My Own url
I have moved so many times, I can't keep up! Can you? This is where I hang my hat these days:
I have moved so many times, I can't keep up! Can you? This is where I hang my hat these days:
Why I like Wordpress:
In the weeks I have been there, I've not experienced one outtage!
When you get email notification of a new comment on your post, it not only tells you which blog, it tells you which post!
When you write to tech support, you actually get support. They write back in less than 24 hours. And they don't act like you're an idiot -- even if you are an idiot.
You can edit comments. No more eternal spelling mistakes.
Their spam blocker works.
The post editing feature is awesome!
Wordpress supplies blog stats and feed stats on your dashboard.
Wordpress tells you when someone links to your blog.
Wordpress provides free pages.
Wordpress will import your archives from another blog! It is fast and painless.
Wordpress allows you to add your own post tags.
Comments are searchable and they come up in google searches!
You have to pay if you want to customize your template too much -- however, I have done plenty to make mine my own, and am happy with it.
You can now find me at:
The Grownups Wanted Us Dead
Bits of Me in Poetry
I don't know why Blogger is refusing to paragraph the post below. I do know that I am tired of fighting to post. Ladies and gentlemen, Quilldancer has left the building. You will find me here: Quilly's Quips & Quotes, at Word Press. I haven't learned all I need to to be competent over there, but at least the mistakes will be my own! The blog has a new name, and a new look, but the content will remain the same. I hope to see you there!
In 1996-97 I worked at The Center For New Directions on the LCSC campus in Lewiston, Idaho. I was a job coach for the Idaho State Welfare Dept. My primary job function, contracted through Americorps, was to aid in teaching resume writing and interviewing skills to welfare recipients and prison parolees (attending the class was mandatory for receiving welfare and/or probation). I got to pass out gems of wisdom such as: "Shower; use deodorant; less cleavage, more skirt; clean your fingernails, brush your teeth ... There was one young woman whose name I can't believe I have forgotten. She came into my class furious at Welfare's insistence she get a job and support herself. She said, "Having babies and living on welfare is my job. Both my momma and my grandma did it. Why can't I?" She was also the one, 6 weeks later, who came back from a job interview, sat down at my desk and started to cry. "They hired me, but I can't do this job!" The job was at a plant nursery. They wanted her to pour water and pull weeds. "Why not?" I asked. She wailed, "They expect me to go to work everyday!" Everyday? Pft. Fancy that. One of my first students was a very tall and wide, 22 year-old parolee named Gina. She bulled into my classroom, invaded my personal space and shouted from about 6 inches above my head, "I'm f-ing not taking this class and you f-ing can't make me." My short 36 year-old over-fed self was thinking: I'm f-ing dead. Still, I opened my mouth and calmly said, "You're right. I can't make you." She backed up about two steps and looked at me in surprise. "Are you f-ing kidding? I can leave?" I gestured toward the door, "It's not locked." She moved toward the door. I backed toward my desk. As her hand touched the door knob I picked up the telephone receiver. "Gina," I queried, "Would you remind me, please -- is your parole officer Tom or Mike?" She stopped. She turned around. She sat down at a desk and folded her hands. She also became one of my most enthusiastic students and my ever present body guard. When the other parolees would act up Gina would rise to her feet and snap, "Hey, Teach don't disrespect you. You don't disrespect her!" I know nothing of Gina beyond my year at the CND, but when I left, she had graduated from my class, gotten a job and enrolled in college. One of the last things she said to me was, "When I grow up, I wanna be a do-gooder like you."
Contrast these words: innocent until proven guilty, against these:
According to Pentagon officials, the US targets included several alleged al-Qaida members suspected of organising the attacks on US embassies in Kenya and Tanzania in 1998.We are the terrorists. My soul hurts.
Despite the fact that I am not feeling well, I did a bit of cleaning yesterday. My strength soon left me and I quit without dragging the vacuum cleaner down the hall and putting it away. I just left it sitting near the love seat in the living room. This morning when I entered the living room, Chrissy was on her hind legs batting at Fluffy, who was on the love seat. I walked passed and told them to "play nice." They never listen. I sat down at the comp, typed in my email password and Fluffy let out an indignant yeowl. I looked up in time to see both cats collide in mid-air and land on the vacuum cleaner. One of them hit the power switch and the machine roared to life. Fluffy bounced off the entertaiment center and the wall in his mad dash for freedom. Chrissy made it from the living room to the kitchen and into my arms in two giant leaps. The vacuum cleaner is off. Has been for ten minutes. Fluffy is at the end of the hall giving his best vocal impression of a siamese warrior, and Chrissy is curled up next to my feet under the blanket I have over my legs. Occasionally I feel her tremble. I think it is safe to say that my darlings each scared away one of their nine lives today.
I took my allergy meds and had a short rest. I woke feeling much better and wandered to the kitchen for a bite of food. I then went back to get my novel and make the bed. I found this: And received this response when I asked him to move. He is curled up in a lovely sunbeam. And moving him just seemed mean, so he is still there and the bed remains unmade. But don't go getting the idea that that means my cat is spoiled.
Wake your brain with this: Four Comedians -- all with today's date in common: Who are they? 1.) Corporal Randolph Agarn 2.) Sidekick to both Roy Rogers & Gene Autry, and extreme irritant to Eddie Arnold. 3.) *Became famous playing a British cad: one such character was named: Lt. Col. Algernon Hawthorne 4.) A man of many voices who often had pie in his face. As a child his brothers called him, "Soup Bone." Extra Credit: Which two were born on this date in history? Which two died on this date in history? *Question three was modified after Doug graded my grammar and found me lacking.
This is the second half of a real day in my life, January 5th, 2007, which actually started on the previous blog entry. This is part 2. (See also:Part 1 and Part 1.5. 11:40 a.m. Bring students in from playground, try to take electronic attendance -- the network is still down. Grr... Argh! And that scraps my computer lab lesson plans. Okay. No habitat research online. Fine. We'll just move on to Social Studies and extend the period, then we'll transition to writing a little early and extend that period as well. 11:52 p.m. ran finger over laptop mouse and was surprised when the screen didn't light up. :( This comp is never off when I am at work. My lesson plans are in there! 1:07 p.m. I decide to do some grading while my students work on their writing. My grade book is electronic. Pft. 1:10 p.m. living dangerously -- I am about to open my novel and read while my students write. I hope they don't know that if I get really into the book, they could all get up and leave without me noticing. 1:24 p.m. Cindy comes to me and says, "I can't spell inbaressed. It isn't in the dictionary." I said, "It starts with e-m." She said, "Why? That's silly." "Embarrassed," I said slowly. "E-m. Trust me." "Okay," she said, "I'll look, but I'm sure you're wrong." She went back to her seat. I watched her flip the dictionary pages. She stopped, ran her finger down the page, stopped again, then looked up at me in surprise. Fancy that. Teacher is right. 1:48 p.m. Still no Internet. I forgot to go to the bathroom at lunch time and there are still 51 minutes to break. Argh! 2:15 p.m. the NCLB tutor students leave for their special class. 2:17 p.m. the NCLB special tutor students return to get their tutoring notebooks and pencils. 2:32 p.m. We've been listening to Mr. Texas-Drawl through the wall for over 45 minutes. He hasn't stopped talking. I wonder when his kids have any time to get their work done. Mr. Texas-Drawl comes through the door talking. He gives my class the Vince Lombardo-Jim Valvano speech he just gave his own. We all stare at him in shock. He ltells a joke, laughs at it all by himelf, then leaves the room as abruptly as he arrived. 2:40 p.m. I tell my students to "Clean it up and get ready to go." Chaos ensures for 60 seconds while bags are packed, chairs are stacked and the homework assignment is repeated 16 times. My kids march off to P.E. I march off for my daily professional development class. 3:30 p.m. bell rings, kids leave, silence falls 3:35 p.m. I look at my laptop and realize I could have used the computer any time I liked. All I had to do before I turned it back on was unplug from the school network and Internet. I was told to turn it off. I turned it off. How can I expect to teach the kids to think when I just blindly follow orders? 4:00 p.m. home, check the net, change my clothes, head for the gym. 4:35 p.m. weigh-in. My weight stayed exactly the same. I think that is pretty good considering the holidays. I didn't lose, but I didn't gain, either. I lost a few more inches, and my body fat dropped three-tenths of a percent. Not great strides, but any loss is better than a gain. 4:50 p.m. exercise routine (45 minutes), and then home for the evening. A little dinner, a little Internet, a little novel reading, and bed. I hope you enjoyed this day in my life.
Since my blog is titled, "A Day in the Life ..." I thought I'd share one with you -- that is, one full day in my life. Here is January 5th, 2007, in detail -- which actually started on the previous blog entry: 6:50 a.m., arrive at school. Prep class for morning lessons. Check email. Start this log. 7:46 a.m. a CCSD maintenance duo just came through. They explained that they are here in response to an A/C work order. It was dated August. I assured them we don't want air. They are next-door in Mrs. Whiner's room working on the thermostat. I am worried. 7:55 a.m., the CCSD maintenance duo return to my room. "Ma'am, how has your classroom temperature been this week?" I answer quickly and enthusiastically, "Perfect." The men look at each other. One of them nods. The other says, "Okay." They go to my thermostat box and make adjustments. Finally they turn to leave. As they walk out the door one calls back over his shoulder, "You should be warmer soon." 7:59 a.m.; I tell the AP about the above encounter. He admonishes me. "What is the matter with you? You should have lodged a complaint! That they would have ignored." He's right, you know. 8:06 a.m., Jasmine is absent. It is her job to turn the TV on for student broadcast (wholly student run daily school news production, Pansy Petite is the producer). I said, "Someone turn the TV on." Cindy grabbed the remote and pushed the power button. Nothing happened. She pushed the power button again. Again. Again. No TV. She asked for fresh batteries. I told her I'd just changed those before Winter Break. She wailed, "But they don't work. Now what do we do?" Jose said, "Oh, gee, let's try this." He walked over to the TV and pushed the power button. The picture emerged. Cindy said, "I'd never have thought of that." I told her I didn't think I was going to be able to pass her to 6th grade. 8:21 a.m., broadcast ended. I said, "Could we turn the TV back off?" Jake reached out, grabbed the remote Cindy had left on his desk, pointed it at the TV, pushed the button -- and the picture disappeared. Cindy burst out, "That's just not fair!" 8:26 a.m., the PA system clicks on, music fills the room, that is our signal that it is time to transition to Reading class. I tell my students to hand in their math pop quiz. My students sit at tables. Handing in their papers simply means passing them to the end of their table and waiting for me to walk by and pick them up. This helps keep them neat and save confusion. As I picked up the last stack of papers I glanced down. There was no name on the top paper. Nothing unusual there. I recognized the handwriting. "Jon, you've forgotten to put your name on your paper again." I hand it back to him as a chorus of dismayed, Oh's!" filled the room. A half dozen kids rushed over and rifled through my tidy paper pile .... 8:30 a.m., Isaac enters reading class. "It is cold," he says. "May I shut the door?" I tell him no, not everybody is here. Two minutes pass as kids straggle in. Isaac repeats, "I am cold. May I shut the door?" We are still missing six students or so. I say, no. Moments later the last few students enter the room. I am sitting in my oral reading chair. The class is clustered on the floor at my feet. Isaac included. It is very cold in the room. I look at him and say, "Isaac, what's the matter with you? Were you born in a barn? For pete's sake, go close the door!" The class laughs. Isaac gets up and stomps to the door, grumbling, "All right! All right! All right! Make up your mind already!" Door closed he turns back, irrepressible Isaac-grin upon his face. "Anyway, who's Pete and why does he get to have the door closed?" I answer, "Pete is my favorite student and he gets to have the door closed because I like him." More laughter. Isaac pretends to pout. 9:27 a.m. -- no Internet access. 9:44 a.m., Isaac said he couldn't find the answer to question three on his reading comprehension check sheet. I told him I was certain he would find the answer if he read page 33 of the text. He responds with disgust, "I have to read the story?" Sam pipes up, "Do I have to read it, too?" Uhmmm, yes. That would be why we call it reading class. I refrain from twapping both of them. 9:56 a.m., the hot glue gun, despite being plugged in for 20 minutes, won't dispense the glue. I push on the glue stick, hard. Hot glue squirts out of the gun and splatters all over the computer screen. No glue will come out on the back of my poster. Note to self: Do not buy another 99 cent glue gun. Pft. 10:03 a.m., still no Internet connection. 10:15 a.m., math class, the students need tape measures. I remember that they are in the bottom bin of the three storage bins stacked behind the television stand. Joy. 10:19 a.m., students measuring various body parts with tape measures. After they are finished we will compare the shortest child in the class, Pansy Petite, with the tallest child in the class, Jon. Following that, I will tell them about old-fashioned measurements (handfuls, arm spans, paces) and ask them how accurate they would be from person to person. (Could Jon and Pansy follow the same recipe and get the same outcome? What if they were measuring material or pacing off a boundry?) Then I will start the Math unit on standard measurement. 10:26 a.m. STILL no Internet connection 10:31 a.m. Jake approaches me as I am working with the two Cindys. He says, "Can I go to the bathroom?" I answer, "I don't know. Do you know how?" He responds, "Huh?" One of the Cindys says, "May I please go to the bathroom?" Jake responds, "Hey! I asked first!" I don't think he'll be passing 5th grade, either. 10:44 a.m., Dave, Jose & Rico approach my desk, tape measure in hand. "Ms. A." Dave says, "We measured the centimeters, but the millimeters are too small to count." I said, "You measured the centimeters?" They nodded. "Well then, why don't you just multiply them by 10 to get the millimeters?" "Oh yeah!" Dave says, "Just like in math class!" I refrain from twapping him. 10:51 a.m. STILL no Internet. At 11:20 when I am relieved of duty for an hour (lunch and prep perios), I am going home! A body can't be expected to survive in these primitive circumstances! Btw, it is cold in my classroom. 11:22 a.m. Mrs. B. walked through my door to teach my students for 40 minutes and I shot off campus like a crossbow arrow -- cognizant all the way home that a speeding ticket would keep me from the net. 11:32 a.m. home: I placed a phone call to a friend -- two minutes later than our appointed time. It usually only takes me 7 minutes to get home, but since I was hurrying it took longer. Pft. 12:29 p.m., I return to my classroom in time to hear the PA reminder that all computers should have been shut done 5 minutes earlier for the server repairs. There are seven computers in my classroom. I can tell at a glance that all are on. I cross the room and pull the main power cord. Off. Well, six of them anyway. I was a bit more gentle with my beloved laptop. If you enjoy this, I will post the remaining adventures of the day later this weekend.
6:40 a.m., driving to work: between distorted black clouds, the sky is laden gray. The moon still hangs above the western mountains. Because of a heavy cloud bank, the sun has yet to come up, an eerie phenomena in this, the land of perpetual sun. The wind is gusting up to 18 miles per hour. A plastic trash can ran the red light at Las Vegas Blvd. and Cheyenne Ave., causing an SUV to swerve, narrowly missing my front end. Both the Internet and the heat are working in my classroom at the same time. I have a feeling this is going to be a Chris Van Allsburg sort of day. NOON -- update: The net is down at work. I had to come home at lunch time for an email fix.
At work yesterday the Internet chose to behave in a despicable manner, taking up to 40 minutes to load a page. A little after one o'clock in the afternoon, the system crashed altogether. I guess they don't realize that a couple of months ago I started to mainline my email and only disconnect when I absolutely have to. (Okay, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, I refuse to put email on my cell phone. Then I'd never get anything done!) At any rate, my work friends know how I feel about my Internet connectivity, so I got a lot of teasing yesterday. Mr. Texas-Drawl opened the connecting door between our rooms shortly after the system expired completely. I was at the board teaching math. "Oh, good!" He said. "You're still standing. I was certain I would have to call 911." Today, with the unknowing (I stole it) help of my friend, Bill, who calls himself, "Old Fart," (I refuse to, he is younger than I), I present my intervention strategies: click on image to enlarge
I really do love teaching. When I am in the classroom interacting with the students, life is good. Today's writing prompt was:
There are many exciting people in the world. Tell about one.I wrote the prompt on the board and then displayed a poster board with a non-example on it. I read the prompt, then I went to stand next to my student, Cindy, and read the poster:
My friend, Cynthia, is very exciting. She is in the fifth grade, has brown hair and brown eyes and is a good student. I like her a lot.Finally I asked: Would that be an acceptable paragraph? The class chorused, "No!" So far, so good. I asked, "Why not?" Rick said, "It wasn't long enough." Moses said, "No! No! Cynthia is not your friend, she is your student." The little voice in the back of my head said, Oh yeah, this is going well. Then Jasmine raised her hand. "Your paragraph is boring," she announced. Finally, my little voice chanted, but I pretended shock. "Boring? What do you mean?" Jasmine said, "The prompt wants to know something exciting about Cindy. You just listed a bunch of ordinary facts." "Oh!" I exclaimed, over-acting as usual. "So, what do I need to do to make the paper more exciting?" Jon, who sits beside Cindy, looked over at her and drawled, "First, choose another person ..." The class laughed and Jasmine waved her arm frantically. "Choose me! Choose me!"" "Can't," I answered. "It says amazing person, not obnoxious person." Jasmine responded with her standard open-mouthed, wide-eyed -- Who me? -- head shake. "You have a problem?" I asked her. "You just called me obnoxious! You can't do that!" Jasmine over-acts, too. We make a great team. I responded with a question, "Weren't you the kid that just came to my desk and asked me 473 questions in less than three minutes, while I was trying to read?" Jasmine tried to hold her indignant pose, but cracked up laughing. I nodded my head at her. "Yep. See. I win. Obnoxious." Jasmine turned to Pansy Petite. "Ms. A. always wins, but someday I'll get her!" Pansy nodded her head, "You just keep believing that," she said. And then she rolled her eyes.