March Slice of Life Challenge Day 15: Picture Prompts

For the month of March, each day I am writing and posting a slice of my life, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. 

March Slice of Life Challenge Day 15: 
Picture Prompts

One of the best parts of my job is that I get to service ninth and tenth grade students who need more opportunities to develop literacy skills beyond their core high school courses. Writing is often an area that many of my students have not experienced a lot of success with yet, so I try to provide students with as many low-risk writing opportunities as I can. 

As I was paging through Amy Ludwig VanDerwater's Poems are Teachers this week, I was reminded of the technique called Jotting from a Photograph. The Learning Network of The New York Times regularly publishes Picture Prompts, so using the New York Times Picture Prompts: Walking Down the Street, my class and I wrote based on the image (see below). 

"Walking Down the Street"

Since my students were new to the technique, we began by making lists first. Using VanDerwater's suggestion, I instructed students to make columns with the headings, "What I See/What I Think...Wonder....Feel" first. 

My columns and lists

After students jotted down ideas for each column, they used turn and talk to generate more thinking, and I invited them to add to their lists following partner conversations. Finally, I invited students to write for three minutes based on the image. Students had the option to write based on their lists, answering the question from the prompt, a poem or story, or whatever came to their minds as they wrote. 

I've found that many of my students are paralyzed to even try to write a few sentences. After all, for so long they have been given the message that they are always doing it wrong. This is the joy of low-risk writing like this - you can't do it wrong. You just need to show up as a writer. 

As I wrote with my students and listened to their smart discussions and read their insightful writing, I wrote this free verse poem using the document camera: 

Among people, 

she is an orb-

glowing in curiosity, 

connection.

Thriving.

Yet, as time passes

she becomes inundated

by noise and stimulation. 

She retreats - 

sliding below 

humanity.

Her halo 

plummets.

She is ash. 

March Slice of Life Challenge Day 14: Ukulele Lessons

For the month of March, each day I am writing and posting a slice of my life, hosted by Two Writing Teachers. 

March Slice of Life Challenge Day 14: Ukulele Lessons

After reading Beth Moore's thought-provoking slice about the difference between Storytelling and Band-aids, I've been thinking of how I can create better stories in this Slice of Life Challenge. For me, zooming into a small moment is really challenging. Lately, I have been struggling to find seed ideas - ones I feel are worthy of developing and sharing. 

When I get stuck at anything, I frequently turn to books. This was no exception. I spied Amy Ludvig VanDerwater's Poems Are Teachers resting on my professional book shelf; I paged through it, searching for some guidance.

Turning to the section called Tell A Story, and using the poem called "My Heart" as a mentor text, I created a free verse poem about beginning ukulele lessons:

Ukulele Lessons

"Do something for yourself"

Her words spooled in my mind.

I needed to find 

something meaningful,
yet manageable. 

Spending two evenings each week

waiting while my children took 

their music lessons, 

I cherished listening to lovely tones  
as I sat outside practice rooms.
Once I overheard a music instructor say,
"Feel the rhythm in your bones." 

And I recalled how I adored 
making music when I was young.

I longed for inspiration again.

An unexpected gift of Christmas money,

a neglected ukulele,

and group lessons became available

on my only open night of the week.

It's meant to be, I thought 
and signed up. 
At last, something for me.

In mid-January, 

warmly greeted by two passionate ukulele teachers,

I learned about frets, finger placement

tuning strings, and basic chords.
"Return home, practice what you learned tonight 
for at least five minutes," Ms. Katie recommended,
"and then reserve fifteen minutes to practice daily."

That evening, when I returned home, 

with clumsy fingers like a newborn foal,

I began practicing the ukulele,
knowing that I could only get better.

Daily practicing became a retreat - 
fifteen minutes of uninterrupted time:
just me and the ukulele.

Tuesday Slice of Life: A Slice of Courage

Looking to connect with a positive, supportive online community?  Consider sharing a slice of your life with Two Writing Teachers. All writers are welcome! 

Tuesday Slice of Life: A Slice of Courage

"Finding courage may be the hardest thing about writing." 

Sue Monk Kidd from Why We Write About Ourselves (Plume, 2016) 

On December 21st one of my poems was showcased as a part of a local art exhibit in my city. 

A few days before the opening I sheepishly invited my husband:

"So I submitted one of my poems to a show at The Draw. It was selected as a part of an art show. The opening night is Friday. Wanna come with me?"

"Really? That's great! Of course. Did you invite anyone else?"

"No, not really. It feels too weird." 

My husband was one of the few people I invited to the show. 

The day of the show my anxiety bubbled. What if no one reads it? What if someone reads it? What will they think of me? Does she really think she is a poet? 

Honestly, it was a bit uncomfortable to watch people read my poem from afar. I lurked a bit as strangers discussed it. I studied their body language. I creeped on conversations. To my surprise, I didn't hear anything negative. Instead I heard gentle comments of people who could relate to my poem. It was powerful. Validating. Kind of exciting.

My poem displayed

Check out my poem: 

"Six"

When I was six years old,
my grandma placed a thick slice of Byerly's Bakery birthday cake-

adorned with rich golden frosted peaked roses-

on a small dessert plate in front of me.

She leaned in and sharply whispered, 

"you are not the kind of girl who can always eat cake."

Among the eleven of us, I was the only child who received her cautionary words.

I shifted in the cold metal folding chair at the kid table in Grandma's kitchen.

My round, fair face blazed.

My corduroy, hand-stitched jumper squeezed my chest. 

My shame-filled belly roared.

Yet I cautiously ate my piece of buttercream guilt,

licked the frosting off the top of my chubby fingertips, 

only to immediately regret my deed.

I am not the kind of girl who can always eat cake. 

For me, it takes a lot of courage to share my writing, especially when it is something so personal. Yet I know that this is necessary for who I am - to grow as a writer and teacher of writers...so I'm working on this, and I hope to submit more poetry (and maybe some professional writing) in 2019. 

SOL Tuesday: Crumbs

Since April is National Poetry Month, for Tuesday's Slice of Life I decided to share a poem I wrote thinking about my grandma, who is 94 years young next week. I wrote this free verse poem about in June of 2016, but I haven't shared it publicly before: 

Crumbs

Every day is a good day if you have it,

Sounds like something that Grandma Geanne would say.

At nearly the age of 92

She drops these pieces of wisdom

In soft, casual conversation-

Quickly, easy to miss

If you’re not paying attention.

Over buttered graham crackers and milky tea she comments,

In almost a whisper:

“Find a crumb of joy

Every day.

No matter how small.

My dear Trina, when life seems dismal,

It will keep you going.”

She steals a glimpse of Grandpa Art’s

Faded memorial bulletin, still carefully tacked to the

Square cork board near the telephone.  

Her slender, frail hand brushes mine.

And her phrase lingers

As towheaded, chunky hands dunk cookies in fragile porcelain doll cups

Filled with Land o'Lakes milk

From a tiny white wooden table and two painted chairs-

Crafted in 1949 by Great Grandpa Olin for Mom.

(The very same table and chairs I used as a small child.)

Toddler cousins exchange giggles,

With milky mustaches and sticky, chocolate smudged hands.

Grandma clasps her hands to her mouth,

Folded almost as a prayer,

In adoration of her great granddaughters.

Those crumbs-

The bits I neglect often.

Daily.

Find that joy, Trina.

After all, so many things depend on perspective.

Slice of Life 2018 Day 22: Take Pause

As I was paging through my notebook yesterday morning (reaching for an idea for my next slice), I stumbled across this poem that I wrote back in mid-February:

Take Pause

Take pause…

at raw, quivering

moments.

Notice your emotions.

Name your emotions.

Accept your emotions,

whether they are full of

joy, rage,

despair, sadness,

loneliness, or jealousy.

Allow an

ABUNDANCE

of unfiltered, unapologetic

thoughts.

Recognize your humanity.

After all, emotions

are impermanent

and are what enable us

to feel ALIVE.

Be curious

to cultivate compassion and

wisdom within.

Remember:

you are worthy

you are whole,

and you are beloved.

******

Initially, after I wrote this poem, I hated it and buried it in my writer’s notebook, determined that I could never share it. My negative self-talk took over: my poem was too simple, my words weren’t descriptive enough, I didn’t dive in deep enough, and my content was silly. Who would want to read something like this?

Negative self-talk is my worst critic.

Frequently, I find myself stifled by negative self-talk, especially in my writing. For this reason, I have this quote from Ralph Keyes’ The Courage to Write, taped on the inside of my writer’s notebook:

"Fear is felt by writers at every level. Anxiety accompanies the first word they put on paper and the last."
This quote nudges me to keep writing and sharing, even when it's scary.

This year I have been working on being more courageous in what I write and sharing it. Blogging has been a great step for me in sharing my writing, so far. I am in awe when someone notices something about my writing that I hadn't considered. That is thrilling to know. I am always so honored (and humbled) when my dear friend and colleague Lisa reads one of my posts and tells me what she likes or what she tries in her classroom based on what I wrote. Generous comments from online readers, especially Glenda from Evolving English Teacher and Elisabeth from The Dirigible Plum has been another source of encouragement. They have commented on my post each single day during my Slice of Life Challenge.

And so I have deep gratitude for each of you who keeps coming back to read my writing and the new people who take the time to read my words. I sincerely appreciate it.

Slice of Life 2018 Day 20: Living in a Poem

"Your Life is a Poem" by Naomi Shihab Nye

About three years ago, I started regularly listening to podcasts on my iPhone. Podcasts are typically what keeps me company as I fold clothes, cook, or do the dishes. And if I can manage it, I listen to podcasts when I walk one of my dogs. One of my favorite podcast to listen to is On Being, hosted by journalist and author Krista Tippett.

The On Being Podcast hosts a variety of guests, including poets, authors, activists, and spiritual leaders. No matter the topic, I find that I always benefit from listening to the conversation between Krista Tippett and her guest. I record lines I want to remember in my writer’s notebook and am thrilled to discover new books to read or ideas to consider. Last week Thursday’s guest was poet Naomi Shihab Nye. Although this episode originally aired in 2016, I loved listening to it again and thinking about Naomi Shihab Nye’s work in a deeper way.

In the beginning of the podcast Naomi Shihab Nye shared her belief that she feels we are all living in a poem. She explained that when she visits classrooms she often writes this phrase on the board, “you are living in a poem.” In addition, she shared how she finds poetry to be organic and that we all think in poems. As part of a conversation in sharing with children the ways in which we live in a poem, Naomi Shihab Nye says, “...when you think, when you’re in a very quiet place, when you’re remembering, when you’re saving an image, when you’re allowing your mind calmly to leap from one thought to another, that’s a poem. What’s what a poem does.”

What an exquisite thought.

And these two lines of Naomi Shihab Nye especially resonated with me as I was listening to this episode:

• “If you know words, if you compose, you might want to share them because they’ll have a bigger life if you do that.” 
• “The story that you would be telling to yourself about the street, even as you walk down it, or as you drive down it, as you look out the window, the story you would be telling-it always seemed very much to me, as a child that I was living in a poem that my life was the poem.”

Since I listened to this podcast again last Thursday, this line has spooled in my mind, “you are living in a poem.” I cannot express in words how much I love this concept - living in a poem. It makes me want to savor my thoughts more and remind myself that my thoughts can be crafted into poems.

In thinking about living in a poem, and as I walked my dogs early Monday morning, these were a few lines mulling in my mind:

I anticipate yesterday’s warm breezy air as we

emerge early this morning:

me and my canine companions.

Yet cold chills my neck, numbs my face.

Immediately I return inside for my insulated coat,

winter hat, and

mittens.

Bare branches project against street lights,

trails of road salt snake on sidewalks,

and steep snow piles remain on edges of yards-

reminders that winter still remains.

How are you living in a poem today?

Slice of Life 2018 Day 17: Baptismal Gown

Many children’s books are filled with stunning words and phrases, worthy of using as a mentor text with students of all ages (including high school students). Cynthia Rylant’s work is no exception. Cynthia Rylant’s Something Permanent is a gorgeous book that tells stories of ordinary Americans living in the Great Depression through Walker Evans’ photos and Cynthia Rylant’s poetry. Each black and white photo is accompanied with a corresponding poem.

Something Permanent reminds me that photos are a fantastic source to conjure memories. Photographs help preserve moments, of both ordinary and important events. Words, often through poetry, can enhance an image. 

My grandma Geanne, now in her mid-nineties, moved into an assisted living situation last summer. As my mom and aunts were helping her downsize from her house to her much smaller room, they gathered important letters, photos, and other mementos that she would not have room for. Around Christmas my mother handed me a bag full of old photos and letters from Grandma Geanne. It was bittersweet to read letters I had written to my grandma from when I was in elementary and middle school and to see photos of me and my own children in her collection, some of them unfamiliar. One of the photos was of my daughter on the day of her baptism.

My daughter in the family baptismal gown

Instantly, I thought of the gown my daughter was wearing. She's donned in the same gown my mother wore, I wore, her older brother wore, my siblings wore, my cousins and nieces and their children wore. A favorite part of my daughter's baptism was dressing her in a gown that is nearly one hundred years old that was made for my grandmother. I cherish the love that my grandma put into caring for this family heirloom.

In honor of Grandma Geanne, I wrote a poem about this baptismal gown. Something Permanent provided the perfect format to emulate.

Baptismal Gown

She wanted to be certain her hand-sewn baptismal gown could be

preserved for each child, grandchild, and great-grandchild,

so she kept this fragile gown folded in white tissue paper

in a flimsy department store cardboard box, secured with string,

high on the top shelf of her closet,

and when the time came

she hand-washed,

pressed, and

delivered

this  

gown

for each

baby.