Student freestyling at Bayan School. 

Bayan students singing the Japanese national anthem. 

Bayan student reading poem. 

Bayan School Bahrain

I have so many images in my head from our visit to Bahrain, it is difficult to get them all down. First, the plane flew directly over Baghdad on our way south from London. The night was totally clear and I studied the lights to see if I could see the airport where Brian's brother is stationed, but it was hard to tell. The plane proceeded on to sunny Bahrain.

The first day there, Michael and I visited the Bayan School. It is a throbbing place, a bi-lingual school. Our introduction was watching the lower school practice the Japanese anthem for an exchange program that they are participating in. The song lifted and soared sending peaceful messages into the universe.

Next Michael and I both visited classrooms and at the end of the day, students read their poems aloud in a poetry jam to loads of applause and nodding admiration from their teachers and peers. Below are some images from our visit.

We were so struck by the fact that we never see images of students from the middle east on television in the US unless they they are doing hateful things. I felt honored to be welcomed into classrooms in Bahrain and to meet the bright, friendly and respectful students there. I think many of the world's problems could be lessened by more classroom exchanges where we view one another in terms of commonalities instead of differences.

For instance: The words "kids, please take out a piece of paper," is a discussion starter in any language and students everywhere like to express themselves through poetry and exchange their thoughts with one another. I will never forget my time at the Bayan School.

Raining in London

Who would have guessed it. Michael and I are off on our grand adventure. First we stopped over here for fish and chips (me) and mash (Michael). We also had to off load some luggage before we leave for Bahrain for the Arabian Reading Conference. We are so excited that we have almost forgotten how exhausted we are -- and the trip and turn around is just beginning. Time to go to the gate and off into a world neither one of us has ever experienced. Wow.

Dreams -- Alive and well

Last night was such fun -- Michael and I went down to Cleveland Playhouse Square to coach and nurture young poetry slammers who will be competing in the city-side competition to choose the 5 lucky poets who will be part of the team that is sent to the National competition in NYC in April. So many words, so many dreams brought to the stage. In total deviance of their right to privacy, the teen poets laid out their views on everything from thugs to school levys and loneliness. I want them all to win the slam, but even if they don't each has achieved a personal victory I would have shied away from at their age. I was so impressed.

Afterwards I watched the opening ceremonies for the Olympics. It was grand. The best part was watching the countries who had one, two or three athletes come striding into the stadium. Knowing that many of the teams come without the endorsement of McDonald's or Nike, that they have scrimped and begged to get there, you could see victory in their eyes.

Langston made us all look at where dreams go to die, but where do they get born? What makes some push hard for their dreams and others shy away?

two months later

Could that be? I haven't written here in two months? The holidays came and went in a complete blur -- Michael and I were working non-stop on our new book for Heinemann (Outspoken, fall 2006) and beside family times, we were in such a rush. We had fulfilling, inspiring visits to Eastlake Middle School and Bay Village Middle School to gather our student samples. Thanks to everyone.

I'm just now remembering why I haven't checked in here for a while -- it is because I have so many things to write about that it seems overwhelming. But I have to try and get my blog back on track -- along with the rest of things. I feel as if I just got out of a cast having shipped that book out. Whew.

Little story from yesterday. Michael and I went to Kaiser for immunizations to prepare for our trip overseas and met a fellow and his wife -- he is 88 and she is 84. They go to Kaiser to the large waiting area everyday to walk (she is mostly in a wheelchair). He is a retired cartoonist and was with the Cleveland Plain Dealer for 30 years. They wander around and chat with people and when they see a child waiting for the doctor, he draws the child's picture. Charming and chatty, but not bothersome in the least.

Oh, and I am learning to swim. Yep. After all these years. Oh, I could swim to the side of the pool, but I could never get the breathing right to swim laps. Well, I think I got it. I can swim 500 yards in 35 minutes and it is my goal to complete that in 20 minutes by this summer.

That's all for now. I will do more catch up later.

Ajax and his new window on the world. 

Ajax

Ajax is an unusual name for a dog, but Ajax is unusual. He is asleep under my desk, slept in the bed last night, cuddled up to whomever he could get close to on the sofa all yesterday. The cats are a bit snitty about his arrival, but Hector is taking it in grudging stride. Undoubtedly, Ajax must feel some resistance, but he seems to be tenacious about fitting in.

We took a walk this morning and when the leash brushed one ear, now partially healed 3-4 weeks after his mutilation by some mean man in (we think) a baseball cap (since he is afraid of Michael in a baseball cap), he yelped in pain. Doctor Becky says he has been patient about the treatments to his burned ears, never once nipping at her as she routinely cleaned and medicated him over the past weeks. She speculates that lighter fluid of some kind was first put on his ears, the extent of the burns was so severe and localized.

In Greek mythology, Ajax was a rival of Hector's, but then Ajax traded his belt to Hector for his sword. Unfortunately, it was this belt that was later used to drag Hector to his death, which tore up Ajax so much that he fell on his sword in fine ancient fashion. Hollywood rewrote the story (like that wasn't dramatic enough?), making Hector the one who done Ajax in, so to speak.

We will attempt to re-write the story one more time, only this time Hector and Ajax will live as comrades side-by-side, happily ever after.

and thomas sits! 

four out of five -- 

just thinking

I thought about exercising today, but I didn't get rolling. I thought I woke up with a head cold, but it never really took control. I thought about reading Don Quixote, but I didn't get to it. I thought about cleaning the kitchen, but -- same story. Maybe I just needed a day to think. Or maybe the cold was in my vessels if not in my nose, turning my blood to sludge so that I couldn't move.

Tomorrow all five grandbabies will be here AND a new dog arrives. He is a charity case from Michael's sister's vet clinic. Some evildoer set his ears on fire. He is healed though somewhat fringy in the ear department and looking for a good home. Hector, our rat terrier mix, a stray I picked up at Home Depot (where else does a smart, homeless dog go to find a home?) has been missing his Boston Terrier buddy Mike since about this time last year. We have not met the new dog and are hoping for a happy, smooth transition, which hardly seems likely with 5 kids under the age of 6 in the house. Whew.

If today was a day for thinking, tomorrow looks to be a day of chaos. My Uncle Bill told me we should always rest when the battle is far away, so we have the strength to face whatever is coming. Something triggered a slow down in me today.

Now, I'm thinking maybe that was a good thing.

Watchful

I've been thinking about this word for three days. I saw it in an article in a magazine and have since composed at least three maybe decent but different poems about the word "watchful." None of these musings did I write down. All the words are now lost. Except the one I kept my eye on -- watchful. I need to write it down.

I had an email from a friend saying that she doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving because of the native American experience. Of course, she said, of course. I guess I can see that, but I LOVE this holiday. Friends and family get together, take maybe a minute to be grateful for another year on the planet. The stores shut down for a day, we actually have to talk to one another as people and not as consumers. How many cultures have harvest festivals, I wonder? Doesn't the multicultural aspect of harvest celebration make it okay? Please? The world is torn apart, gratitude is a carpet we stand on to give us solid footing when we reach for hope, that thing with feathers. So elusive.

We need to be watchful of gratitude least it slip away like an unwritten poem leaving us empty-handed.

Chapter 3 Don Quixote

I'm thinking that I don't want to make a separate blog entry for every chapter, but truly, this reading is so complex that my eyes tend to glaze over before I reach the end of the sentence. I need to incorporate comprehension strategies I've learned from strategies that Work and other books. I'm using post it notes so that I don't have to write in the margins of this fine book.

Chapter 3, zoom in on the landlord, a wag. What's a wag? It's someone who cheats widows (cold), ruins maidens (nasty), and swindles minors (takes candy from babies). He has been around and has street smarts. Naturally he is quick to pick up on the fact that Quixote is crackers, but the landlord decides to humor him and agrees to do the official dubbing, since the errant knight thinks he's a governor. In fact Quixote thinks he's hanging with royalty but in fact his fellow companions at the inn are wenches and a pig gelder. Meantime, Quixote's gear is still on the watering tank and he's wandering around in his shirt and helmet with the green ribbons (how's that for an image?). Along comes some carrier who wants to give his team of horses water, so he moves the armor off the watering tank. Quixote sees this and clocks the guy with his lance. He doesn't smite him dead, just unconscious. After this Quixote is all full of himself and when another carrier comes and commits the same crime of touching the armor, he smites him, too. The other guests start to freak out and rain stones on the half cracked knight. The landlord can't wait to get rid of this nut case and dubs him quickly and unceremoniously in a field and Quixote starts speechifying again, but the landlord can't wait to get rid of him before the rest of the guests tear the inn apart. He doesn't even charge him for the night, he just shows him the door and tells him Godspeed, which is medieval for get lost.

NCTE When Teachers Convene

When teachers convene, the subject is books. The writing, reading, sharing, politics, philosophies of books. The passing conversations in the hallways, the talk over dinner, the convention exhibitors and sessions are all about books, how to make them happen, which are the best and how do we get more people to grow into, from and through books. From poems no longer or more memorable than a sneeze to complete works that have lived through centuries, teachers come together and for what? For books.

Katie and I presented together for the first time, which was so cool. New and natural at the same time. We were so into reviewing and revising our presentation on the way from Cleveland to Pittsburgh, we missed the exit and drove to Monroeville before we realized our mistake. Loved hearing the droll humor and inspiration of Frank McCourt whose impact was not muted by the caverous room or projected images. Lots of friends to hug and new projects to discuss.

Three days in Pittsburgh at NCTE, friends, colleagues from across the country and a virtual train load of books. Quite a weekend.

Chapter 2 Don Quixote

Cervantes seems to be telling this story with a wink. Our hero is wearing a patched up helmet held on with green ribbons tied in impossible knots, can this be anything but comical? Quixote mounts his steed and leaves from the back door of his yard on the road to his first day in pursuit of his grand purpose. He's thinking though that what could be considered knightly might only be criminal if he is not officially dubbed by an official dubber. He's all worked up about this as he approaches a medieval Red Roof Inn. He sees this dump as a castle; being delusional has its advantages when it comes to touring Spain on zero dollars a day. He wants to be greeted by banners and trumpets, instead he is met by swine and strumpets, so naturally he is happy as a pig in mud. He's dead tired and starved and wants a trout, but the only thing around is troutlets and he can't eat them because of the ribbons covering his face. The "fair maidens" feed him through a reed while he claims he lives to serve them (this is a common male/female theme). His convoluted philosophies totally crack them up. The innkeeper is a pudgy old guy who welcomes him in and takes his armor (except for his shirt and helmet) and sets it on top of the watering tank. Quixote thinks that this guy is a high governor of the castle, so he hands over his gear, and continues to strut around the courtyard, still all bent out of shape about his LOD (lack of dubbing).

Joining the ranks of struggling readers

Here's a challenge. Michael and I received a dinner invite for next April in the mail this week. Why so far in advance? There is a requirement for the dinner, we must have read Don Quixote, the original by Cervantes who, I found out in the fine print, died on the same day as Shakespeare. Just watching the movie adaptation of the Man of La Mancha won't do at all -- all 1000 pages must be read.

On the shelf, as a stoic member of the Britannica Great Books collection I inherited from my first husband, I found the text, dusted it off and last night read the first chapter of Part 1. Cervantes may be a long time dead, but the man has a bit of a sense of humor, I was pleased to find. The language is complex though, requiring me to read and reread paragraphs before I start to get it.

A lot happens in this first chapter. We learn that Don Quixote is really a mad country gentleman who is arrogant and ill-conditioned (full of himself and out of shape) but also affable and well-bred (not cranky and from a decent family). And he is also thoroughly mad, "his wits being quite gone." Anyway, he is determined to "make a knight-errant of himself, roaming the world over in full armor and on horseback in quest of adventures, righting every kind of wrong, and exposing himself to peril and danger from which, in the issue, he was to reap eternal renown and fame." He dubs himself Quixote and his horse Rocinante.

Then he thinks he needs (naturally) a lady fair, so he picks a local farm girl who he used to have a crush on, but she doesn't know he is alive. But that's okay with him, because he's nuts.

end of chapter 1. Maybe this won't be so bad. I just need to take time to digest it along the way. Rethink it in modern terms.

this is the gig

Today started with aerobics to get the blood pumping. A short family visit, trip to the store and home to sit in a leather chair by the fire, laptop humming to work on the new book.

This is it. Days and weeks away from home for a few days like these. Ahh.

Math Tanka 

McCord Junior High, Sylvania, OH

This was fun -- They broadcast my assembly presentation from McCord Junior High to two other middle schools, using all kinds of technology. In the old days, they would have bussed the other schools in, but instead they saw me on a screen. The pluses were that I could see (or be seen) by more kids. The down side was that not only did I not get to shake any hands there, I didn't feel as closely connected to the kids in the assembly at McCord. I think we are so accustomed to watching people on a screen, that more kids were watching my projected image than looking at me. And I wound up playing to a camera rather than to the live audience. I know this is the wave of the future, I'm not sure.

One thing I am sure of is that I don't want to remember McCord for their technology (which was state of the art). I was blown away by the poems the kids were writing, the ones that were posted about the building and the ones the 6th graders wrote in the two days I was there. Many thanks to Judy Bashforth for all her hard work and to the other teachers for preparing the kids so well.

The picture I'm posting is of two math Tanka poems from the hallway display. All of them were great, this just happened to be the photo that turned out the clearest.