Doc Z's graduation speech--based on my independent reading for this semester

On February 8 of this year, just as I was finishing up a yoga class, my husband burst into the studio with three words, “Sarah. Your dad.” Thus began a furious drive to the emergency room at a hospital in Westminster, where I arrived a half hour after he was gone, greeted by my mom and brother, and the three of us “clung to each other, crying for dad, the man we loved” as Helen Macdonald described a similar scene in her book H is for Hawk, a memoir about the sudden loss of her own father.

Since that evening, grief has been my new constant companion. It has affected my cognitive ability, as Joan Didion describes in The Year of Magical Thinking. There have been days where thinking anything of substance has been impossible. It has left me swimming in memories in photographs--my own version of Didion’s “vortex effect.” I spent the first few weeks after his death going through literally every single photo of my father that I could find and wove them--all 1000 of them--into a photo slide show for family and friends. In this way, I think I was doing what Elizabeth Alexander described as her purpose for writing about her husband in The Light of the World: “And so I write to fix him in place, to pass time in his company, to make sure I remember, even though I know I will never forget.” Looking at the photos kept Dad close, made memories salient, allowed me to hold on to him though he was just so suddenly gone.

I sought to make sense of the hole. In my world, my dad had always been terra firma as Elizabeth Alexander describes the role parents play-- "terra firma, to stand, to be planted in the earth” like a 100-year-old oak tree that stands through storms that knock down most other trees. Though Dad’s presence had changed in recent years due to his Parkinson's-related condition, the fact that he was there was resolute. Though a lot of things in my life have shifted in my nearly 43 years, the existence of my father was constant, assured, reliable. I am Sarah and my father is Ted Zerwin. This was a truth never to be questioned. Terra firma.

Until it wasn't anymore.

The loss was “obliterative,” as Didion describes, “dislocating to both body and mind.” She explains that “grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it.” And that has been true for me. Following the shock of the loss, and long after the funeral is over, Didion describes an “unending absence that follows, a void.” That’s where I am right now, trying to understand it, trying to wrap my head around what it means that my father is gone. How do I move forward carrying such loss?

Macdonald explains what she learned in the wake of her father’s death: “You see that life will become a thing made of holes. Absences. Losses. Things that were there and are no longer. And you realise, too, that you have to grow around and between the gaps.” Yes--holes, absences, losses. These are part of human life. We love and then there is loss. How do we grow around and between the gaps? Love. More of it. Kindness. Patience with ourselves and others. Gratitude. For Macdonald, this lesson came in training Mabel, the hawk she adopted following her father’s death. Only through love, patience, kindness, and gratitude was she able to forge an authentic connection with the hawk. This helped her to grow around and between the gaps of her loss.

Alexander said of her husband’s death: “I could not have kept [his] death from happening, and from happening to us. It happened; it is part of who we are; it is our beauty and our terror. We must be gleaners from what life has set before us.” We love and then there is loss. And what I glean from my loss are the lessons my father taught me: love boldly, give unsparingly, seek to make a difference in the lives of others. And though the grief will never leave, people tell me it will get easier to carry.

Short Story Awesomeness

Your short stories are seriously awesome. I'm glad now I'm not the only one who gets to read them...

They tell me I am happy (Dakota S, 3rd)

With a sooty rag he scrubbed away at the filmy glass, and sneezed a few times in the process. (Alex W, 6th) 

“Finding where you belong in this world is one of the most difficult things we face as humans.” It’s written on the wall above my head, I don’t know who wrote it but it’s been there longer than I have. I always thought it was written by one of the Firsts. (Ethan K, 6th)

He had now been walking the basement for hours. (Jack B, 3rd)

A sigh escapes her. A breath of fog appears on the window, clouding the morning. With trembling fingers, she removes the key from the ignition. A beat, a pause, and she sits, her fingers clenched around the solidity. (Annabel N, 1st)

I looked out my window to see my grandma sitting in the back of a red convertible with hot red flames painted across the sides. (Ben G, 1st)

It was November of 2006. She woke up to the bright glimmers of the snow slowly seeping through her window. Friday, she thought to herself. It’s Friday. Something was tugging at her. She couldn’t put her finger on it. (Molly S., 3rd)

Once upon a time there was a girl named Victoria. Wait, let me start over. The beginning is used in fairy tales and this isn't close to one. (Karina R, 6th)

The kiddos loved drawing so damn much that they started anunderground Draw Club.
1st rule of Draw Club, Don’t talk about Draw Club
2nd rule of Draw Club, (You get the joke) (Dan W, 6th)

It’s high noon in a small, generic western town.  (Robert C, 3rd)

He winked at me as I boarded the train and passed through the men’s section to the back of the bus where my wife was waiting for me. (Hannah K, 3rd)

Today, I found a cave. Not just any cave. This one is darker than anything I have seen in my life. (Keenan D, 6th)

Liz had been alone for ten months now. (Jordan R, 1st)

All the readings seemed normal, I thought as I recorded my findings into the database. My cat, Meep, meowed next to my feet, begging for food. (Ginger B, 1st)

New York pulsed in the morning, sirens its pacemaker, its arteries more congested than Paula Deen’s. (Daniel I, 6th)

Anybody would have pinned him as just a tourist walking down the streets of Spain. (Robert W, 3rd)

As the day begins, Mike awakes from all his sneaker boxes collapsing and his alarm clock going off continuously. (Francisco A, 6th)

They left me. 
The mothership took off with my brothers and sisters and they just left me behind. (Josh B, 3rd)

You open your eyes, a bright stark white rapidly engulfed by pitch black nothingness.  (Rodrigo G, 1st)

About two decades ago the Kingdom found its new bounty and it came in the form of a new dimension through a door in the ruins of the city of Obscurity.   (Gaurav B, 1st)

There was no light in her eyes. She stared pointedly at the table. Even her tears were long gone. (Haley Rae, 1st)

On one half of the world the day was perfectly fine; on the other the night was one of the most peaceful one could hope for.  (Will B, 6th)

Blog Carnival #2: My First Car

This is my first car, a 1982 Oldsmobile Firenza that I named "Burner." 

Don't laugh. 

It was as stick shift so I felt like a race car driver. 

It had a little orange light on the dash that would light up and say "shift" when it was time to shift to the next gear. I hated that light. I covered it with an "Abolish Apartheid" sticker so that instead of telling me to shift all the time, my car would light up to make a political statement instead. (South Africa officially abolished apartheid in 1991, btw--I'm sure it was all because of my car). 

And even though I never would have chosen the color, or the family four-door styling, I loved this car. It was my freedom. 

My wheels. 

It's decorated here for homecoming of my senior year at Northglenn High School (not sure why I wrote "NGHS" on my car when Northglenn is clearly one word, so NHS?). 

This is the car that terrified me until I figured out the clutch. All it took was my brother John taking me for one driving lesson after my mom had tried to explain to me how the clutch worked. Her explanation did not work. John's did. 

This is the car that used to take me on afternoon adventures where I would point at the mountains and just drive west from Westminster until I hit them (ended up in Eldorado Canyon one day doing that). 

This is the car that went on Slurpee runs and through the drive through at Taco Bell umpteen times for taco salads and bean burritos. 

This is the car that used to drive too fast through the abandoned drive-in movie theater, catching air on the little hills that you would park your car on so your seats would be appropriately reclined for viewing the screen (don't tell my parents I did that, k?). 

This is the car I got my one and only speeding ticket in. The car I wrecked (totaled actually, but we fixed it anyhow--see you can't even tell in this picture, can you?). (Okay, so maybe 16 was my worst year of driving--totally safe since then). 

This is the car that Jeremy borrowed on homecoming afternoon so he could pick me up to take me to dinner and to the dance (after he spread rumors that I said I didn't want to go to homecoming with him anymore because he didn't have a car himself) (I DID NOT say that). 

This is the car that lost its muffler when I went over train tracks too fast trying to find Paris on the Platte (again, the year of 16). 

This is the car I sat in after my junior year spring band concert where I found out I had been selected as drum major for senior year--I turned on the radio and "I wish It Would Rain" by Phil Collins came on, and I knew it was a sign from the universe that my senior band season was going to rock (we had taken state sophomore year in the rain, so the rain had kind of become this thing for us). (see the photo below for evidence of how we did indeed rock our senior season)

This is the car the trumpet section blocked in totally--like completely surrounded with cars on all sides--after marching band practice one day while the color guard captain and I were talking with the band director. They blocked in her car too, and none of the perpetrators were anywhere to be seen to move their cars. We were stuck. So we pushed Paul Teddy's Jeep onto the baseball field and I think somehow locked it behind a gate? How did we do that?

This is the car that I drove in with the windows down and the music blasting on summer nights--cool night air my companion as I drove home by curfew. 

This is the car that stalled out on me at the Quebec street exit off of 270 one frigid below zero December night. The heat wasn't working either, and I had just driven from Boulder, and I was dressed for the ballet that I was going to with Becca (no boots, no warm socks...). I thought I was going to freeze there on the shoulder of the exit ramp, but somehow I got it to start again and limp along for another couple of miles, which was far enough to get me where I was going. 

This is the car that took me to college. 

This is the car I sadly had to say goodbye to in 1994, replaced by a white Ford Escort named "Snoopy." What an annoying car--but I won't complain. My parents handed me the title when I graduated from college. It never once broke down on me (not even when the tires were horribly worn and Snoopy was loaded down with all my worldly possessions as I moved from Missoula to Seattle in 1996--not sure how the tires didn't explode on me on that drive). 

I miss that car. 

color guard captains Keri and Beth, drum major me, drum captain Eric, holding our state championship swag

doing my drum major thing

So it Goes; let's be kind to one another: Blog Carnival #1 (6th)

Dear Sam, Stefan, Michelle, and Karina,

Sam and Stefan, you both wrote about So it Goes. For Stefan it captures how he has dealt with a personal loss. And Stefan, your story helps to illustrate why it's so important to treasure our time and make the most of it, as Sam has now figured out.

Michelle and Karina--you both wrote about dogs. Michelle volunteers every weekend to help take care of the dogs at the Humane Society. And Karina's story about how she lost her dog, Princess, is heartbreaking.

All of these posts remind us that we need more kindness in our world, as you say, Michelle.

Thank you, all four of you, for your stories and for making meaningful connections to Slaughterhouse Five. You've provided some thoughtful things for us to think about today in this first Blog Carnival.

Most sincerely,

Doc Z

Along The Road, good guys/bad guys, love, fear, happiness, and sharing your leftovers: Blog Carnival #1 (1st Hour)

The Road is getting you all to some very interesting thinking about your research.

Let me explain. Sophie wonders, is it easier to be a good guy or a bad guy? For Tatiana, fear and love work together--and fear of losing someone she loves crippled her once. Read her post for the story. Izzy G writes of her grandfather, and the powerful example he was to her of unconditional love. Ginger's post will make you wonder about what you would do if a homeless person asked you for your Cheesecake Factory leftovers. Would you share? If not, why not? Niraj makes the point that sometimes the best option is NOT going out with your friends. He chooses to stay in some times, but he doesn't worry about missing out. He has good reasons. Happiness might be the ultimate thing that drives us, according to Izze B. Kyle's post reveals the lengths he goes to for love. Would you give up your morals because of fear? Read Tony's post to ponder that. Sienna is trying to figure out what it's all about--life, that is. I bet some of you are on a similar path. Emma ponders fear of strangers.

What does this all of to do with The Road? A lot. I guess you'll have to read to see how. Don't forget to leave comments to respond--share your own stories, ask questions, explain where you connect with your classmates' ideas. Have fun at your first blog carnival!

Strength, water, fears, kindness, Star Wars, and staying alive on the Road: Blog Carnival #1 (3rd hour)

(a host post poem)

Being alive
is the most difficult challenge
we all face (Haley).

Do you agree?

Or do you fear
being average? (Reci).

What's inside of the VCR-- (Collin)
Cars, airplanes, Eqypt, or Star Wars
perhaps.

You have the strength
to survive zombies. (Mitch)

But maybe not
if you don't have water. (Josh B)

Kindness is weakness? (Karen)

All things to ponder along The Road.

(and Molly's)

Doc Z's Inform/Explain

High school English teachers often do not agree about whether teachers should choose books for students to read or whether students should choose their own texts to read. Generally, teachers who think students should choose their own reading material attach this approach to a desire toward maximum student engagement in reading. Those who think teachers should choose what books students read generally refer to the concept of the literary canon and the importance of students getting certain literary content, to understand literary movements and to tap into the cultural knowledge that great works of literature contain. I can see the draw of both of these approaches and ultimately want to figure out, who should choose the books students read for school, students or their teachers? 

In "Who Should Decide What High School Kids Are Allowed to Read?" Rob Kunzig uses the example of an award-winning young adult book banned by a school board to pose the question about who should decide what books students read in school. Kunzig explains that the book in question, Emily Danforth's Cameron Post, shocked parents when it showed up on a summer reading list because of its profanity and sexual content in its story about a lesbian growing up in rural Montana. The author suggests that even though the board cited the book's language as the reason for not endorsing its use as an option on a reading list for incoming freshmen, the board was actually reacting to the content and how it challenged beliefs held by the adults in the community. The author illustrates that there was some dissent on the school board by quoting one board member: "'It would have been so helpful to me,' says board member Roni Posner--who, like Cameron Post, wrestled with her sexuality as a teenager. She says she understands why the book would rattle the more conservative members of the community: 'It's untraditional. But it's a very real, very honest book, and it's a very important book.'" According to Kunzig, this lead to controversy between the school board and the American Civil Liberties Union's Delaware chapter. This controversy has actually brought more attention to the book and more sales of it, explains Kunzig. 

In "The Percy Jackson Problem," Rebecca Mead quotes Neal Gaiman's premise that there isn't "such a thing as a bad book for children," and that "Fiction is a 'gateway drug' to reading" but then questions this idea. She focuses her reflection on the Percy Jackson series, a retelling essentially of classic stories from mythology. She explains that whereas many students would more likely choose Riordan's series over a more traditional take on mythology, this does not mean that books such as Riordan's will lead young readers to a more literary reading life. She cautions, "But the metaphor of the gateway should prompt caution, too, since one can go through a gate in two directions." She worries that young readers will be enticed toward wanting more reading of the same ilk, rather than directing readers toward the classics of literature. 

In "Start a Reading Revolution: Flip Your Classroom with Blogs," AP Literature teacher Brian Sztabnik presents feedback from his students suggesting that they were not actually reading the books he assigned to them in class. He presents flipping the classroom as a solution for this problem. He describes the conventional understanding of the flipped classroom: "students watch online lectures at home so that they can engage in project-based learning during the school day." But Sztabnik explains that this model of flipping is not a perfect match for a reading classroom. But, he goes on, if flipping means that you bring into class the work that students typically do at home, then for an AP literature class, that means bringing reading into the classroom rather than having students complete it on their own at home. So he gave over many class days to reading in class and asked students to choose their texts. He asked students to blog each evening about the reading that they did in class that day. Sztabnik claims that this classroom flip created engaged, excited, empowered readers like he had never seen before. 

Kunzig‘s piece places importance on students being able to choose books that will help them figure out their identities, something that might not be possible if teachers are telling them what to read. But Mead worries that students will not choose to challenge themselves with the classics if left to their own in choosing books to read. Sztabnik seems to balance both of these viewpoints. His AP Literature students choose what to read on their own, but within a certain selection of possible texts, the sort that the College Board recommends in their curriculum materials for AP Lit. According to Sztabnik, this approach (students choosing what they read, giving over ample class time to reading, and having students blog about their reading for each other) has lead to more engaged readers who are also interacting with the “classics” and preparing for the AP Lit exam. 

I’m certain that there are some perspectives missing here--I need to search wider to be able to articulate more fully the conversation about who should choose the books for high school students to read. And ultimately, I lean toward a balanced approach. There is balance in the whole class reading the same book together at the same time, even having the teacher select that text for the class specifically. But I don’t think this should be the entirety of students’ reading experiences in school. They should make some choices about their reading material. And the teacher should help them navigate those choices so that they end up with books that challenge them as readers and human beings. 


Works Cited

Kunzig, Rob. "Who Should Decide What High School Kids Are Allowed to Read?" The Atlantic. N.p., 5 Sept. 2014. Web. 12 Nov. 2014.  <http://www.theatlantic.com/education/archive/2014/09/ who-should-decide-what-high-school-kids-read/379609/>.

Mead, Rebecca. "The Percy Jackson Problem." The New Yorker. N.p., 22 Oct. 2014. Web. 12 Nov. 2014. <http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/ percy-jackson-problem>. 

Sztabnik, Brian. "Flipped Classroom: Start a Reading Revolution: Flip Your Classroom with Blogs." Edutopia. George Lucas Educational Foundation, 17 Oct. 2014. Web. 3 Nov. 2014. <http://www.edutopia.org/blog/ flip-ela-class-with-blogs-brian-sztabnik>.



Writer’s memo: This went fine. I do think my research is not wide enough yet and I have more work to do for the research paper. This slice of workshop teaching will be a part of my overall argument about workshop teaching, but I’m not sure if this will actually be a part of my persuasive argument research paper. Still trying to think that out.

The Bad Dot

I don’t want to tell you how embarrassed I was.

When they parked their car (a small, orange hatchback) about a half a block away and walked up behind us, I was mortified when my mom turned around and asked them what they were doing. Any high school age kid was by definition way cooler than I felt as an awkward 8th grader. Please mom, don’t embarrass me in front of these two unknown teenage boys who appeared on the sidewalk right behind us.

I don’t want to tell you about how they walked through us (my grandfather, my aunt, my mom and I on a walk around the block after Thanksgiving dinner, 1986), walked ahead of us a few paces, then turned around and came back.

I don’t want to tell you about how the force of his hand on my face knocked me to the ground.

I wouldn’t tell you if I was screaming, but I can’t remember if I was. But I think somebody was.

I don’t want to tell you about the glimpses I got of my mom on the ground behind me, kicks coming at her ribs, or my aunt pushed up against the fence, fists coming at her face.

I don’t want to tell you about my grandfather unsure of what to do and unable to stop it.

I don’t want to tell you about the drops of blood on my jean jacket and how my first thought was that I hoped they would wash out because how would I explain that to people at school?

I don’t want to tell you about how I kept ice on my cheek all evening to ward off any possible bruise, about how the police told me that the statement I wrote was so detailed and specific, about my aunt’s broken nose, my mom’s bruised ribs, about how when we took my aunt and grandparents to the airport the next day people looked sideways at us, drawing their own conclusions about my father’s bandaged hand (from a recent surgery) and my aunt’s horribly bruised face.

I don’t want to tell you about how because my face didn’t bruise and the blood washed out of my jacket I didn’t have to deal with any questions from the kids at school, but Chuckie Griffey stopped me in the hall, “I heard about what happened to you, and I’m really sorry.” I am still grateful for his kindness that day.

Then, I didn’t understand why these two boys weren’t with their families on Thanksgiving and instead made us unwilling participants in what the police told us was likely a gang initiation.

Now, I know that the gang they were trying to get into was the most stable family they had.

Being a victim isn’t a bad thing, but maybe I didn’t want to tell you about this because I have never considered myself a victim after this. Not then, not now.

The whole thing has always just made me sad. Sad for my relatives visiting from rural Ohio for who had to confront big city violence. Sad for the two boys whose lives gave them no other choices. Sad for what we heard about in the news, that a few weeks later these gang initiations started including golf clubs.

I didn't want to tell you all of this.

But now I'm glad that I did. 

Doc Z's Personal Commentary: U2 Breeds New Fans

I would appreciate some feedback (in the comments) about how well this is working. Any of Pitts's craft moves I could add? Where could I include more specific detail? Does it all work together--does it reconnect at the end to where it started at the beginning? And my title is boring. Help.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Last week, every single itunes user, that’s all 885 million of them, got U2’s latest album, Songs of Innocence, for free. According to Apple, “this is the biggest album release in music history.”

In fact, this free gift to itunes customers is the only way to acquire the album until October 13.

The presumption that they would want this album mysteriously showing up on their iPhone annoyed some iTunes customers. To this, Bono responded, “The same people who used to write on toilet walls when we were kids are now in the blogosphere. The blogosphere is enough to put you off of democracy [laughs]. But no, let people have their say. Why not? They're the haters, we're the lovers, we're never going to agree” (Heisler).

And yes, the world seems to be divided into the haters and lovers of U2. Which is why I think this unprecedented album release is pure genius. Bono himself explains why:

People really who would not ordinarily be exposed to our music have a chance to listen to it. Whether they hold that to their hearts, we don't know. Whether those songs will be important to them in a week's time, we don't know. But they have a chance, and that's gotta be exciting for a band that's been around as long as we have. (Heisler)

Of course it’s exciting for U2 to imagine that people who would not ever consider purchasing the album are now listening to it. Some of those people will like it, even love it. And it’s those U2 lovers who make the band so successful.

See, U2 fans are die hards.

They drop huge amounts of money on U2 concert tickets.

I know because I’m one of them.

I started listening to U2 in middle school. I own every album. I’ve attended every concert tour since Joshua Tree. That makes six times I’ve seen U2 in concert--Denver, Denver, Seattle, Chicago, Denver, Denver. As a teenager, I legitimately mourned the fact that I had missed the “Sunday Bloody Sunday” performance at Red Rocks; I was only ten years old at the time, too young to know what I was missing. On bad days in high school, I carried the cassette of Unforgettable Fire around in my pocket--not even in my Walkman. I had no way to listen to it. Just knowing the music was on my person seemed to make everything okay. 

That first U2 concert was epic for me (the link goes to video footage of the Los Angeles concert that happened 11 days after the show I saw in Denver in 1987). I was in ninth grade and U2 was larger than life in my world. I had been to a few other concerts but nothing this huge. The Steve Miller Band at Red Rocks (with my best friend’s nun aunt as our chaperone) was a great way to start my concert going experiences, but that was a far cry from the energy and intensity and huge rock band atmosphere of that Joshua Tree tour show. I bounced up and down for the entire show, screaming along because of course I knew every lyric.

To be truthful, U2’s glow has faded for me in my adulthood. I don’t listen to the music often. At the last few concerts, I’ve hoped to have tickets somewhere in the stadium where I can sit and still see the stage rather than having to stand for the whole show--my 14-year old self would be so disappointed.

But I will of course snag tickets the exact moment they are released for sale whenever U2 comes back through town on their next tour. I’ll have to be quick to get the tickets because I’ll be competing with all those new U2 fans cultivated by this unprecedented album release.

This time I’ll take my kid along to the concert, too.

And if Bono and The Edge and Larry and Adam walked into the room, the 14-year-old version of me would take over.

I’d be the one who just fainted on the floor.



Work Cited

Heisler, Yoni. “Bono talks 885 million iTunes accounts, new music format, and ‘haters.’ Tuaw: The Unofficial Apple Weblog. Online. 22 September 2014.

Ink

18
Heavily researched with Kuhrt.
Egyptian hieroglyphics.
Mine--the left eye of Ra, the moon,
crying a tear of faith, hope, and love.
His--mysterious Kuhrt language they say now.
Nobody knows what it means.
But I remember.

20
With Heather, horrified, in
a Denver studio.
Seeking balance.
Yin/Yang hand, to remind me.

22
Leaving college. Leaving childhood.
Leaving a version of me behind (but
taking my nickname with me).
With Jeni Rae (sunburst on her foot)
and Jay (navel piercing)

24
Daisies. With Paul.
Olympia.
First Christmas.
Our wedding flower.

28
Getting braver in my new midwest life.
Capturing my Polish heritage--colorful,
bold, but still only where I can see it
most of the time.

34
Visible. Vibrant. Daisy and
ladybug, four spots for Jane’s four years.
So beautiful.

36
I finished my dissertation.
I deserve more daisies
creeping down my arm.

37
I have a daisy on my toe,
It is not real, it does not grow.
It’s just a tattoo of a flower
So I’ll look neat, taking a shower.
It’s on the second toe of my left foot.
A stem and flower, but there’s no root.
Because… it wouldn’t look good!
A pretty daisy on my toe
My right foot loves my left foot so! --The Smothers Brothers
And this makes six daisies, and
the start of the official Morgan family tattoo.

38
With Amy, who arrives in Boulder
wanting a vine and flowers around her ankle.
The simple excuse I needed
for words, about love, what my father taught me
about living a life.
Live, act, speak through love.
Marked on me.
Forever.

39
The words sprout a tree.
A love tree.
Jane’s initials.
A peace sign for Paul.
Nine, red, heart-shaped flowers
for Jane’s nine years.

40
A farm now rests beneath the tree.
The barn, circa pre-1974 tornado.
The place where my mother learned love, care, empathy,
and cookies.
My grandfather’s 1982 red Dodge Ram,
drives to the farmhouse,
taking him home.

40
Matryoshka. Polish.
Zerwin was Zwierzynski.
Jane,
me,
Verna Su,
Sarah Jane and Eleanor,
Elizabeth, Pearl, Tecla, and Francis
The string of mothers before me.

41
My father’s childhood home
that defined family for him. Laughter, love--
these things he taught many of my favorite people
over 10-day summer adventures
with fishing stories, and slow laps in the row boat,
and rocks across Lost Lake,
and solitaire and poker, great food and conversation,
in cabin 25.

Columbine, fireweed, Indian paintbrush,
the wildflowers that carpet the aspen forest
surrounding Mesa Lake.

“So it goes,” says Vonnegut. And it does.

Ode to Senioritis (and my seniors)

Of course your homework isn't done.
It's 89 days until graduation
and the sun is shining.
Your friends are distracting you.
It's not your fault.
There are geese to chase at the park.

Your dog ate your backpack.
No joke.
And you ran out of gas on the way to school.

You'll get to work
maybe after you finish your paper airplane.

You'll look at me through
the telescope you just made out of your writer's notebook.

I can take it. Really I can.
You are not the first group of seniors
I've lived through a second semester with.

Even though your friends will show up with coffee
at the classroom door,
I will still ask you to write.
Even though you'll play Flappy Bird
behind Kesey's pages,
I will still ask you to read.

You won't even care anymore
if you have the option to attend or not.
Won't even believe it
when I ask you to get up and move across the room
to put some thoughts on a sticky note on a poster.

Exhausted by the weight
of high school ending
and whatever's next looming
(not totally in focus yet)
and the impending good byes
and the last time you'll walk up the ramps,
or play foosball in the senior lounge,
or get to school early enough to get your favorite parking spot...

The affliction is real,
the only cure graduation.

And in the mean time
I will cherish every moment.
Because you will leave
and I will still be here
when you maybe come back to visit the Castle.

But

we

will never
be here
in this place
at this time

together

again.

SLCC Blog Carnival #5: Your human themes for this semester

Our big question for this year is this: How do you read the world to write your future?

Hopefully your research this semester will help you start to figure that out.

How do you write a future full of happiness? What role might control play in such a life? But everything changes, right? How will you ever hold on to your youth? Maybe if you stick together you can do it, despite the difference you will encounter in our crazy world. And then there's money, and the greed that comes with it. Plagued by fear and uncertainty, we'll all wander around, sometimes aimlessly. So look for the love and let it be your guide. Find your passion, collect your experience, question your opinions, and let it all be an adventure, life.

Read your world (and all the texts you get your hands on this semester) with the lens of your theme guiding your thoughts. See what you can find that will enable you to write your own future.

Tristan: happiness
Dana: control
Fenno: control
Addie: change
John: change
Riley: youth
Matt: together
Ian: difference
Kyla: greed
Joey: greed
Colman: greed
Erik: money
Anna: fear
Ben: fear
Ryan: fear
Madelyn: fear
Daelin: uncertainty
Eddie: love
Cecily: passion
Jane: experience
Mike: opinion
Nick: adventure
Emma: equality
Owen: ???????
Mallory: unsatisfied

Oatmeal Obsessed?

You people have been laughing at my oatmeal habits.
And yes, the habits probably ARE laughable.
But this topic, obsession, has gotten me to think a bit about my daily breakfast routine and why it matters so much to me.

Oatmeal before the milk step.

Let me describe it to you first: into the oatmeal pan (yes, the same pan every day), I scoop one half cup of uncooked, old fashioned oats. Then one cup (plus a splash) of water. I put this on the stove on high. Then I get a small plate out of the cabinet and the container of raw almonds out of the fridge. I grab a handful of almonds and put them on the plate and count them--2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, 14, 16, 18!--it's a great day when I grab exactly 18. I do most of the time actually. I put the plate of almonds in the microwave for 2 minutes. Then I check the oatmeal. If not already, soon it is boiling, so I remove it from the heat and stir it with the spoon I'll use to eat my oatmeal. While still in the pan, I add cinnamon and a few raisins. After I scoop it into my oatmeal bowl (it's a handmade work of pottery with a beautiful blue glaze), I put some frozen blueberries on top and stir those in. I wash the oatmeal pan and set it aside to dry. I take the almonds out of the microwave when they finish and place the oatmeal bowl in for 30 seconds (to thaw the blueberries). In the meantime, I choose a pear from the fruit bowl and slice it up and put it into a plastic bowl (so I can take it in the car with me if I'm unable to finish it before it's time to leave for school). When the microwave dings, I retrieve my oatmeal bowl, toss the 18 toasted almonds on top, pour a bit of 1% organic cow milk on top of the oatmeal/blueberry/raisin mixture, mix it up with the spoon, and carry my breakfast to the dining table to sit down and eat.

You may call me obsessed when I tell you I do this entire process, exactly like this, every single day. You may call me obsessed when I tell you that one of the most difficult things about traveling for me not having this morning routine. (Thank you, Starbucks, for this.) (And I'm sorry, McDonald's, but I will never eat this.)(Because I don't eat at McDonald's.)
And maybe I am obsessed, but this is all important to me.

Mornings have always been extremely difficult in my world (though ever since I turned 40, mornings are becoming a little bit easier. Strange, eh?) I'm not sure why mornings are rough. It doesn't seem to matter how late I've slept in or how many hours of sleep I have gotten, that first hour or so is rough. Part of it is physical--I have some form of arthritis (arthritis as a whole is incredibly difficult to pinpoint and diagnose specifically, so I'm not sure exactly what to call it), and my body in the morning is slow and stiff and sore, some mornings more than others. That's a huge part of it. But well before I was dealing with that in my life, I struggled right out of bed. Speech is difficult (beyond single syllable utterings). I don't like people in my physical space. I can't handle extra noise, not even the radio on morning NPR news. Every morning is an epic battle with my alarm clock to pull myself out of bed.

But the oatmeal routine helps. It's less the meal itself than the process to create it. All of the motions create a ritual--my morning ritual to start my day. It's meditative. It's predictable. It's quiet. There are no surprises. I know exactly what to expect. And somehow, going through all the steps helps wake up my body and mind. After the routine, I'm more ready to face the day, whatever it brings.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

If you've gotten this far, you might as well check out my photos from spring break last year to see the photo I told you about--the one where my daughter demonstrates absolute and total fear on a water ride at Sea World (it's toward the middle of the collection of photos--scroll and you'll find it).

Blog Carnival Edition #1: REBEL

This first edition of the Zerwin SLCC Blog Carnival was an interesting exploration through different aspects of rebel, rebellious, rebelliousness...

It was clear how much Chris McCandless was attached to this concept for many of the bloggers who responded to the call for submissions. Many (like Dana) pointed out details from his life that make him rebellious, except for Esther who wondered if maybe Chris wasn't a rebel actually--just really selfish (and be sure to check out Dana's post for a link to a very cool video someone did while hiking the Stampede Trail). There were lots of thoughts about what kind of rebel CM was. Tristan found him a stubborn rebel (after some compelling reflections on rebels in Syria--what is the planet to do about Syria, people?). Ryan asks his readers (that's YOU in case you're wondering) if CM's death was justified because of his discontent with his family or if we can just explain it by his naivete (answer his questions in the comments after his post). And Max traces how CM's rebellion had significant effects on other people and still does to this day.

Beyond the world of the book, there were some interesting reflections on rebellion. Owen shows how rebels have improved humanity and makes me think about how I believe love is the most rebellious act there is. Don't you think? Isn't that what Harry Potter is about? Harry wins in the end because he fights for love, right? And Voldemort is incapable of acting through love so he cannot beat Harry in the end. (Are you people Harry Potter fans? Or is this the last time I should bring that up in this class? Please advise.) Fenno discusses several rebels in history who have made things better for people and makes me wonder if rebels must by definition be visionary. I've been pondering that since I read what Fenno had to say. Erik suggests that teens rebel because they learn rebellious behavior from adults. Very interesting. What do you all think? Do teens get called out for the same rebellious behavior that adults show all the time? 

Good or bad, rebellion IS popular, as Madelyn points out with connections to three compelling articles she found on the internet. Cool stuff. And Addie's post takes on rebellion within a very specific context: the traditions and trends surrounding makeup. More cool stuff.

Finally, Ms. Maytum's post contains a hilarious list of rules that she wrote for her room when she was 6 and a half and talks about how rebellion worked in her life as a teenager and how it shows up in her life as an adult. There are contradictions--she reflects over them to arrive at her own understanding of what it means to rebel.

Thanks for your thoughtful submissions to the first edition of the blog carnival!

p.s. Here's Jake on rebellion in a rebellious world. And Colman. And Daelin on punk rock. And Riley on Fat Amy. And John's thoughts on CM. And Ian's thoughts on the various types of rebels in the world.

Doc Z's collection of links

My big topic: reading--book reading
My essential question: how do I convince my students that taking the time to read books is important--actually critically important to their lives as human beings?

Collection of links:

• TED Talk, from knowledgeable to knowledge-able: talks about students in our hyper-media world needing to be more than meaning seekers. They need to be meaning makers. I think that this involves deep thinking, the kind you can practice when you engage in the complexity that books offer you, complexity you can't get anywhere else. 
• News article about the Stuebenville rape case and the youtube video showing a kid laughing about it. This shows a complete lack of empathy and compassion on that kid's part. Books help us to imagine the experiences of others and this gives us practice in empathy and compassion.
• Blog posts about why stories are important:
• What listening to stories does to our brains
• Stories and the Common Core, excerpt: 
• So narrative isn’t just a cool thing to do- it’s life or death. Telling stories well is power. As we see in every election, every bit of advertising, and every six year old lobbying for a later bedtime or to skip bath (you can tell what my life is like). To get really good at narrative, and to understand it, ourselves and our culture (and the culture of others), we study narratives. Fiction, epic poetry, history, great science, mathematics. All learning is most powerful when couched in terms of narrative. It is why our most profound texts are in the form of stories (In the beginning…) not in the form of action memos from God. It is why the major art forms revolve around narrative, not data sets. Just being exposed to narrative is accessing one of the most powerful learning modes we have. It’s why people believe movies that have no basis in fact, and it’s why advertising is effective. But really understanding how narrative works, and having some skill one’s self is life changing. It also vaccinates the individual against bullshit. If you know how stories work, you know how to judge the story you are being told. You know how to ask critical probing questions about what a story really means. You notice what it doesn’t say and wonder why the storyteller left things out. You can tell the difference between an honest story and crap.
• Book Love, book by Penny Kittle (link goes to my blog post about it)
• A youtube video using excerpts of the 1960's movie adaptation of Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury's novel that imagines a world where books are illegal: 

• This photo about books being the inspiration for HBO programming...yes, there is good TV out there, but there's also TV that damages your soul as a human being. Why not just stick with books?

Blog Carnival Special Edition--Personal Narratives

Your personal narratives are awesome. That's why we're doing this special edition of the blog carnival.

Click on the first sentences below to take you to the narrative. I thought your first sentences would be a great teaser to the whole essay. Here they are (in no particular order):

1. “If I died, would you cry?”; this was the question my mother always asked me. I didn’t understand why at the time, but now I realize that I’m not as fortunate as others. (Tim H)
2. I sat in the back of a dark colored van. (Caley M)
3. My parents probably thought that I’d fall asleep soon after the movie started. (Wyatt G)
4. The intense rays of the summer sun beat down on me and bake my skin golden brown as salty sweat droplets run down my brow. (Megan M)
5. Laughter erupted in the room as I sat quietly on the couch watching as Ella, the youngest out of four girls that I was taking care of, made a silly mistake in the game that she and her cousins were playing with my older sister. (Ryleigh T)
6. “I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.” (Davis W)
7. As I struggle to keep my eyes open, darkness surrounds me from every direction. (Justin N.)
8. Waiting. makeup. waiting. hairspray. waiting.  fittings. waiting. Hours of endless waiting all leading up to ONE 30 second walk. (Carly H)
9. The day had been going really well. (Sam V)
10. “Always say yes. Never miss out on an opportunity, even if it might seem like a smallinsignificant experience.” (Sarah M.)
11. This year I have taken up mountain biking and I can say with all honesty that it was the best decision of my life. (Mitch T)
12. There was a time when I didn’t know what music was, and when I could not feel the power it possessed within me. (Kay-Kay R)
13. “Girls are gross.” (Bella B)
14. I’ve always loved traveling and seeing other countries, but it’s a completely different feeling when you’re traveling to another country to live in it for a year. (Shira W)
15. Would I always be left feeling breathless, as if I was playing an impossible game of tag in which I would never catch up? (Lauren P)
16. Adversity has as many different faces as the people it affects. (Cory M)
17. At the age of 16, Rayne Crossen existed in my life as a test of patience and a constant reminder that everyone deserves compassion. (Kali C)
18. 1. I remember vividly the fear and anxiety starting to set in during the overseas flight in January 2012. (Eric K)
19. 1. It was mid-jump and I was having the time of my life. (Christian P)
20. 1. I had stepped through a time machine. (Chris R)
21. 1. It started when I felt a wet sensation on my neck. (Alex S)
22. 1. 1. 1. All is silent, meaningless, then filled with a voice shouting for help. (Adam T)
23. To really understand dyslexia you have to imagine words that are alive and hiding among nonsense filled sentences. (Kenna B)
24. The ball pit. We were at the ball pit which was one of my favorite places in the world. (MacLean F)