Sharing

We dropped down the hill and the airstrips came in sight. The familiar red and blue taxi lights edged them. I loved hearing my Dad tell me about the colors, the angles of the strips of pavement, the types of buildings at the airport. I feel a connection here. I flew out of it a few times as a teenager, picked Dad up occasionally from a trip, knew he was down here flying planes to and from sites across the Midwest. This place reminds me of him, of how he used to be.

Dad sits silently in the car looking out on the field. I wonder what he is thinking. I wonder what he remembers.

My grown son follows the signs and smoothly gets us to our destination, the Airline History Museum. We pull up in front of a metal corrugated hanger on the flat concrete tarmac. It feels so good to be on an airstrip. The small plane engines purr in the distance. I see a red two-seater and am reminded of the time Dad took us girls along to a rural airstrip as he practiced landings and takeoffs. Two sisters would wait on the ground, while one soared into the sky with Dad. I loved every minute sitting next to him as we gently lifted up into the bluest sky. Coasting along with dad all to myself, amazed at how small everything was back on earth. He was in total control of flying us through the air.

Dad struggles to get out of the car, holding on to the door until my nephew gets the wheelchair behind him. He looks rested today and should be able to go through the museum okay. His legs will not allow him to climb steps and walk through the old planes. The stroke has left him unable to tell me stories of his flying days. His time in the Air Force or years in small planes. He can't answer my questions.

But we have each other today. Father, daughter, grandsons. Sharing our love of flying.

Last Slice

The students were gathered near the screen. I read, let the story wash over them, then scrolled down to reveal more text. They were so engaged. I led them through the usual questioning about what they noticed. Your predictions? The setting is? Vocabulary specific to the theme?

As we worked our way through the piece, I realized it was working in a unique way. They looked at my face frequently. They asked questions. They were connecting to the text in a special way.

Aha, I realized. this is the power of sharing a piece with students which you have crafted yourself for just this teaching moment. I have shared writing, but usually when I am modeling a "how to". This story was a narrative of spending time with my father. Their teacher was sharing a part of her life with them.

This I will do much more frequently. So THANKS to Ruth and Stacey for hosting us all at Two Writing Teachers. I have gained and grown as a teacher in ways I will continue to discover. And THANKS to all who have visited and read through my writings. Hope you enjoyed them as much as I have enjoyed the posts of others. It was wonderful!

I think this time of year is one of my favorites in the classroom. Spring is bringing a change, a newness. We are excitedly anticipating getting back to the Outdoor Classroom. We have projects ahead and want to observe and record what we notice.

As a teacher, this is the time of year they "get it". I met them in the fall as just-graduated third graders and they have matured into true fourth graders. We quickly move through steps of the day that initially took months of practice. Academic skills have grown and become solid. We have come together as a community.

A couple more months and they are off to fifth grade and ready for it.

Spring Break Ended Saturday Evening

Today, Sunday, was back to the routine of working life. Hours spent forming the upcoming week's lessons and repeatedly reviewing our changed schedule due to state testing.

A quick run to the grocery store to gather items--fresh coffee, fruit, croissants. Packing lunch. Deciding what quick meals for the evenings ahead.

Laundry for the outfits of the week. Some cleaning and baking bread for a gift. The routine of working life.

I'm prepared to return to the routing because of such a wonderful spring break. An enormous amount of casual time with family. Laughing, sharing, enjoying great meals.

Time to myself for reading, learning, creating. Back to the routine of working life is okay.

The Stroke

The stroke has robbed him of balance and strength.
It has stolen fluid muscle movement.
He is deprived unjustly of independence, needing others to watch over and care for him.

The stroke has pilfered sections of his mind.
It has stolen his ability to communicate all but the most basic of needs.
Plundered conversations with others in the room.

The stroke tries to cheat of us our father.
It will not steal him from us.

Parking Lot Dilemma

It happened twice today. I left the store and as I stood on the sidewalk, just outside the door, I had no idea where my car was. Do I go left? Go to the right?

I'm not that old so this shouldn't be happening due to slowing mental processes. I'm on Spring Break so my mind is relaxed. What's up here?

Of course, the whole time of wondering where the car was lasted about 4 seconds. It was really not that long.

But twice in one day caught my attention.

Finding a treasure in a least likely place.

I had rehearsed a story in my head yesterday. (Thanks to Alan over at The Writing Project, I became more aware of that rehearsal we tend to do). It was about the joy of getting together with family.

However, I was not able to make the post yesterday, due to sitting in a bar for four-and-a-half hours. One of those old wood floor, don't leave your hand on the table too long for fear of what lingers there, type of bars. But don't create the image of a broken teacher, whom the stress of the job has driven her to nurse one drink after the other, while pouring out her woes to the barkeep. I, we, were there to support my oldest step-grandson on open mic night. What an experience.

Earlier in the day, with the luxury of Spring Break, I had invited my three grown children and one's girlfriend to join me for lunch. We ate, caught up, joked, teased, waxed nostalgically and savored the time away from our usual busy schedules. As we left, a plan was made to see if we could get away, yet again today, to attend the open mic and be a part of the audience for said grandson.

Some important information is that my grandson is sixteen years old and the "band" has existed, in one form or another, for a short period of time. What was ahead for us...we did not know. But being the troopers we are and looking for a way to encourage this budding interest in music, we forged on.

With respect to my grandson, he is in that teen-age era where they frequently morph into different personae. And once again, this latest genre caught me off guard. The hair, clothing, jewelry. Underneath it all, is the same boy we've enjoyed for years. Tonight he was extremely nervous. Their first performance.

For some reason, unknown to us, they were slated for the last gig, despite his mother getting him and their equipment there by the six o'clock sign up. We had naively anticipated a seven o'clock performance and were not too upset at hearing it would be eight o'clock. Still time for those who had to work tomorrow to get home for sleep.

But then the word came that their time would be midnight. Really? Midnight for a group of kids? It is Spring Break, but come on. And on a more personal level we were thinking...What am I going to do while I wait for hours? Run an errand and return? Most were too tired to multitask. So we settled in.

Every fifteen minutes a new act performed. We watched a smorgasbord of rock, hip hop, acoustic and on and on and on. We'd look at our watches and announce just how much longer we had to wait, some anticipating a very early wake up and a long day of work. I slowly sipped a dark ale.

At the heart of it we were there to support the band, but we all experience a treasure in our coming together like this. Once again today, we took the time to talk, joke, look back, look forward, and enjoyed each others company. Maybe not the time or place of our choice, but a treasure is a treasure.

The boys performed in outfits that later in life they will look back and exclaim, "What was I thinking?" The music was surprisingly good. Very good, if you like loud guitar screeches and boys yelling. Some family and friends stood right up at the stage, seeming to be supporting them physically. I observed from the back, so proud of everyone. So very proud.