Grandmom’s Porch

Grandmom’s Porch

Time stands still on grandmom’s porch, and the door is always open. The rhythmic glide of the glider, the hum of the fan wobbling in its orbit, the fresh scent of the nearby honeysuckle all serve to stop the clock.

The burdens that ocassionally weight on the minds of its visitors somehow seem to disappear on the porch. Oh, they may be thought about, maybe even talked about, but someow they don’t seem quite as heavy on the proch.

It can be noisy on the Grandmom’s porch. Birthday parties, cookouts, game nights. Grandchildren playing. Aunts and Uncles laughing. Everyone talking.

It can be quiet on the porch – whether sitting alone or sharing secret thoughs with a loved one.

work in progress . . .

Response to Ethnographic Eyes: Chapter 1 – An Ethnographic Perspective

This chapter gives words to the informal observations that I make all the time: every classroom in different; every teacher is different; and each “community” of learners is different, too. This, in part, makes the observation responsibilities of my role at school so interesting. What is chaos to one is simply cooperative learning at its best to another. What is rigorous order to one is simply guided structure to another.

I find the ethnographic observation discussion both interesting and challenging. Let’s face it, educators are evaluative. As a matter of fact, we get paid to make evaluations – they’re called report cards. So it becomes a part of our nature. We infer, discern, analyze, observe, critique, review, scrutinize, and assess – all for the purpose of making evaluations. To enter a classroom for an observation and set aside the critical thinking could be a challenge. I’ll be anxious to try!

I’m reminded of two educational notions. One is theory and one is practice. In the hierarchy of Bloom’s Taxonomy of Cognitive Development the first level of development is knowledge followed by understanding, application, analysis, ect. The ethnographic observation, in my view, reminds me of the knowledge level of this paradigm. It is just a detailed description of the facts including the words spoken and the actions taken. Almost like a courtroom stenographer recording only what is said. Upon reflection and perhaps follow-up interviews understanding and analysis would occur leading to a synthesis of all that was seen and heard and culminating in an evaluation. Depending on the purpose of the observation, this evaluation could be something as formal as a narrative report or as simple as an informed opinion.

Pragmatically, the Notetaking/Notemaking idea reminds me of the strategy known as Learning Logs whereby a piece of paper is divided vertically into two parts. One part, usually the left hand side, is designated as the notetaking side (just the facts). The other side is where connections, questions, reflections, and interpretations about what was seen and heard can be notated.

I can see that an ethnographer’s perspective in a classroom would facilitate the reconstructing of the events and allow time for reflection before quick evaluations are made. This would allow the observer to both enter into the “culture” of the classroom for the purpose of seeing and listening from various perspectives. I think this is a valid form of observation for the student who aspires to be a teacher, colleagues who desire validation or a different perspective, administrators who need to enter into the various learning communities from time to time, and even for personal evaluation. I do think, however, that it would be more challenging to make the detailed observations required in ethnography in my own classroom while I’m teaching without the use of audio or visual aides. There are too many variables vying for attention.

Dear Matthew,

I started thinking about you on a Monday.  It was the Monday before Thanksgiving.  The phone rang as I stood in my office explaining the logistics of taking twenty-one six year olds grocery shopping at Wal-Mart to purchase holiday groceries for a family in need.  We were leaving in five minutes.  I was busy.  “Mom! Guess what?”  It was your mother.  “I just got a call about a baby boy who’s due at the end of January.  He needs a family, and they want to know if Ben and I are interested.”

I couldn’t talk to your mother at that time, so I encouraged her not to get her hopes up,  assured her of my prayers, and with a promise of a return call - we hung up.   I stepped unto the school bus with a smile in my heart and I’m sure on my face.  I knew that in the time it took me to walk out of the school and on to the bus, your mom had your name picked, your nursery decorated, and started your college fund.  She might have even had your wife picked out.  Were they interested?  That had to have been a rhetorical question not requiring the first thought, much less an answer. 

Your mom and dad had been trying to start a family, but God in His wisdom, goodness, and love was allowing them to wait.  It’s always hard to wait for something you desperately want.  We know now that we were all waiting for you.

January was just two months away, and adoption takes time.  Is usually takes a long time.  Some people wait for years.  Some people wait forever.  We only had two months.  Two months to get a home study to see if your parents were good enouigh for such a precious baby as you.  Two months to gather the necessary funds to secure your adoption.  Two months to gather the many things that you would need, to plan and prepare for the trip to get you, and to fulfill the endless details for an out-of-state adoption.  Your mom rolled up her sleeves and worked tirelessly to make a way for you to be in our family.  All the while our love for you was being rooted deeply in the soil of our hearts.  We thought about you, talked about you, and we prayed for you. 

Right before Christmas our hearts broke in sorrow when an insurmountable obstacle threated to block your adoption.  Your mother grieved for you.  Right after Christmas our hearts soared with joy when the obstacle was removed.  It was an exciting time, a time filled with joy, anticipation, and anxiety.  We were waiting for our precious baby boy to be born.   

Miriam’s Musings

As I reflect upon our sojourn through the wilderness those memorable years long ago, my people, myself included, had many fearful times.  Times of hunger, times of thirst, times of punishmnet for disobedience.  But when I think of that day, that unbelievable, indescribable day, my heart explodes at the memory.

We had hardly recovered from our ordeal in Egypt.  The oppressive bondage, the fateful plagues, the anguish of death, the joyous deliverance.  The pillar of cloud that led us out from under our burdens in Egypt led us straight into the wilderness and eventually to the brink of the Red Sea.

Good name, Red Sea.  It was a smoldering fire when the sun’s rays put a light blanket on the water at night.  Thankfully we stopped at its edge to rest and to refresh from our hasty three-day journey.

I never realized there were so many of us.  Spread out in our homes in the land of Goshen - it didn’t seem so, but now if we lined up one-hundred people wide, we would be fifty miles long!  We were hardly nomads roaming about the desert, we were a nation on the move.  I think Moses said there were almost three mililion of us.  Of course, we didn’t line up.  We wandered.  Wandered through the wilderness.

I knew something was wrong.  The fearful cries rippled through the miltitude until they crested in a wave of despair!  I lifted my eyes, and BEHOLD!  The Egyptian soldiers were coming!  Egyptians, chariots, horses, and horsemen.  Their cries of war matched our cries of fear as they came closer and closer.  I nearly died of fear, which might have been an easier death than either the watery grave or the brutal attack that promised to destroy us. 

Moses.  Where was Moses?  I kept hearing his name being called out by the people.  “Why did you lead us out of Egypt to die?  Were their not enough graves for us there?  Didn’t we tell you we’d rather serve the Egyptians than die at their hand?”

My only other thoughts, beside my arresting fears, were for my poor brother.  We were caught, trapped like animals in a hunter’s snare, and it was all his fault. 

Moses’ voice lifted like an angry father shouting at his children.  “Fear not,” he said.  “Stand still!”  Fear not?  Stand still?  “Yes, fear not, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord which He will show to you today.  For the Egyptians whom ye have seen today, ye shall see them again no more for ever.  The Lord shall fight for you, and you shall hold your peace.”

The cloud that was in front leading now moved behind, and it became a wall dividing us from the Egyptians.  They didn’t see us, and we didn’t see them.  The wall provided relief from the know and fear from the unknown.

Then Moses lifted up his rod, the same rod that had become a snake, the same rod that would later coax water from a rock, he lifted it up and stretched out his hand over the sea.  Suddenly, a strong east wind began to blow.  As I look back, I can hardly believe the words that I now commit to parchment.  Had I not been there myself and walked on the dry sea bed, I would not yet believe.

The waters began to roll back from the top of the sea to the bottom as if a curtain were being drawn open.  The water became a wall on either side.  After a long, fearful night of howling winds, Moses led us down.  Deep down into the floor of the Red Sea.  You would expect the ground to be wet and the walk to be labored because of the marshy terrain, but it wasn’t.  The ground was miraculously dry!  I know it’s unbelievable to the unbelieving.  I stand as a testimony of God’s miraculous protection from our enemies as we crossed the vast sea that day.

But not so for our Egyptian pursuers.  As the last Hebrew climbed out of the ocean floor, Moses again stretched forth his hand over the waters that seemed to burst with a desire to flow, and the walls came crashing down upon the Egyptians . . . their chariots . . . their horses . . . and their horsemen.

I can still hear their deafening cries.  I can still see their bodies tangled amongst the horses and between the chariots.  I shudder, even now.

I feared that day.  And I certainly didn’t stand still.   But I saw the salvation of the Lord.

“Thus the Lord saved me that day out of the hand of the Egyptians; and I saw the Egyptians dead upon the seashore.  And I saw the great work which the Lord did upon the Egyptians; and I feared the Lord, and believed the Lord,” and his servant, my brother, Moses

The Race Is On!

The Race is On!

Have you heard the story about the tortoise and the hare?

It’s about a race, that really wasn’t fair.

 You see, the turtle was  s-l-o-w, he couldn’t go fast,

But the rabbit . . .she’s a whiz!

The lot was cast.

The sun was bright, and everyone was there.

To watch the race between the tortoise and the hare,

To watch the race between the tortoise and the hare. 

The gun went off (BANG)!

the race had begun.

The turtle started to . . .walk . . .

            the rabbit started to —run —-

It wasn’t very long before the hare was out of sight,

but the turtle lumbered on with all his might,

Yes, the turtle lumbered on with all his might. 

By and by, the rabbit grew weary.  Her legs were tired,

            and her eyes were dreary.

She saw a tree, she felt a breeze,

            and before you know it she was sawing zzzzzzzz’s

You could hear her far and wide, she was sawing zzzzzzz’s. 

But the turtle, he was faithful

            he never did stop.

He put one foot after the other . . . plop . . . plop . . . plop.

He never looked back.

He never retracted.

He kept his eyes on the goal,

And he never got distracted.

His eyes were on the goal, and he never got distracted. 

One – more – hill!

They’re on the last stretch!

The turtle was winning,

            it was so far fetched!

The crowed was surprised as the turtle drew near.

They stood to their feet, and they started to cheer!

Yes they clapped and the shouted as they started to cheer!

So you see, dear friends, when you have a job to do,

Even if it’s hard, the Lord will see you through.

Ask Him for His help, and depend upon His care

Learn this lesson from the turtle – not the hare! 

Speaking of the rabbit, where did she go?

I hoped she learned her lesson – You reap what you sow.

You see the hare is still asleep, as comfy as you please

Back under the shade tree, sawing zzzzzz’s.

She’s still under the shade tree, sawing zzzzzz’s.           

Multigenre on Multigenre: Response to a Demonstration

 Biocrostic Poem  

Many forms of writing about the same topic

Unconventional ways to research and assimilate information

Letters written to an unknown recipient as a vehicle to solve problems

Television commercials crafted to promote an idea

Interviews transcribed to communicate a message

Greeting cards designed to encourage or comfort historical figures

Essays composed with thought and rigor

Newsletters produced to send a message

Reviews of books fashioned to promote an author or his work

Eyewitness accounts made up to lend credibility to an event

  Top Ten List for Using Multigenre in the Content Areas . . .  

10.       You get to make stuff up and call it research

  9.       You can make Betsy Ross an alien and call it science fiction text

  8.       You can boss people around and call it a memo

  7.       You can submit entry words like duckorchuck to Marriam-Webster

  6.       You can interview Paris Hilton right from her jail cell

  5.       You can be a sphere and write about your marriage to a cone

  4.       You can give Dear Abby a run for her money

  3.       You can write your own obituary

  2.       You can tell tall tales and not get in trouble for lying

  1.       You can tell people off and call it a monologue.

 

Monologue 

As a monologue I’d like to say that I’m happy to me.   I get to express myself and my innermost feelings without the restrictions that hinder such formats as cinquains, haiku, or diamantes. Who wants to count syllables,  parts of speech or numbered lines?   I can be as long or as short as I want.  I can express complete thoughts.   I’m not hindered by quotations marks like the dialogue or by prescribed letters like the biocrostic poem.  I like the freedom afforded to me by my format.  Of all the different ways to share my voice, I am far superior to my multigenre counterparts. 

I just want to be me . . . albeit ever so humble.  

Eyewitness Account/Interview 

Brian O’Gibson:          Everyone is buzzing about what happened today at

                                    the Marshall University Writing Project.  You were there,

                                    Kathy, give us a glimpse.

Kathy:                         Well,  Brian O’Gibson, it was amazing.  I’ve never seen

                                    anything like it.  Teachers from all grade levels and content

                                    areas were sitting around in little circles, writing!

Brian O’Gibson:          What’s so amazing about that, Kathy?  I thought all teachers

                                    wrote on occasion.

Kathy:                         We do write, Brian O’Gibson, but it’s usually things like

notes to parents, report card comments, detention slips, lesson plans, request for personal days – you know – the functional writing things.  This was different.  This was multigenre.

Brian O’Gibson:          Multi- what? 

Producer in earpiece: Brian, can she say that on live television?

Kathy:                         Multigenre.  It’s a technique of writing that is somewhat unconventional – especially when it’s used as research in              history           or science or as a way to communicate               mathematical concepts like place value.  It can even be used to hold conversations between  animate and inanimate objects like a bench press and an arm muscle.  It’s 

amazing!

Brian O’Gibson:          How did the teachers happen upon this phenomenon that sent their

                                    pens scratching.

Kathy:                         Oh, it was Ian.  Quiet, thoughtful, insightful, Ian.  He opened our eyes to the possibilities.

Brian O’Gibson:          What exactly did Ian tell you?

Kathy:                         He said we could write about Mr. Cartoon and his friend,

                                    Beeper, using formats like essays, dialogues, found poems,

                                    monologues, and Haiku.

Brian O’Gibson:          Hi – what? Mr. Who?

 Producer in earpiece: I don’t think she can say that on live television either, Brian.  Let’s cut to a commercial. 

Brian O’ Gibson:         Thank you, Kathy, for that inside look on the 4^th floor of Corbly Hall.  This has been a live exclusive from the campus . . .

Kathy:                         Did I mention cinquains . . .

Brian O’Gibson:          of Marshall University . . .

Kathy:                         And oh!  I can’t forget diamantes . . .

Brian O’Gibson:          . . . on the 4^th floor of Corbly Hall.  You heard it here first folks. 

Kathy:                         Op-eds!

Producer outloud:       CUT! 

  I Am  

I am multigenre

I wonder if teachers will remember me in the fall

I hear positive comments about my attributes

I see endless possibilities for students

I want to be loved and embraced

I am multigenre

     

Dear Mike,

Dear Mike,

You missed an excellent lesson today in third space.  Diane Fette from Enslow Middle School came to our class to enlighten us about how to evaluate a Website to determine its validity.  She gave us a handout that had helpful information about domains and what the different extensions mean.  She also told us which ones were more likely to be considered valid.  We played a vocaublary development game that helped us learn different words associated with the internet.  It was fun, and it made learning fun.  We even got to write our own domain address!  Mine was www.grammie.com.  It wasn’t very creative, I know, but I just couldn’t think of anything at the time.  (I think I’m missing my grandbabies).  Robin’s was funny.  I don’t remember exactly what it was, but it was a play on words that basically said she was ready to go on vacation to Key West.  We wrote a diamante poem, too. Angela and I worked together.  Here’s what ours said:

Bogus

phoney, fake

misleading, deceiving, tricking

facade, synthetic, diamond, truth

truthtelling, helping, supporting

trustworthy, honest

valid

The word that Angela constribted to both our poem and the group poem was facade.  It was chosen as the best word, and she even won a prize!  I was proud to know her. 

Well, I’d better go.  We need to look on three different websites and do an exit slip before we can call it a day.  I hope to see you tomorrow.  Try to be here if you can.  This letter does not to justice to the experience that you would have had if you had been here.

Sincerely,

Kathy

Technology and Research

1.  How can the technology do your research for you?  In what ways do you feel that the technology will change how you and your students use information?

The technology can search and limit the research that is available thus helping me to work smart.  Knowledge of the search engines and their usage will eqiup me to find useful information in a timely manner.  My students are very young and do not do extensive research, but my school has Leadership Forums where topics such as effective research is addressed.  After further purusal of the information shared today, I hope to be able to keep up and possibly even contribute.

2.  How would you use these databases with your kids?

I would use these databases in the Student Leadership Forums and in Staff Development since I teach first grade .   I do think first grade students can search and research on the internet.

My Writing Process

Sometimes I think a long time before I put a pencil to piece of paper.  Sometimes I write the first thing that comes to my mind.  I like to write when my mind is free to concentrate on nothing else – the tyranny of the urgent makes those times rare .  As a result – I write when I have to, when I can carve out time.  I love special pens, and I like nice journals.  I mostly write from my personal experiences, the lessons that I have learned, the lessons that I’d like to share with others.  Oftentimes I have to do professional writing.  This taxes both of my brain cells, and then I find myself shying away from personal writing.  Honestly, writing is like exercise.  I know I should do it, I know the benefits of it, I wish I did more of it, but somehow . . . desire, motivation, and time seldom come together at the moment.

Response to Raw Materials for the Mind by Warlick

No time to retool.  That is cited as a barrier to the restructuring of schools that include new economic and social envrionments.  What teacher couldn’t relate to that barrier?  Planning and creating lessons, teaching lessons, evaluating student achievement, documenting student achievement, communicating student achievement, creating and maintaining a learning environment, keeping abreast of changing content as well as current educational research, enhancing pedagogy, methodology, techniques and strategies not to mention relating to people – students, parents, peers, and administration.  It’s a demanding job.  I agree that staying abreast of the information infrastructure and the technology that facilitates that virtual world is a frustrating challenge.  Have you ever heard the term technology stress?  I personnaly have it, and so do other immigrant teachers that I know.  Technology is wonderful when it helps my do my job.  It’s a frustration when it hinders me from doing my job.  It’s a love/hate relationship.  When I’m unable to accomplish a task related to technology, I always wonder . . . is the problem me, the hardware or the software?  I assume it’s me, but it’s sometimes gratifying to discover that it’s not always me.  It’s a stark object lesson in the need to establish and develop a  student’s prior knowledge before trying to teach anything knew.