There also happens to be all of my crap (books, pictures and letters from my childhood, toys, Legos, and all of my Bengals paraphernalia).
We spent the better part of the day boxing everything up. Don't worry. Krisite let me hang Legos above our stairwell! I was afraid I'd have to bring them to school.
As we sifted through the photos and letters we made some interesting discoveries.
Apparently, my grandmother was obsessed with recipes. My uncle Jim said once that she was an excellent cook. Judging from all of her recipes - some fully written out in long hand painstakingly describing every step, some scrolled down on the back of snippets of paper, others cut from various newspapers, and amazingly several stubs from her electrical bills that actually came with recipes on the back - Myrtle must have had an amazing repertoire of dishes and desserts.
We also discovered that Myrtle had kept every graduation and wedding invitation she received from family members. Here we found my parents' wedding invitation perfectly preserved. This will go perfectly with a great picture we have of Mom and Dad dashing down the church steps after their wedding. We also found an invitation to Jim and Bonnie's wedding. I wish we would have found this sooner because they just celebrated their 50th anniversary recently. There were also graduation invites from all of her grand kids. We also found two diplomas of Myrtle's - one from the Bemidji teachers college and one later from the actually university itself.
It was quite the trip through the past.
It also drove home the importance of journaling. While my grandmother did leave many things behind for us, most of her actual words are not preserved because we never found any type of journal. What a priceless treasure that would have been. We discovered a small "Senior Memories" book that my mother kept, containing comments from her friends wishing her well in the future as well as my mom chronicling the highlights of her senior year (going to all the sporting events and cheerleading - somehow dating my father, though, wasn't mentioned all that much, maybe she was afraid Myrtle would find it?) is beyond value. My father too kept a small journal after Mom died. How I wish he would have written more!
Even if it is to just verify dates, a journal is priceless. A dozen times a day, I'm rummaging around the past and have a question about a date -- when did we begin baling hay at Loui's? Was it in '87 or '88? I remember that I was too small to stack the bales more than three high on the wagon, so Dad would stop every round or so and come back and help me stack them higher. However, after that summer, I took pride in being able to stack them all by myself. But what year was that? A couple quick notes from Dad would solve that mystery.
What I wouldn't give to read about Mom's thoughts and feelings about moving out to the farm in the summer of '84 or about Dad's thoughts and feelings when it came to his decision to quit trucking (even though it was only for a few years) and begin raising sheep.
Or Myrtle's thoughts on her youngest grandchild . . . how amazing and gifted she thought he was!
Or what were Mom and Dad's true opinions on events? How did Mom, a staunch democrat, survive the mid to late 80s of Regan and Bush? How did she feel when she took me to the old school house in our township to cast my first vote? Of course, we both were happy to see our votes go to the winner, Clinton.
Now that Mom and Dad are gone, I doubt that there is any detail too trivial that I wouldn't treasure now. Earlier this summer while cleaning out the cemetery, a former school mate of Mom's made sure to tell me how nice my mother was and how she looked up to Mom. She even went on to tell me how fabulous of a dancer my mother was. Apparently, and I remember hearing about this from Mom or Granny when I was young, Mom travelled to Grand Forks to be on a local version of American Bandstand. She danced and people could vote for you. Well, Mom was such a good dancer that she stayed on the show for several weeks.
I cannot tell you how much I appreciated that information.
When we finished going through Myrtle's things, Kristie said, "It kind of puts things in perspective. Imagine having your life reduced to recipe cards." I knew exactly how she felt, for I had written a poem for my thesis, a memoir of my grandmother, that focused on having ones life reduced to recipes, invitations, get well cards all crammed in an old musty smelling box.
So if you don't journal or write now, do so. If not for yourself, then for your children or grandchildren. Even a few minutes a day will rapidly accumulate. I am entering my third year of blogging this fall, and I already have several hundred pages worth of material. Now much of it is me blathering on about teaching, but there is also a lot of important information - information that I have forgotten all about -- in here. I was reminded of that when I went back last summer and examined all of the blog entries on Dad's battle with cancer. I would have lost so much had I not been blogging.
So if you don't journal, start your own blog. Send me a link too so I can keep up on it!
Friday, July 11, 2008
Skidoosh
This is one of Jack Black's punch lines in Kung Fu Panda. To say I was pleasantly surprised by this film is a major understatement. Ever since we saw the previews for this - probably prior to Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, Kristie and KoKo have been excited to see it. I thought it looked pretty funny, but it seemed to me that they pretty much told the entire story in the trailer (What is Hollywood's fascination with doing this lately? I think they ruined Sex and the City for a lot of people by showing - or at least hinting at - every major surprise in the film!).
After getting the kids back from their dads, we decided last Sunday afternoon to venture over to Grand Forks to take in the film and take care of a few other things - a little shopping and getting Casey a haircut (that was until he sprung this shocker on us: he wants to die his hair black and green! Kristie was having none of that with his senior pictures less than two months away.)
The River Cinema theater in East Grand Forks was a relief from the brutal heat, but as we took our seats I began to worry that Kristie and I might be only a handful of parents in the theater. And that was pretty much the case, but oddly enough once the film began and the children stopped their fussing, the kids really made the film (along with a grandfather sitting ahead of us).
I wo't' say that the film is on the level of the Shrek series, where there are two forms of humor at work - the funny antics that the kids delight in and all of the asides and allusions that make the parents laugh (and that the kids won't realize for a few more years yet). But the film was a pleasant surprise.
After watching Black's previous film, Be Kind Rewind, which might be the worst film I've ever seen, I didn't have great expectations, but once the story got rolling and the special effects kicked it, the film was hilarious.
The aforementioned grandfather could hardly contain his laughter in some spots - as could I in a couple of key battle scenes.
The film was short too, less than an hour and a half. And it kept the story moving along and the laughs coming. What is even better is that it neither took itself too seriously (as cartoons like Brother Bear - with its heavy morals) nor did it take itself too lightly (like Shark Tale, which seemed just like an excuse to create dance scenes to fill up space and sell copies of the soundtrack).
In fact, the film was summed up best by one of the little boys who had been sitting a row behind us. As we got up to leave, the boy stood up, still clutching his pop corn bucket, which was just about as large as he was, his mother asked him, "Did you like it?"
The boy didn't hesitate replying - loud enough for everyone to hear - and chuckle at -- "I LOOOOVED it!"
After getting the kids back from their dads, we decided last Sunday afternoon to venture over to Grand Forks to take in the film and take care of a few other things - a little shopping and getting Casey a haircut (that was until he sprung this shocker on us: he wants to die his hair black and green! Kristie was having none of that with his senior pictures less than two months away.)
The River Cinema theater in East Grand Forks was a relief from the brutal heat, but as we took our seats I began to worry that Kristie and I might be only a handful of parents in the theater. And that was pretty much the case, but oddly enough once the film began and the children stopped their fussing, the kids really made the film (along with a grandfather sitting ahead of us).
I wo't' say that the film is on the level of the Shrek series, where there are two forms of humor at work - the funny antics that the kids delight in and all of the asides and allusions that make the parents laugh (and that the kids won't realize for a few more years yet). But the film was a pleasant surprise.
After watching Black's previous film, Be Kind Rewind, which might be the worst film I've ever seen, I didn't have great expectations, but once the story got rolling and the special effects kicked it, the film was hilarious.
The aforementioned grandfather could hardly contain his laughter in some spots - as could I in a couple of key battle scenes.
The film was short too, less than an hour and a half. And it kept the story moving along and the laughs coming. What is even better is that it neither took itself too seriously (as cartoons like Brother Bear - with its heavy morals) nor did it take itself too lightly (like Shark Tale, which seemed just like an excuse to create dance scenes to fill up space and sell copies of the soundtrack).
In fact, the film was summed up best by one of the little boys who had been sitting a row behind us. As we got up to leave, the boy stood up, still clutching his pop corn bucket, which was just about as large as he was, his mother asked him, "Did you like it?"
The boy didn't hesitate replying - loud enough for everyone to hear - and chuckle at -- "I LOOOOVED it!"
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