Monthly Archives: March 2021

Brand Spanking New: SOLC #5

As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, today was the day to head to the university to get a tour of our new offices and get keys. We’ve been watching the building emerge from what was formerly a parking lot for a couple of years now. Deep holes and mounds of dirt have been replaced by shiny glass and modern lines. This multi-use space includes offices, meeting spaces, retail, restaurants, and student housing along with underground parking. While we all worked from home, construction continued and the building has come in pretty much on time.

A pandemic opening is a bit strange. We’ve all been invited in two or three at a time to be introduced to our new spaces. So instead of a busy, buzzing space, things were quiet today. And that seemed perfect. After a grand tour of all the offices and working spaces, Angela and I got a closer look at our writing project’s spaces. We puttered around a bit, getting a feel for the layout and began to organize and unpack a few boxes.

As a writing project, we’ve moved a number of times. The first place I remember was a portable building outside the Teacher Education Program building. When that building was demolished to make room for new construction, we moved into an old building in another part of campus, this time moving in with CREATE, our current (and forever) home department. When that building was razed to make room for yet more new construction (are you seeing a pattern here?), we moved to our more recent space–an old science building renamed to fit its new occupants–the Social Science Research Building. That place has been home for more than a decade, a place for meetings, for conversations with colleagues, and for all the “stuff” that accumulates from our work with teachers and students.

Even when we packed all our belongings in the fall, the move to a new space still didn’t seem real. We’d heard all about windows that opened, space for the entire CREATE family all in the same building, conference rooms and parking (I’ll still believe in its ampleness only when I get to experience available parking spaces once folks come back to school and work!).

But today…these new offices became real. And they feel just right. They are fresh and clean, even while piled with boxes and books that need putting away. They feel like a the promise of a bright future, a place to envision new ways to support teachers and students. A place to build on a more than 40 year history of successful professional development. I can do my work from home, but I am feeling excited about heading back to the university. To my brand spanking new office, to collaborations with my colleagues, to informal conversations in the common spaces, to a post-pandemic work life. Now, to get back in there and get those boxes unpacked! (And I’m pretty excited about having a window that opens…and a bit of a view!)

Outside the Box: SOLC #4

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In a normal year–and we all know this is not a normal year–I commute about 16 miles south one day a week to the university where our writing project is housed. That commute, which doesn’t sound all that long, on the best of days takes about 30-40 minutes. On the worst of days, the hour mark comes and goes. But I haven’t made that commute in nearly a year–and I didn’t think I missed it. For the most part, my writing project work can be done remotely. Meetings now take place on Zoom, emails and phone calls replace the in-office interactions, my Google drive is starting to be well organized and easy to access (well–that may be stretching the truth a bit, but it is getting better), and I don’t have to stress over finding a parking place with a space that matches the color of my parking permit.

Today, I made that commute. Not because I needed to be in the office, but because I needed to have a COVID test to go to the university tomorrow to get keys and a tour of new offices! I have a long history with the university. I was an undergrad here, I met my husband during that time. I completed two additional degrees on this campus and have been a part of our writing project for decades now. So this morning, after a Zoom meeting to deal with some project business, my husband and I headed down the coast.

Traffic was light and parking was easy–a small positive in pandemic times. Bright blue skies, puffy white clouds, and bright sunshine greeted us as we emerged from the parking structure to find the testing center. The campus is strangely empty. There are people around, but the numbers are small compared to my past experiences here. And once the testing was done, we decided to take our daily walk exploring this place we both know. After all, this is a beautiful campus, filled with interesting art installations and memories, memories, memories.

As we walked, we noticed new construction. We commented on changes we have seen over the years on campus. We turned here and there, sometimes finding dead ends blocked by construction screens other times remembering a familiar building. We walked the snake path, spied Fallen Star in the distance, and took a side trek to find the giant stone teddy bear. There are large tents serving as outdoor classrooms, although no classes were in session as we walked by. But it was the large shipping container that caught my eye.

“Class outside the box” it says on the outside, but I wonder what is inside the box. You can see the tent classrooms just behind it. And you can see Fallen Star (the tiny house perched on the engineering building) above in the background. I love the clouds reflected in the glass walls of the building and the brilliant blues of it all.

I’m looking forward to a second trip to campus this week as I am introduced to our new offices tomorrow. I still will likely continue to conduct much of my work from home, but it will be good to reevaluate our office materials, to familiarize myself with the office layout, and begin to imagine what a new normal might be in the coming months. What might my work look like as I consider it “outside the box?”

Rainy Day Hopes: SOLC #3

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Where I live weather casters have to work at nuance. So many days are mostly sunny, sometimes accompanied by night and morning low clouds. And this year, like so many years, we are in a drought, inches away from our whopping average rainfall of 10 inches per year.

When I hear a forecast for rain, skepticism is my first reaction. It isn’t uncommon for for a rainy day prediction to fizzle and disappear, replaced by that that little sunshine icon. And this morning, the sun rose like clockwork, making me doubt the rain I heard about…and even planned for today.

Today was my vaccination day (yay!), so I was careful to dress in short sleeves to make the process easier. But, it was also supposed to rain, so I layered on a sweatshirt and remembered to grab my raincoat as I dashed out the door for work. To the east some patches of stringy clouds were visible–they didn’t look rain bearing to me. When I turned west, I could see the rainclouds gathering along the coast.

After my Zoom meeting with my class, I grabbed that raincoat again and headed off to our local fairgrounds-turned-vaccination-supercenter. I wasn’t sure how the whole thing would work, would I need to walk up and stand in line? Would they tell me they had run out of doses just as I arrived at the front even though I had an appointment? Would I end up standing in the rain?

None of my worst fears came true. I drove into the orange cone maze and made my way around and into the big barn where I’ve looked at livestock during the county fair. My credentials were checked, my arm offered, and my first dose was injected without me ever leaving my car. I proceeded to the waiting area for 15 minutes, and water drops began to fall on my windshield.

Back in my classroom, the rhythms of rain were the soundtrack for today’s planning and preparation. Light drops punctuated with heavier showers. I could see the trees swaying, dancing in time to the rain, through the classroom windows.

When I got home I realized I hadn’t taken a photo today. I grabbed my umbrella (the rain was heavier by then) and wandered around the backyard, looking for a shot that would express the feeling of rain. I remembered how hard it is to capture rain in a photo (something I don’t get to practice too often). I tried to avoid the big pools on the patio and the muddy spots beyond as I explored, noticing how the plants seemed to be reaching out and welcoming the rare sky drops.

Today was a perfect rainy day. I’m ready for sun tomorrow.

An Egret Dance: SOLC #2

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I might be obsessed with photographing egrets.

On my regular beach walks it makes my day when I spot a sleek, white bird in the distance. Even from afar, I recognize their distinctive silhouette and their mostly solitary nature.

Lately I’ve walked the beach with my zoom lens in place. I love the ability to get close to these birds, even if I can’t quick get as physically near as I’d like.

But like anything I take photos of on a regular basis, if I’m not careful, I end up taking the same photo over and over again. So I’ve been trying a variety of angles, different lighting, straight on, head shot only… I’ve taken photos of reflections, of water drops creating concentric circles of movement, of bright yellow feet in isolation.

Over the weekend I caught three egrets hanging out together. They were searching the tide pools for tasty morsels, using their feet to stir up the sea life below the surface. The weather was beautiful, so lots of people were exploring the tidepools. As people got close, the birds would take flight, spreading their wings and lifting off for a short trip to the north.

I followed, creeping closer while trying not to soak my sneakers in the tidepool puddles. I snapped, and snapped, in search of an image different from the usual.

And this time, it seems like I caught a bit of an egret dance.

Seeking Joy: SOLC #1

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These days, I often find myself in search of joy. Sameness is numbing, isolation is suffocating, and uncertainty is paralyzing. And yet, we go on. My students show up in the classroom (on a limited, hybrid schedule), ready and eager to learn.

I realize, sometimes over and over again, that my restricted time with my students pushes me to rush things in the classroom. Instead of giving time and space to breathe, to engage, to explore…I find myself watching the clock, urging students on, never letting them get fully immersed, locked into that indescribable flow that I can’t explain, but I always recognize.

Joy, instead of being a constant classroom companion, has become a shadow that I catch sight of at the edge of my visual field. It flickers, momentarily in focus before it dissolves into the corners–just out of reach. If I can’t reach out and grab onto the joy, how can my students?

Somewhere along the way during this pandemic school year I lost sight of daily writing. The whimsy and playfulness of messing around with words and ideas in the low-stakes sandbox of the writer’s notebook had vanished. Students mistakenly believed that writing should be one and done rather than the messy, living, complex process that it is. I had to make a change.

So, at the end of January, I reworked students’ independent work–the stuff they do during the half the school day when they are not in the classroom with me–to include time for daily writing. I set up a routine–predictable but with lots of novelty and variety. One day students are invited to write to a photo prompt–often silly and far-fetched. Another day they write under the influence of our weekly poem study: they can use it as a mentor text, they can be inspired by the topic, they can grab a word and follow it–the choice is the writer’s. And on the third day, I offer an active sort of prompt. Last week, on our weekly Wednesday Zoom call, students participated in a short scavenger hunt. They were sent in search of 5 items, one at a time. Once found, they showed the item on the screen and wrote it in their notebook. That list then became the fodder for the daily writing. They could come up with a story connecting the items, use one and go in any direction, again…choice is key.

While the daily writing is not amazing, students are finding a rhythm. They are developing fluency. And they are having some fun with it–joy is beginning to creep in. We are paying more attention to language, examining what we like when we read. Just last week, students picked one of these daily writing pieces. They picked not the best one; the one they love so much they don’t want to make any changes. Not the worst one; the one that feels flat and uninspiring. They picked one they were willing to work on, to improve, to make better. They used a Praise Question Wish protocol to respond to the writing in pairs. We studied a couple of mentor text excerpts from familiar pieces we had read in class. And armed with these tools, students went off to revise.

Most of these revised pieces are still not where I want them to be, but they are moving in the right direction. And better yet, they are moving toward discovering the joy of writing and language, expression and choice.

I am actively seeking joy in the classroom. Joy that fills me with wonder and energy. Joy that brings a smile to my students’ masked lips–that is visible in their eyes and felt in the air. Joy that takes me back to what I know is important in teaching and learning, despite pandemic restrictions and schedules that squeeze time into unrecognizable shapes. And I want writing to be a part of that joy, for me and for them.