Archive | July, 2018

My new phone

31 Jul

I finally did it. I got a smart phone.

I’d managed to get along just fine with my flip phone and computer, but I will be buying a new car before too long. Since new cars all have bluetooth capability, I figured I ought to get the phone before the car so the dealership can show me all the fabulous things the car and phone can do together. If only they could drive for me!

I don’t think I am ready for that yet. Do you think that means I have trust issues?

Getting the phone was quick and painless. I have a MacBook and an iPad, so you can imagine the direction I went. I was in and out quickly, with the new phone connected to the phone connected to the Apple ID I use for my other devices.

It wasn’t until I was driving home that there was one piece of crucial information I didn’t get: the phone number.

This was easily remedied by calling my landline. There was an email waiting for me when I got home, too, from my carrier. That made my next step easier and I began announcing to the world my newly connected status. Here is my first selfie:

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Sleeping with the anemones

24 Jul

Although I have been to the Oregon Coast many times, last week’s trip to Cannon Beach was unique for two reasons. First, the tide was so far out,  the marine garden in front of Haystack Rock was visible.

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We were able to see the sea life that clings to the rocks: limpets, barnacles and anemones.

The second reason why this trip was unique is because my sister and I brought some of my parents ashes to bury at the beach.

We looked for just the right spot – away from other people and close enough to the water that the tide would soon carry Mom and Dad away and make them one with the universe. We had packed supplies to dig the small hole we would need and took them out to start as soon as we found the perfect spot. Broken bits of shell were nearby so we used those to decorate once we had buried the ashes, and wrote their names ( Georgie & Earl) above.

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Then, we walked away to let the ocean do what it will. We giggled a bit as we walked away because we’d left Mom & Dad sleeping with the anemones.

Simply beautiful

22 Jul

In What I Leave Behind,  Alison McGhee doesn’t take on topics that haven’t been covered before. She does, however, take on familiar topics in a whole new way. It is simple and beautiful…and simply beautiful.

There are 100 words on 100 pages. It is poetic and thoughtful – perfect for a teen who loves thoughtful literature but accessible for reluctant readers. Each page has a Chines character and my only complaint is that I would have liked a little more information about that. I did some research on my own, and that satisfied my curiosity.

I loved Will. He is a nice boy with a lot to bear. His father is gone and his friend has been raped. He makes sense of the world by walking, thinking and being kind. We need more people like Will.

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Publisher’s Summary: After his dad dies of suicide, Will tries to overcome his own misery by secretly helping the people around him in this exquisitely crafted story made up of one hundred chapters of one hundred words each, by award-winning and bestselling author Alison McGhee.

Sixteen-year-old Will spends most of his days the same way: Working at the Dollar Only store, trying to replicate his late father’s famous cornbread recipe, and walking the streets of Los Angeles. Will started walking after his father committed suicide, and three years later he hasn’t stopped. But there are some places Will can’t walk by: The blessings store with the chest of 100 Chinese blessings in the back, the bridge on Fourth Street where his father died, and his childhood friend Playa’s house.

When Will learns Playa was raped at a party—a party he was at, where he saw Playa, and where he believes he could have stopped the worst from happening if he hadn’t left early—it spurs Will to stop being complacent in his own sadness and do some good in the world. He begins to leave small gifts for everyone in his life, from Superman the homeless guy he passes on his way to work, to the Little Butterfly Dude he walks by on the way home, to Playa herself. And it is through those acts of kindness that Will is finally able to push past his own trauma and truly begin to live his life again. Oh, and discover the truth about that cornbread.

Welcome home

17 Jul

Waiting at the arrival gate doors  at PDX (Portland International Airport) for my sister to arrive, I observed the following:

  • A dad and two kids –  a boy and his younger sister. The little girl was in her nightie. Dad and the little boy held flowers. The little girl held a box of chocolates. When Mom came through the doors there were lots of hugs and kisses.
  • A man with long grey hair and a long grey beard holding a “Welcome Home” sign. The two young black-haired girls who came through were swallowed up by the sign as he embraced them.
  • Two women who were obviously waiting for the same flight from Toronto. One had Princess Leia buns. A Canadian flag sprouted out of each.
  • A middle-aged couple came through the doors towards their daughter and son-in-law. The mom said. ” I spotted the tallest guy in the room.” The daughter laughed and said, “You’re embarrassing him. He’s sensitive,” as she looped her arm around his waist and brought him into the group hug.

I got thinking that, if I am ever feeling sad, this would be a great place to come to cheer myself up.

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Reading my way home

16 Jul

I went to Canada with a list of new Canadian  books I thought might be hard to find at home, and that I could add to my classroom library. One of the beauties of flying is the time to sit and read without interruption. I read two of my new books as I waited at the gate, then flew home.

I started A World Below by Wesley King while I waited at the Gate.

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Publisher’s Summary: A class field trips turns into an underground quest for survival in the latest middle grade novel from the author of Edgar Award winner OCDaniel.

Mr. Baker’s eighth grade class thought they were in for a normal field trip to Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico. But when an earthquake hits, their field trip takes a terrifying turn. The students are plunged into an underground lake…and their teacher goes missing.

They have no choice but to try and make their way back above ground, even though no one can agree on the best course of action. The darkness brings out everyone’s true self. Supplies dwindle and tensions mount. Pretty and popular Silvia does everything she can to hide her panic attacks, even as she tries to step up and be a leader. But the longer she’s underground, the more frequent and debilitating they become. Meanwhile, Eric has always been a social no one, preferring to sit at the back of the class and spend evenings alone. Now, he finds himself separated from his class, totally by himself underground. That is, until he meets an unexpected stranger.

Told from three different points of view, this fast-paced adventure novel explores how group dynamics change under dire circumstances. Do the students of Mr. Baker’s class really know each other at all? Or do they just think they do? It turns out, it’s hard to hide in the dark.

This was an interesting book to read mere days after the rescue of the soccer team in Thailand. Each chapter ends with a bit of a cliff hanger and that certainly kept me reading. I had arrived at the airport early so I finished the book early in the flight and had time to read a second. The second book was My Deal With the Universe  by Deborah Kerbel.

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Publisher’s Summary: Daisy Fisher just wants to be normal, but growing up in a house known as the “Jungle” makes that impossible. It doesn’t help when the neighbours declare your family public enemy number one. Or when your best friend leaves for camp and forgets you exist. Or when your twin brother may be getting sick again….

Just when it feels like Daisy’s deal with the universe is unravelling, she finds out that love and strength can come from surprising places… and that maybe “normal” isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Most people have made a deal of some sort with the universe, promising to do something if only the Universe will make something turn out the way we want it to. Daisy’s deal has to do with her brother’s illness. Many kids have been embarrassed by their parents and Daisy is trying to walk the line between her love and embarrassment for hers. There is a lot for middle grade readers to connect with here.

A few days in Ottawa

11 Jul

A few days after celebrating Mom’s life, we took my niece back to her summer job in Ottawa, where we spent a few more days. We did everything quintessentially Canadian.

We saw the changing of the guards on Parliament Hill while we waited in the ticket line for tours of Parliament.

 

We then ran a family errand: searching for a window air conditioner for my nieces apartment in a city that just went through a heat wave. We finally found what we wanted at the 4th store, then returned for our tours of Parliament.

The tours are free, but they limit the number of people per tour, so You have to get tickets for a specific time. We got tickets for two tours – the East Block and the Central Block.

The East Block tour focused on the history of Canada. We got to see the office of Lord Dufferin, Sir John A. Macdonald, and Sir Georges-Étienne Cartier, learning how they each helped build Canada.

We also got to go into the original Privy Council office.

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On the Central Tour, we went right into the House of Commons and the Senate.

Then we got to visit the library.

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We had to be silent. Fortunately, no on got shushed. The library is as modern and up-to-date as any library. I love though, that they didn’t remove the built in card catalogue.

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My Mother’s Hands

10 Jul

I’ve been writing about my mom for years, using her life to model writing strategies to my students. I combed through my writer’s notebook before sitting down to write what I would say at her funeral. Here is what came out.

 

My Mother’s Hands

One of my earliest memories is of
My mother’s hands
Cupping, then twisting, an apple
Breaking it into two pieces
Her hands seemed all powerful.

They were always busy,
My mother’s hands,
Especially in the kitchen
Where they cooked, then cleaned
“Clean as you go”, she’d say,
With a dishcloth in her hands.
The same hands that peeled turnip for mashing for Christmas dinner
And always remembered to set aside several raw pieces for my plate
Because she knew I wouldn’t eat it cooked and mashed

When I was in high school, working after school,
Hers were the hands that arranged a plate
And covered it with plastic wrap
And made Dad drive her to the pool,
So I could have the same hot meal as the family

I learned to knit from
My mother’s hands
She guided my little hands through the basics –
Knit, purl, cast on, bind off –
Then set me free to explore
Allowing me to make this craft my own.

Those same hands,
Pinned the hems on yet another pair of pants
Too long for her short daughter
And taught me the steps because,
As she said
I’d be doing it the rest of my life.

They played games,
My mother’s hands:
Card games, bingo, and board games.
And they could be competitive.
She loved winning at cards
And we all knew to watch those hands
That sometimes cheated at Yahtzee.
And we all dreaded being paired with those hands for Pictionary.
Art was not their forte, though they made us laugh.

Mom was not much of a reader
Unless you count Danielle Steele in bathroom
But my mother’s hands
Took our little hands
And led us to the library
Upstairs in Rockton.
I don’t think she could have realized where those first steps would lead us.

They wrote countless notes
My mother’s hands
In tiny cursive
Excusing absences
Giving permission
But the best note she ever wrote
Was the feisty, sarcastic one to the administration
At Brantford Collegiate Institute
Where she stated that,
Since she and Dad figured I was mature and responsible enough
To spend a year in Europe,
They also figured I was responsible enough to come to school late
When I had first period spare.
Go Mom!
You didn’t mess with her when she was riled.

I look at my own hands.
They are small like
My mother’s hands
We weren’t blessed with long elegant fingers
We share small hands designed for work
And so I take my hands,
Her hands,
My mother’s hands
Into the world and do my work
Just like she did.

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