PARCC ~ n ~ PLAY

I don't want to be too political on a Friday night, after half a day of teaching and half a day of Professional Development, but I do want to recount a few salient bits of the day.

The morning was spent teaching, or rather managing, my classes, as they are all doing their Shakespearian productions this month and this was the last day of rehearsals. March is a month with no vacations, no long weekends and the teenagers hormones start running. Not only that, but my Seniors are finding our if they can afford to go to the schools they've been accepted to, or not, and my Juniors are taking the SAT's. So I keep them busy by making them act out scenes from Julius Caesar (Juniors and World Studies) and Hamlet (Women's Lit. [Seniors] through the lens of Ophelia & Gertrude). They have to produce a 10-15 page promptbook and a 10-20 performance next week and have been working on them for the last 2 weeks. It was good to see the classes I saw (only 2 out of my 5) seeming to gel this morning! However I was still worried about my two regular Junior classes and their preparedness.

We have to complete the performances next week, as the following week the MCAS (MA's state assessment test) are being administered . On top of that the PARCC test (new role out of the Common Core, state by state, to national test) will be administered for the first time during the window of 3/30-4/10. May is the season for end of year MAP testing and will, also now be the month to roll out the final new PARCC piece. June holds the final SAT's of the year.

This afternoon's Professional Development was teaching my department (ELA) the basics of PARCC;   different sections, models of sections, scoring, standards met, practice tests, and how-to and not-to mark your answers in the test packets. We were paired up to do the sample test (first three from the March/April roll out). My partner and I chose 11th grade, as we teach 11th &  12th. We found the language very complex, the time constraints too tight, the directions deceivingly simple and the writing components analytically rugged. This would be fine if the majority of our student body wasn't so verbally impoverished, unconfident with new formats, slow readers and, in some cases, incapable of accessing the material. Many accommodations on IEP's and 504 will not apply for this test. Extra time, yes, but not much else, for example. Forget about the FLEPed kids (newly English proficient).

We, the ELA teachers, are going to be administering to the 9th and 11th graders for the first three parts in the March/April window. The Math teachers are administering theirs to the 9th grade only. The tests (3 per first round, 2 in the final round in May) take longer than one class period and yet, we're to administer them in class? The total of 5 class periods, or a week, of teaching the Common Core and Curriculum Standards will be on hold. So a week of content gone, filled with testing. On top of that, in an email I receive from the MTA (Mass Teacher's Association- the Union), says that it's received word that administrators are going to be asked to sign a privacy agreement?! Geez-louise!

We were asked between now and the first window to teach our kids about the format of the test and to  give them practice tests of sorts, too. Not sure how many class periods they expect for those lessons. And I've already mapped out my lesson to April 1st, so this will undo and squeeze my already shrunk schedule with MCAS in 10 days!

However, my Shakespearian Extravaganza will not be interrupted or compromised! After the development meeting I returned to my classroom to gather up test to be graded and to tie up a few loose ends. My corridor was mostly empty as I was packing up to leave for the weekend. As I got to my door, I was met by 4 Junior boys in one of my classes. Although the day had ended for them at 10:45, here there were at 2:45 at my door. They'd come back to school, on a Friday afternoon, after half a day off, to ask me some questions about the play. These were not my Honors World Studies nor my Honors Women's Lit kids, these were my Regular English kids, a company I had worried about over the last two weeks. And here they were; shy, goofy, unconfident learners, and asking for help!

They asked if they could use my room to rehearse and look at the exemplar promptbooks again. I said I'd have to go find Dennis, the custodian, but if it was alright with him (as he'd have to clean and lock up after they left), it was alright with me! Fortunately Dennis finds kids fighting with swords in my classroom and rehearsing in the hallways fun to watch, as his own daughter is a theater kid! The kids were thrilled, I was tickled and it made me hopeful, that even when these same boys had to take the PARCC and they would most likely not score very well, that at least there are showing initiative with an interactive Shakespeare term project and that is really what it's all about!

Good night, Players and PARCCers, G'night!

Single Summer Scribbler...

Well it's done. I've signed up for my first writer's retreat. I guess I've begun to own the word: writer!

It will be during the middle of my summer vacation, during my one kidless period, a month after returning for a once-in-a-lifetime trip with my kids and a month before Frank starts High School and Lenora enters her Senior year. Seemed like the prime time to commit to practicing this craft with a master teacher.

It will, by then, be 8 months that I've been blogging. It will be my 46th summer of scribbling down my thoughts. It will be my 4th year of thinking, seriously, about how to frame various segments of my life and what might allow them to be of use to my children, students and readers down the line.

It will be the first time I'm exposing my writing to a teacher and fellow students since college, almost 30 years ago and I find that this time round, I'm seeing the constructive criticism process for what it is, a gift. Being a teacher, mentor, and agent most of these 3 decades, I now find myself eager to learn and listen to what others will have to say. In college I was cowed by my peers and put off by my teachers. They were all encouraging, yet there seemed to be an element of snark, before there was the word to describe that sentiment.

The analogy of bringing a book to life being like a pregnancy is much over used. However, I feel like I'm in the seed stages (pun intended) of coming to grips with plowing my own history, planting a nourishing crop and figuring out the best environment to harvest it. Should I dig deep and dark? Should I alternate between new plantings and established roots? Should I focus on one crop and not try to show the full diversity of my acreage? What do I want to grow, nurture, graft, prune, fertilize, propagate and ultimately pick as my unique story to bring to the reader's shelf?

I know that great memoirs answer a question and in so doing give insight into the author, while also connecting on a universal level. I've been told at many ages and stages that my choices and stories resonate with people from all walks of life and across many barriers. Now I have to focus on how to zoom in on an essential story that shows something emblematic and essential to who I am, while also being of use to others. That is the key.....what question has brought about a unique and universal answer? That's all!

So, I've set a marathon of a task for myself (had to allude to last nights post in here somewhere)! Good thing where I going to write has a huge lake to swim in and mountain trails to run! It has a big campus and I'm staying in the smallest cabin ~ a single cabin, for this single writer, to develop a singular idea and commit it to words.

So Good Night, retreaters and writers, G'night!

'Tis the Season

Triathlon and Endurance race season has just begun. We're just under a month from the Boston Marathon. Peaks to Portland filled up fast this year (6 hours instead of 6 weeks). Last month my cousin's race, Swim the Suck, sold out in 30 minutes. Tomorrow morning many people will be manning their keyboards for the Beach to Beacon (often sells out in 4 minutes).

This is my longest non-race spell in years. I usually have a race a month. The last race I ran was an obstacle course race in the the fall; Zombie Run. Swam outside until mid-October and then got sick as a dog at the end of November. So sick it landed me in hospital with my hands and feet curled in on themselves, like newly born, or dead, claws. It was terrifying. It took me until early January to get all my bones back in their proper places in my feet (lots of yoga, massage and well chosen shoes).

No sooner was realignment obtained, than the mighty snows and bitter cold were upon us. Shoveling and raking became my new sports. Dog walking and hiking became challenges to be overcome. For the last six weeks, or so, the white stuff I usually love to use for play and exercise didn't afford me any sledding or skiing; just chronic chores.

So, finally, the weather is promising to be manageable. I've run Half Marathons in single digits, so cold the cocoa at mile 10 had a skim of ice. This winter you'd have to run on black ice or in hip deep snow. To be able to run on packed snow or a cleared road will be a newly savored treat! Also, now that we're not having a snowstorm every weekend (and let me tell you it was every weekend, although they're threatening ice pellets and snow showers this weekend), I can finally join my friend at our beloved Beede Center, with it's special pool (and therapy pool). I may even do some weights with her, as this winter my maintenance of my upper body was fine (shovel, rake), but trunk and lower half need help.

I'm trying to map out some races, as I usually do. Like Writer's Workshops, the good one's sell out way in advance (February for August), so I'm having to strategically map out the pricey ones against the reasonable races. Building on milage from Spring to Fall, as always. Usually 5K-10K runs, 1 M swims in Spring, 10K to Half Runs and 2.5 Mile Swims in Summer and Half Runs and maybe 3+ this fall. I've monkeyed with that however. I've done the Half in New Bedford in March, I've done Triathlons in the Fall and Summer.

The thing that I want to get at some point is a bike (funny that was my image from last night). You see it is my weakest event, and I also don't have a proper road bike. I have a Townie bike (Elektra's version of a Dutch Granny bike before the designed the Amsterdam) and my ancient Trek mountain bike from my days in SF (which I've used for all my Tri's in MA in the last 13 yrs), but neither of them are any good for really enjoying the race or become reasonably placed in my age group (although in my first Tri, I missed being 3rd by seconds, because I make up for it in the water).

You see I am a human animal. The bike is a machine that is added to the way we move through space (and I love to move, even fly on my bikes), but it's not as pure as swimming and running. Both of those sports helped evolve as humans. If you read Born to Run  or know of  Elaine Morgan's Aquatic Ape theory (http://www.ted.com/talks/elaine_morgan_says_we_evolved_from_aquatic_apes?language=en) then you'll have some understand of where I'm coming from regarding the purity of swimming and running.

I guess you could argue that the bicycle is the next evolution of human movement advancement: the wheel. I've loved wheeled toys since I was a girl. I preferred Tonka trucks to baby dolls. My first wheels were a tricycle, a wagon and a push-pedal tractor! At some Triathlons, I've seen bikes that cost as much as my Honda Fit, are very close to the same amount. My iron horse has served me well, but this year (as last), I'll be trolling Craigslist for a serviceable, and cheap, Tri-bike to actually let me train and race to my potential.

Funny thing about being 52 and having been a runner now for 40 years...I can mentally run a Half without much physically preparation. I may not be fast, but I'm steady. Obstacle course races have added to the love of being outdoors with others, running, and over coming challenges along the way. Swimming is a love and passion, but only a very recent (last decade) sport. Although I did swim for gym in High School & pleasure in college, swam in the ocean all my life (and snorkeled, dove for hire), took aqua-aerobics through both pregnancies, and most bodies of water when ever they present themselves and I"m free to swim, skinny dip or float. Biking has been a mode of transport, tooling around and traveling experience. Especially in Holland. The bike roads and routes are amazing. If you don't bike in the cities, towns and village of NL while you're there, you've missed half of the experience of Holland. All season and weather biking, too, btw. Same with San Francisco!

Okay..I must go to sleep. In a little over a week I'll be going for a "dip" in Boston Harbor with some other silly selkie folk, but tonight I'll dream of running, biking and swimming in warmer and softer air!

Good night, my human animals, G'night!

biking into the sunset...

Be
Inwardly
Consciencious
You'll
Claim
Love
Eventually

Bravely
Imagine
Closeness
Yearning
Compassion
Life
Entangled

Balanced
Inner
Conflicts
Yonder
Clouds
Leaving
Enlightened

As the rain begins tonight on my skylights and I've hoisted myself back into my proverbial bike saddle, I'll leave you all with this:

"I'll Follow The Sun" by The Beatles

One day you'll look to see I've gone
For tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun
Some day you'll know I was the one
But tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun

And now the time has come
And so my love I must go
And though I lose a friend
In the end you will know, oooh

One day you'll find that I have gone
But tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun

Yea, tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun
And now the time has come
And so my love I must go
And though I lose a friend
In the end you'll know, oooh

One day you'll find that I have gone
But tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun

Ripped in Half (or Mystery Man #7)

First instincts are always the right ones...

Came home to find my gutter lying on my front walk way. Not all of it. Half of it. As if a Giant had come walking down my street, grabbed the middle of my front gutter, ripped it in half, crumpled it and dropped it in the center of my shoveled path. It bent, but did not break a first story window and landed neatly between the bottom two basement windows. Frank, having arrive home first, carefully placed the fallen and intact drain pipe up against the far side of the garage. It may not be the Ides of March, yet, but this seemed like a bad omen.

As I wrote last night, Mystery Man and I texted yesterday; I initiated. He replied with warmth, humor, apologies and a promise to call me soon. Tonight he did and now I wish I'd listened to my inner voice yesterday...the one that says when a man doesn't text for two weeks he's not that into you.

We talked for almost half an hour. Laughing, discussing our kids and sailing. He even said he'd had me, like it or not, enrolled on his friends' boat this summer as crew. Then as I started to yawn and said I wanted to cut to the chase, were we going to go on a date or not, he speech slowed down and became full of ums and ahs.

He then confided that the trip to Cali had been for the convention for the week and four additional days to see an old friend. He discussed how it's hard to be single at this age, and how a shared history is important and how he'd had hopes for him and this old friend, but there were too many obstacle, distance being one of them. I listened, politely, and not unsympathetically. But as he continued, I briefly hoped that our half hour of fluid conversation was leading to how our common interests and proximity were what he was wanting to pursue.

When I again, asked to cut to the chase, about if we would date, he grew quiet. More ums and ahs. I then knew for sure that I was not what he was looking for in some way. Perhaps not the younger model most middle aged men hope to find as mortality faces them in the mirror. He said he wanted to see me and get to know me, but not in that way.

On one hand I was impressed by his honesty. On the other I felt the catch in my voice and the sting of the judgment. My cache has fallen and I may not get up.

I told him that wasn't what I'd hoped to hear, but it is what it is. He said he wanted to call me after his daughter returned to college and I said, sure. Although I think we both know he won't.

What is so strange about this is that earlier, when he was discussing his old friend and I said I was still friends with old boyfriends and understood the impulse for that return to a shared history, I also know that all my old boyfriends could not be my mates now. There were reasons we broke up, at an earlier and less mature time of our lives. Most of our lives have diverged significantly. When people ask me, point blank, "We'll there must be somebody you have crush on or an old flame you'd like to rekindle", I honestly and much to their amazement say, "No, there isn't."

You see that is the hardest part about being alone and single in middle age. The hardest part of getting divorced wasn't letting go of my husband, he had left me long before I asked him to go. No the hardest part if letting go of that imagined self of the future as a couple and the shared history of the past.

At this age, when you do meet some one who says "we have so much in common" and you feel it in your bones, too, and get excited about the potential of getting to know them better and perhaps, wonder of wonder, miracles of miracles, have a shared future that becomes a history ; it's exciting.

So now I feel like I've been torn in half by a Giant who just walked down my street, looked in my bedroom window, and said, "Sorry this one's not for you", and ripped my hopes in half, just like the crumpled, bent and misshapen gutter laying 20 feet below my bed. I'm not built for this new climate.

Time to go back to suggesting to the universe to place a man in my path who is worthy of my time and attention.....oh to be adored and not thought of as not the right stuff and expendable.

Thus end's the Mystery Man missives...unlucky #7.

Good night, Universe ~ hear me, G'night!

Mystery Man #6 (x2)

Funny story. After two weeks of not hearing from Mystery Man, and driving within a half mile of his house and to our mutual swimming hole, I decided to invite him for a dip. Pride be damned! Might as well be friendly, since we may end up in the pool or Walden at the same time in these thawing months.

My gal pal encouraged me to just give him call, so I went for it. First the phone wouldn't ring, it seems I'm always trying to call him from inside buildings made of cement, and once it did, it seemed to cut out mid-ring. So finally I went outside, the phone rang, but went straight to voicemail.

Okay, I told myself, this means I wasn't supposed to push it. I didn't leave a message. My friend suggested that perhaps Mystery Man's college age child was home from school for Spring Break and he was busy. I thought to myself, so busy he forgot how to use his fingers to text me over two weeks? But I know, it's another kidless weekend ~ they're with the wasband ~ and it tends to accentuate my aloneness, even though my life is busy and full. Of course other people's lives may be hectic or have homecomings of which I have no knowledge.

I swam for over half an hour, while my gal pal did weights. We met up again in the decadently delicious therapy pool. I'd submerged a few minutes before my gal pal. Mid-way between stretching and relaxing, I noticed that a man had slipped silently into the water beside me on the bench. We made eye contact several times. He had tootsie pop eyes; green on the outer rim and brown in the center. His hair was short, wet and curly. I shifted into relaxed mode, one more glance, he was still glancing at me and I down shifted into total relax mode. Next time I opened my eyes, gal pal was there (and so, still was the tootsie pop man).

My pal and I caught up on each other's lives and discussed our families and fitness. Tootsie pop eyes kept looking at me/us for another fifteen minutes, according to my pal, as I was consciously not looking at him by this point. In the back of my mind, I was thinking, wouldn't it be funny if he was Mystery Man, only since I met him only once, after shoveling for 3-4 hours, and he was wearing clothes, a hat and glasses when I met him, he now looks too different for either of us to be sure? My gal pal was having the same thought, because as soon as he left, all we did was discuss his staring and glancing at us. Thank goodness we didn't have the Mystery Man chat!

After we showered, dressed and ascended to the front door, I checked my cellphone. I reported to her that Mystery Man hadn't returned my missed call, nor had he texted anything. We hugged, and agreed to meet swim together next weekend.

I got in my car, thought about what I'd make for dinner (yogurt, berries, nuts and cereal) and wondered if I dare stop at a Cafe in the center of Mystery Man's town for a cup of coffee, as it's a short walk to his place. Instead (remembering the coffee I made, and was still in the pot on the counter, before my two hour hike with the dogs in the morning), I decided to wait on the impulse and to drive home. When I arrived home it struck me that there may be many times I could cross paths with Mystery Man and we did seemingly have a great deal in common, so just to put all doubt (on both fronts) to bed I made the choice to text him the funny story (what if he had been Tootsie Pop eyes?)!

In three sentence I conveyed these crumbs: I'd swum and invited him to join me, wasn't sure if I saw him there or not, and didn't know if he was interested in me. Then I left my phone on silent, turned off the house phone, too, and watched the last three episodes of House of Cards!

When I was done with HOC, and my bowl of breakfast for dinner, I checked my phones. My darling neighbor had invited me up the hill for dinner and I'd missed it (on the home phone). And ~ drumroll~ Mystery Man wrote a lengthy reply.

Turns out he didn't return from his Cali convention until Tues PM, came back to a pile of work, and to having his daughter surprise him by coming home for Spring Break! He joked about Tootsie Pop eyes and said he'd call me very soon to talk about his interest in me (that's a good thing, right?)!

So I guess, either way, I'll hear from him again. Perhaps he'll become a pool-swim buddy or perhaps we'll slowly get to know each other. Either way, I got out of my Pride and Prejudice mode of feeling I should be pursued or Mystery Man was nothing but an arrogant so-and-so. And, for further consideration, there is always Tootsie Pop eyes to investigate next time we swim~ ha!

That is my funny story, or maybe it's me telling on myself, on multiple levels. Either way it made me laugh and smile. It was a lovely Sunday full of hikes, swims, chats and episodes of HOC, can't beat that!

Good Night, Mermaid Lizzies  and Mermen Darcies everywhere, G'night!

Oh to be an Imagineer!

Second night of binging on House of Cards, after a long day of being indoors doing a tedious seminar.

It's interesting having writers added to the mix, a novelist and a journalist, after the murder of the last writer who grew close to the main characters. Journalism being the 4th estate in our governance, the show must keep going back to the reporters and writers. Newsroom and West Wing had the same dynamics; safe guards, snarky sneaks, stealthy moles,  whistle blowers and truth seekers.

What's also interesting is that politics and publishing both require imagination and courage. When I was growing up, our generation looked up to the Investigative Journalists, being the generation who followed Watergate. Then it seemed with technological and cable advances, people turned to film and the web. Now there are either a few conglomerates who control the news or a zillion fractured sources competing to be read, taken seriously and may or may not be truly fact-checked or edited.

Then we get into the ideas of memory and reality, and where the two meet. Power of recall, with a story often told and slightly tweaked over the years can alter the facts of real events. Power of suggestion can lend itself to the better story, that as Frank Underwood states, gets to a deeper truth.

How do we as private individuals and politicians as public entities, forge our own myths and histories?  How do the tales we retell, recall and recollect become who we are? To ourselves, our families and our futures? How do we re-member ourselves and pass that down to the next generation or to the history books?

Currently the City of Boston is grappling with the decision to include the bussing from 40 years ago as a part of the history curriculum taught in all Boston Public Schools. How do they make it reflect, reframe and, perhaps, resolve the tensions from the 1970's into measurable lesson for today's youth? They are looking to Birmingham, AL for advice, as that city has taught it's own history successfully, with balance and layers from multiple points of view. Sort of like all German students having Holocaust history mandatory in their grade schools.

Histories of nations, movements and families require due diligence. What to leave in, what to take out, and what to conjure for the sake of the "deeper truth", that may not be factual, but is right.

Tomorrow, I'm going to write earlier in the day, not the last thing before I go to bed. Also after I finish the complete season of House of Cards, go for a hike with dogs and perhaps a swim with my gal pal. The need to get out in nature both inspires and feeds the imagination, memory and provides me with the strength to be courageous with my own deeper truths.

Good Night, Imagineers, G'night!