Daily Blues & Views

I spent some time this morning talking to a student teacher of mine about ice-breaker activities for high school students. A few tried and true things came to mind. It occurred to me, also, that it's possible to combine something enjoyable and that gets students moving around with a traditional diagnostic activity. Just stand back and observe the behavior and then read the responses and you'll have a fairly good idea of who you are dealing with. Of course, it's a bit more complicated than that, but often, the first few days of a class, like other new experiences in this lifetime, can be very revealing. A therapist I know once told me that often the days where someone says, "things are fine, I really don't have anything pressing to talk about" are when the most significant things surface. Not surprising, it takes time to reflect to see what surfaces. Writing is often like that too. It can start out in one direction and then something takes over. Somet...

It's back. The back to school week. The advertisements, the news stories, the letters, the editorials, the ads, the photos, the films, the ads, the sales, the interviews, the ads, the specials, the feature stories, the meetings, and the resolutions. A colleague of mine shared his new mantra with me: I will not become emotionally involved. I'm going to try that one. Anyone who knows me will no doubt find that in a few weeks it will change slightly: I will not become emotionally involved...NOT! Some things never change. Already there is a burgeoning new parents movement to opt out of standardized testing. This time it might gain a bit of traction because as one observer has noted, "parents can't be fired." Amen. I'll be supervising a handful of beginning teachers and mentoring a couple of first year teachers as well. I've noticed that when I work with novice teachers I'm careful not to get either too emotional or too cynical. I really do...

I thought that Katrina had made a difference. Perhaps people wouldn't entertain the notion that it's an enjoyable experience to ride-out a hurricane. Perhaps it's that rugged individualism we're so famous for working again. People don't like to be told what to do. Therefore they sometimes die. We see it again today as Hurricane Irene hits the Eastern Seaboard. A few scattered souls taking long walks on the beach, tempting the gale force winds to blow them around, or, as in the case of the news reporters, making some memorable television. It's a damn shame they don't listen. Or is it because they have no idea. Maybe they don't watch the news, catch the weather report, or even bother to look at whatever electronic device they tote around talking and texting, and otherwise fondling. Rather ironic that in this age of technology, it makes no difference for some people. In the Northwest, we see a simple phenomena with the local lakes, rivers and mo...

Crows can be scary. Perhaps that's why a large group is called a murder of crows rather than a gaggle, as in geese. But even though they can be intimidating, especially in large numbers, they really are quite entertaining. Very intelligent too. Every night around dusk, a rather large number of crows begins to settle in. They spend about an hour circling some large elm trees in my neighborhood. They squawk and caw all the while, until a decision about which tree and which branch will do is made. Then with the dark comes the quiet. They rise early too. Sometimes, when I arise before 6 a.m. I hear them begin their day. It's not quite like their evening routine, but they're easily heard. Throughout the day they continue to entertain. In my neck of the woods it doesn't help that one of my neighbors feels it her duty to throw crackers and bread all over the roof of her garage from time to time. They descend fussing with each other, taking off in all directions...

Is there something that you really want to do? Is it a something that you do not have complete control over because it takes more than just will? Do you sometimes think, I hope this happens before my time is gone? For me, that something became a reality yesterday. Exhale now because we're not talking about world shaking events here. Not even what most folks would call significant or morally uplifting, or even mildly important. No, none of these. But for me, all of them. Yesterday I caught a brown trout. Actually I caught two. First time for me. As a flay fisher, I have always wanted to complete the cycle and catch all four kinds: rainbow, cutthroat, brook and brown trout. The brown trout has eluded me all these years. Probably because you have to go where they are and even then, as always, there is not guarantee. OK good for me...I did it. But there is more. The reason I'm overjoyed is that this accomplishment carried with it a few other things. Here's wh...

My writing group is called The Guttery and it's aptly named. We really cut and slash. Everyone in the group, myself included, would tell you it takes a thick skin but that in the end, we are all better writers for the process. Last night I submitted two poems. The feedback went as expected. Both were re-writes and one was much more appealing than the other. I think with a few minor adjustments, my poem for my father-in-law's caregiver, Aster, is ready to meet the world. It's the other one that's problematic. About six months ago I decided to write something from a teacher's point of view. I wanted it to be something that was both literary and provocative. So I decided to write a sestina. You may know that a sestina is a particular form of poetry that has repeated words or ideas and adheres to a precise rhyme scheme or form. Should have known that wouldn't work for me. Still, I persevered. I took some key words to express key ideas that focus on th...

The horses at Portland Meadows are slower than most. But they kick just as fast and just as hard. Perhaps that's a comforting thought because Charlynn Takeda never knew that morning would be her last. She never knew her death would be as quick as Secretariat could run the Derby or Native Diver could spread out a field in his wake. She was just standing there by the hot walker when that loose horse blew by. A loose horse on the back side of a race track is sheer terror. If she'd known he was running unbridled, I wouldn't be writing this now. But she didn't and her death was one swift kick and ironically, painless. Portland Meadows is sad enough without this happening. And Jerry and Charlynn were the hardscrabble kind in a most unforgiving sport. They loved the life and now have paid the ultimate with death. We don't know the name of the horse. We only know that Jerry insisted he not be put down. Jerry feels badly for the owners, the trainer, the gr...