7 Valleys Writing Project Shout out

I'm on the eve of my final day at the 7VWP Summer Institute.  I can't sleep because I am both excited and sad at the same time.  Mostly, I'm filled with a million different ideas of what to do and where to go.  I actually want to change the name of my Blog now too, since I have morphed and I am no longer going to simply have the identity of Reading Teacher, since now I see myself as a Writer and a much better prepared Writing Teacher.  I owe a world of thanks to David, Danielle and Kathryn for all they did to make this institute what it is (was...).  The impeccable way that Danielle and Kathryn model co-teaching is inspiring.  Writing to Learn has transformed my way of thinking and eventually my way of teaching.  Basically, these 3 weeks have blown my world up in such an exciting way.  I also would like to say a huge thank you to my cohorts this summer as well.  Thank you James, Shannon, Lauryn and Wendy (who joined us most of this week).  I am very grateful that my colleague, Marilyn, introduced me to the 7VWP. Thank you Amy for all your support with my demo, burning question work, and being an amazing editor of my writing! Inspiration like this has the momentum to move mountains.  I am going to sing it loud and proud that this is the place to go to improve your practice and become a lifelong writer.  To quote Flashdance, "Take your passion, and make it happen!"  This will be me from here on out.

Pastry Perfection

Zachary hard at work!

The rhythm of the kitchen
Crash!
Clank!
Sizzle!
The oven radiates energy
to create a confection
Mother is the drum major
of today's creation
Zachary's unrestrained voice
provides syncopation
Our hands together
roll out the lattice crust
which lays over
slippery apple slices
dancing in cinnamon
the final beep sounds
apple pastry perfection

No One Told Me (Poem to my Daughter, Meghan)

No one told me
I couldn't hold you in my arms
No one told mehow long that pain would last
No one told me
how independent you would be
No one told me
resisting you would be impossible
No one told me
how much you would melt my heart
No one told me
how sleep would be a stranger
No one told me
how instantly you were at ease
No one told me
how your voice gently calms
No one told me
how feisty you could be

No one told me
how much you would teach me
No one told me
how much you would look like me
No one told me
how love for you would shake my world
No one told me
How hard it would be to leave you
No one told me


And even if they did,
Would I have been able to hear?

Writing Prompts?

Wow, writing prompts are so important to me.....I am learning to see myself as a WRITING teacher, not just a READING teacher.  I have had the experience lately to be immersed in a writing program that has fostered a transformation in me. I write everyday.  I did this before, but now I do it more (and more) everyday.  I am in search of writing prompts to use with my students to have a place to start from.  What is so interesting to me about this concept though is that even though I'm feeling a strong urgency for a prompt I want to also be open to the students coming up with their own prompts. Sometimes they will have to use another one and sometimes they'll want to reuse one over and over again.  I'm thinking of starting a section in my room and in their writing folders where we record the stories we want to write or the ideas we want to write about so we always have a growing list.  I did stumble across a few websites that I will look over and refer to for sure.  I am interested in other teachers' feedback on this too.  I want to have a big collection of prompts available, yet I also want there to be an openness that students can free write on topics of their own choosing.  That would be truly exciting too, I could add their topics to the list of topics.  Doesn't get much more engaging than that!




http://keikihendrix.com/prompt-and-productive/


http://creativewritingprompts.com/#

Not Your Ordinary Friday (re-edited)

While searching through the pile of Vogue magazines in my dormitory room I hear a disturbance in the hallway. It reminds me of life on the Cape, it sounds like a sea of whales moaning in agony intertwined with the whimpering of a young dolphin who has lost her mother. What's going on? it is Friday afternoon and I'm biding time until Eleanor, or my Ellie gets back here so we can head out for dinner. I guess I'll just have to check and see what is going on. There usually is some commotion at this point of the afternoon, but the sounds give me an eerie sensation.

I slip my slippers on and peek out my door. Down the hall Ellie, Mary Francis and Sally are all huddled close together and I can see that they are crying.

"Stella. It's the president. He's been shot. In Dallas," whimpers Mary Francis.
I don't believe my ears. Did I just hear that? It's 1963, presidents don't get shot. Not Jack Kennedy. He’s so vibrant. I remember seeing him at  the campaign rally in Boston the summer before Freshman year in High School. He was so glamorous,  He was...and now someone has possibly taken his life. How is this even possible. I am doing everything in my power to hold back the tears and eventually I whisper, "when did this happen, who told you, why....?"
Sally looks over at me and says, "we were in Cooking with Wine and the prof was interrupted by the Dean of Textiles.  He came in and told her what he had happened to the President.  She canceled class immediately."
Ellie says, “everyone was walking around campus in a daze. Stella, I cannot believe that Jackie is going to be a widow. She's only 34 and she has such young children," she stops to wipe her tears.
I am so frozen I don't know how I get the words out, but I ask, "Do we know if he's gone? This is maddening. Let's go to the common room and turn on the television and see what's happening.”
When we arrive at the common room there is barely standing room. It seems that the world has come to a stop. All eyes are glued to the television. Usually at this time, a few of the girls are down here watching their stories. As the World Turns is a favorite here in Balch, but the usual Friday merriment is replaced by a silence that I've never heard before.
I have been in Ithaca just four short months studying women's fashion. I dream to be an editor, but my mom has bigger dreams. She wants me to find a law student here at Cornell and put my dream to rest and become a housewife. My mother and I aren’t from the same generation.  I feel that the world is changing, and women have the potential to be so much more than a hostess or a baby making machine. I want to work for Vogue or Glamour, or even Woman's Day would be okay. My mother’s dreams are for me to be a Betty Crocker, I see myself more as a Betty Friedan.  
I look up and see images of Jackie with her husband's blood all over her pink Chanel boucle wool suit. She is standing on Air Force One while Lyndon Johnson is taking the oath. Mary Francis and Sally are on their knees reciting an “Our Father” when Mr. Cronkite reports that the President died. A few other girls from down the hall are gathered together forming a circle of tightly grasped hands. On the screen flashes the image of  Lyndon Johnson as he had taken the oath of the presidency. Mrs. Kennedy is standing right beside him,  Lady Bird is standing further to the back. Camelot is over. In an instance our world has turned upside down. I'm trying to let the words sink in, but it just is so unreal.
I stand up, wishing that I had my cardigan sweater to wrap around my sadness.  I scan the room with my eyes, noticing that there is a quietness that I've never seen since arriving at Cornell.   We had so much hope.  Just this morning my biggest worry was about the argument that I had with my mother about my studies.  She doesn't want me to go on the trip to New York City this Spring for Fashion week. She believes that a nineteen year old "young lady" has no business frolicking around that city.  I know that I just need to talk to Daddy.  He'll make her see that I can do this.  But now, who knows what is going on in the world?  Is this about the Cuban Missile crisis of last year?  Did Castro seek revenge with the help from the Soviets? How can I be thinking about fashion and the death of our president in the same breath?

I  walk over to Ellie, take her hand and we walk back in silence to our room.  The pink and purple flowers we decorated our door with seem completely inappropriate now.  I want to tear them down, but resist the urge to do so.  

"Stel, what are we going to do?" Ellie whispered.
"Honey, I don't think there is anything I we can do but wait."  I solemnly replied. I walked over to our table that has the record player on it and put Bye, Bye Birdie on the the turntable, hoping that the carefree musical would temper my mood a bit.  

Just then the hallway phone rings.  Ellie gets up and walks just outside our room and picks it up.  "Mom, mom, slow down.  I know. I heard.  It's terrible. Yes, yes, Stel is with me.  We saw in the common room.  It is so upsetting. How's daddy?"  There is a long pause where Ellie's mom must be telling her more.  Ellie starts talking again, “Mom, I’m going to let you go for now.  Sure, I’ll be in touch.”  She hangs up the phone, walks back into the room and absentmindedly starts humming along as Dick Van Dyke’s sings, “gray skies are gonna clear up, put on a happy face.” She quickly walks over to the turntable and moves the arm so fast that it scratches a bit as she’s turning it off.  She looks over at me and we both nod, a silent understanding.  Sometimes silence is all that is required.

I walk over to my bed, kick my slippers off, and let the salty tears hide deep into my pillow.  

Sleep

Sleep
You are a mystery to me

I spent my childhood fighting you
and now my adult years
are spent trying to win you back
I love thee
I slumber and dream vividly
I awake from what I thought was a fall
and am settled to realize
that it was my subconscious mind
playing tricks on me.

Sleep
You are where I find refuge
I dream and wonder
where I may go tonight
I laugh knowing
that tomorrow I won't remember
where you took me
I dream in color
I dream the same thing
over and over
Sleep
Why does it feel like only a moment
has passed
since I rested my weary head
on my pillow
I awake
mostly refreshed
slightly confused
sometimes angry
at the dream maker



Sleep
You offer a new adventure
every night
How did this happen
is this some kind of puppet game
are we lost in some other space
forever lingering
you impress me
you dazzle me
I want more of you
yet yearn for more hours to complete
life's other journey

For two weeks now I've been involved with the Seven Valleys Writing Project in their 3 week Summer Institute.  I don't know if there has been a time in my life since my teens that I've been this inspired and opened up to write as I have been these last few weeks.  On this beautiful 80 degree weather day with a pool just outside my window I'm still itching to write and write.  I am working on research about co-teaching, but I also am working on making a list of all the topics I'd like to research about, or have more time to delve deeper into. This doesn't even begin to say what this experience has been like for me. I have met some incredible people, hand opportunities to read and write creatively.  I am working on writing a novel about life for a young women growing up in the early 1960's, a time I have always enjoyed learning about and now I get to write about it.  I am immersing myself in the process too.  I've made a playlist on Spotify that I think my main character would be listening too.  I'm making a collage of clothing that she and her friends would wear, and activities that they would enjoy doing.  I've also written personal narrative, poetry, reflections, and work on my research paper.  One of the parts that has meant so much to me is that I have felt my writing grow.  My husband, my best friend, many of my friends, my sister, my fellow classmates have all wrapped their arms around me in support.  I found this quote, "Make your writing BLOW people AWAY,"  and it reminded me how I'm feeling. I woke up one morning and wrote for 30 minutes and what came out was one of my better pieces of writing.  It was very exciting.  I literally could feel the words forcing themselves out my fingertips.  I don't want this journey to end.  I don't know how the door to this writing will ever close.   I'm working on how to incorporate what I've learned into my daily practice as a Literacy Specialist.  I'm thrilled about this journey.