Forget-Me-Not Classrooms

What makes a class worth remembering?  Not all classroom memories are positive therefore maybe the cycle of round robin reading, course brown paper towels, and games like Heads-Up Seven-Up are best left in the 1980’s.  However, there are also those great rooms, times, and teachers whose memory is conjured up by the smell of tempera paint and Mr. Jinx cleaner.

The first classroom I remember was my kindergarten classroom. Mrs. Phlegar’s room was musty and dank in the basement of dilapidated Central Elementary.  I remember the housekeeping area, an immaculate dream land of wooden kitchen sets and tiny table. It remained looking like something from the Lakeshore School Supply catalog because we never were allowed in there!  I remember the ladder and loft filled with books. Beautiful books of all shapes and sizes that I couldn’t read and no one there taught me. I look back now and think what a waste of a year to sit in that decorative primary colored loft surrounded by Dr. Seuss and Mother Goose and only being able to look at the pictures.  Where were the adults anyway?

I remember Mrs. Phlegar and her aides rocking the Criers. I hated the Criers – Those whining babies who cried endlessly about missing their mommies and when were we going home. Kindergarten was only half day in 1980. I had waited my whole life to finally go to school and it seemed my time was always being cut short by the Criers.  The Criers got stories read to them in the coveted rocking chairs.  The Criers got tissues and to hold the teachers hand on walks around the school whenever they marched us to lunch or gym.  The most important lesson I learned in Kindergarten was not to put coffee beans in your ear or they would send you home and the squeaky wheel gets the grease. I also learned that if you sat near the front you got called on the most and that felt great.

The next classroom I remember vividly was third grade. Amazingly it was across the hall from the dark kindergarten but this sublevel room was full of sunshine.  My third grade was team taught by to ancient teachers.  Mrs. Burge, round and gruff, was in charge of math, handwriting, and low achieving boys.  All of the things a prissy, smarty pants nine year old girl avoids like most kids avoid spinach. I tolerated her lessons on multiplication but hated every minute. I hated her red pen and the slant marks she made on my painstaking attempt at a perfect under curve stokes as a struggled to master Zaner-Bloser cursive writing.

I tolerated Mrs. Burge like spinach because if I lived through her morning of torture I would get dessert in the form of Mrs. Eileen Elliott.  Mrs. Burge would go to the back of the room to grouch at stinky boys and leave me and the rest of the “good” kids with Mrs. Elliott.  Mrs. Elliott had the books and the stories and the crayons and PAINT.  Mrs. Elliott asked us what we wanted to know. I said dinosaurs.  She handed me a stack of books, (one was a coloring book to keep!), glue, all the construction paper I wanted in ALL of the colors, and a shoebox.  I remember her saying, “See what you can find out and make something for me about it.” I made a diorama, complete with a plastic T-Rex gnawing on a defenseless Brontosaurus.  I learned about predators, herbivores, and the Big Bang Theory – believing that I had done it all by myself.

In the spring, I brought in tadpoles that I found in one of the farm ponds to share with the class. I was hoping to watch them grow into frogs and gain the affection of my dear Mrs. Elliott.  Jars of black swimming orbs were not enough to impress her. She promptly took down the class bulletin board and told me and a friend to find out about the frog’s development and make a new display for everyone so we all would know what changes to watch for in that jar.  I don’t remember is the tadpoles lived or died but I remember making that bulletin board, arguing with Heather over what green to use for the adult frog and telling the class all about their life cycle.  In hindsight, I am sure that was the ugliest conglomeration of construction paper and kid art in the history of elementary schools.  It may not have been pretty but that room was kid-friendly, kid centered, and full of learning.  I was not the only student Mrs. Elliott challenged, inspired, and set free to explore but I felt like I was.

Sadly, as I try to remember other rooms where I spent twelve years of my education and even college they begin to blur together.  There were desks in rows with cool Formica tops that were perfect for putting your head down on after a hot recess of monkey bar flips while the teacher read The Miracle Worker about Helen Keller’s teacher. I can recall the book but not the room or even the name of the teacher reading.   Next there were the faux wooden topped desks with the wire bottom and orange seat for six years of secondary education where I read and had read to me things that meant nothing to me then or now. I have never been intrigued by a Hobbit.  These were the desks where I learned more about who loved who at the dance over the weekend than the star-crossed lovers of history.  The desks I chose because it was more important to sit by your best friend, cutest boy, or smartest kids (in case you were on the phone too late to study for the vocab quiz the night before) than to sit near the teacher. I had learned in Kindergarten not to sit in front or I would always get called on to answer.

What are the most memorable classrooms? I think now it had more to do with the lady leading the class than the room itself.  Now that I am a teacher myself, I want a room to be remembered vividly not a room that blends in one to the next.  I want my students to remember that special year not the one special day. And even if they can’t remember my name or what grade they were in I will be satisfied if they remember a story, a book, of a funny time when…….

I didn’t get to have this piece pressed at writing group on Sat. Thought maybe ya’all could give it a scan so I could have a less crappy piece to revise by our Nov. 12 meeting. Be kind… I am out of practice.

What Makes School Worth Remembering?

Creating a classroom conducive to learning is quite a daunting task. What are the elements that make a classroom memorable? What are the classes that I remember from my days of public education in Mason County, WV? Do I strive to recreate these classrooms or avoid them at all cost. Not all classroom memories are positive therefore maybe the cycle of round robin reading, course brown paper towels, and games like Heads-Up Seven-Up are best left in the 1980’s.

The first classroom I remember was my kindergarten classroom. Mrs. Phlegar’s room was musty and dank in the basement of dilapidated Central Elementary.  I remember the housekeeping area, an immaculate dream land of wooden kitchen sets and tiny table. It remained looking like something from the Lakeshore School Supply catalog because we never were allowed in there!  I remember the ladder and loft filled with books. Beautiful books of all shapes and sizes that I couldn’t read and no one there taught me. I look back now and think what a waste of a year to sit in that decorative primary colored loft surrounded by Dr. Seuss and Mother Goose and only being able to look at the pictures.  Where were the adults anyway?  I remember Mrs. Phlegar and her aides rocking the Criers. I hated the Criers – Those whining babies who cried endlessly about missing their mommies and when were we going home. Kindergarten was only half day in 1980. I had waited my whole life to finally go to school and it seemed my time was always being cut short by the Criers.  The Criers got stories read to them in the coveted rocking chairs.  The Criers got tissues and to hold the teachers hand on walks around the school whenever they marched us to lunch or gym.  The most important lesson I learned in Kindergarten was not to put coffee beans in your ear or they would send you home and the squeaky wheel gets the grease. I also learned that if you sat near the front you got called on the most and that felt great.

The next classroom I remember vividly was third grade. Amazingly it was across the hall from the dark kindergarten but this sublevel room was full of sunshine.  My third grade was team taught by to ancient teachers.  Mrs. Burge, round and gruff, was in charge of math, handwriting, and low achieving boys.  All of the things a prissy, smarty pants nine year old girl avoids like most kids avoid spinach. I tolerated her lessons on multiplication but hated every minute. I hated her red pen and the slant marks she made on my painstaking attempt at a perfect under curve stokes as a struggled to master Zaner-Bloser cursive writing.

I tolerated Mrs. Burge like spinach because if I lived through her morning of torture I would get dessert in the form of Mrs. Eileen Elliott.  Mrs. Burge would go to the back of the room to grouch at stinky boys and leave me and the rest of the “good” kids with Mrs. Elliott.  Mrs. Elliott had the books and the stories and the crayons and PAINT.  Mrs. Elliott asked us what we wanted to know. I said dinosaurs.  She handed me a stack of books, (one was a coloring book to keep!), glue, all the construction paper I wanted in ALL of the colors, and a shoebox.  I remember her saying, “See what you can find out and make something for me about it.”  In the spring, I brought in tadpoles that I found in one of the farm ponds to share with the class. I was hoping to watch them grow into frogs and score point with Mrs. Elliott.  Jars of black swimming orbs were not enough to impress her. She promptly took down the class bulletin board and told me and a friend to find out about the frog’s development and make a new display for everyone so we would no what changes to watch for in that jar.  I don’t remember is the tadpoles lived or died but I remember making that bulletin board, arguing with Heather over what green to use for the adult frog, and telling the class all about frogs.  In hindsight I am sure that was the ugliest conglomeration of construction paper and kid art in the history of elementary schools.  I was not the only student Mrs. Elliott challenged, inspired, and set free to explore. It may not have been pretty but that room was kid-friendly, kid centered, and full of learning.

Sadly, as I try to remember other rooms where I spent twelve years of my education and even college they begin to blur together.  Desks in rows with cool Formica tops that was perfect for putting your head down on after a hot recess of monkey bar flips while the teacher read The Miracle Worker about Helen Keller’s teacher. I can recall the book but not the room or even the name of the teacher reading.  The faux wooden topped desks with the wire bottom and orange seat for six years of secondary education where I read and had read to me things that meant nothing to me then or now. I have never been intrigued by a Hobbit.  These were the desks where I learned more about who loved who at the dance over the weekend than the star-crossed lovers of history.  The desks I chose because it was more important to sit by your best friend, cutest boy, or smartest kids (in case you were on the phone to late to study for the vocab quiz the night before) than to sit near the teacher. I had learned in Kindergarten not to sit in front or I would always get called on to answer.

What are the most memorable classrooms? I think now it had more to do with the lady leading the class than the room itself.  I want a room to be remembered vividly not a room that blends in one to the next.  I want my students to remember that special year not the one special day. And even if they can’t remember my name or what grade they were in I will be satisfied if they remember a story, a book, of a funny time when……. All of these moments that will shape who they are because as scary as it is today tomorrows teacher is sitting in my class today and gauging whether or not she wants a room like this or not for her future students.  What memories will I give her?  What will she remember from her public school days in Boyd County, KY?

Maybe ditch the room and do something just on desks?

Weak start?

How to expand?

Transition from tables, desks, lab tables, to teacher desk?

Welcome to my blog!  By following the links on the Table of Contents you will catch a peek into the world of my National Writing Project experience at Marshall University during the Summer of 2009.  This truly was a life changing experience.  I found out I was a writer not just an editor of students’ 3×5 essays.  I found a voice in my writing that reflects my personality and love of teaching as a profession and a passion.  Writing is good for the mind and spirit. It is also cheaper than therapy and more fulfilling than venting to a friend.  Now that I can blog, no trees will be harmed in my journaling.

As a teacher, I see myself as a facilitator, collaborator, and an assessor NOT a grader or authority.  The National Writing Project has given me the research and the professional learning community to support my beliefs that not everything must be graded and assessing ideas is more important than checking grammar. As a Reading Specialist, I am energized to explore the points in the learning process where reading and writing intersect.  I have gained the confidence to use more scholarly research to support my educational philosophy and best practices and feel like I can empower my students will the same skills.  I have discovered writing as the new path to intrinsically motivating students and myself.

Selecting pieces for my E-portfolio was an interesting process.  Through my experiences in NWP, I have learned to trust the process.  I was driven to choose pieces that reflect my sense of humor and my vision of myself as a teacher.  The Ethnography, Camping With A Cosmo Girl, Criagslist Advertisement and Dear Soccer Dad pieces demonstrate my ability to laugh at myself and see the comedy in almost any situation.  Change, The Most Important Lessons, and Restoration are the most personal pieces.  I think these show how I am comfortable with myself. I am confident being a person not only a knowledge dispenser in my classroom.  The Eulogy of Area and Perimeter was so fun to write. As a professed math-hater, it was the first time I ever experienced anything positive in math.  All of these selections are reflective writing will reveal more of myself so the readers of this blog can get to know more about me.

This Class Has Gone To The Dogs: A Paws-ative Approach To Increasing Reading and Writing Fluency and the demonstration flyer are my attempt at scholarly writing.  This formant was actually somewhat easier that the more personal pieces because it was more familiar. I feel good knowing I have more research to support the programming I use in my classroom.  I feel I have produced something reproducible and a document that gives me more credence among my peers.

My three technology writings are included because they were required and they show a progression of learning. At the beginning of NWP I was lacking confidence in my technical skills.  I used what I knew how to use and avoided new applications, like blogs and wikis, because I did not know anything about them.  I now can admit that my students may be more comfortable with using these innovations but I now have some experience.  I would like to blog with my students and I would allow them to create digital stories.  I am so glad to have an outlet of support in my NWP family to help me stretch my borders into cyber-learning.

So Blog Reader – explore the space I have created and read some of my writing pieces.  Please comment as it would really help me complete my transition from editor to revisionist and from teacher to writer.  I am continuing to trust the process!

Lorie

5.  If you don’t know ask – someone will help.

4. Technology is not the devil.

3.  Writing is for expressing ideas not examples of correct grammar and punctuation; Editing is not Revision.

2.  Not everything has to be read, assessed, and picked apart – practice is great not graded.

1.  TRUST THE PROCESS!!

What are your reflections on using your blog thus far in Summer Institute? How can keeping and maintaining a blog help you as a member of a professional community? How can you use blogs in your classroom?

I confess the idea of keeping blog was less than thrilling to me at the beginning of SI.  I was sure it would become a place where my novice computer abilities would be on display for the world to see. I have discovered that I love the blog. Rather I enjoy reading everyone else’s blog. I get a giddy euphoria when I check my email and find someone has commented on something I wrote. It is a strange kind of high.  Usually the comments are kind and funny.  They make me smile and I appreciate the suggestions I have been getting. 

I can see creating a blog for my kids to use to write to Dewey.  Dewey does not go to school on days when the weather is bad. Who wants to smell wet dog all day?  He also stays home on days I have meetings or other commitments. The blog would be a wonderful, creative way for my students to post writing samples, reflections, or journal entries to tell Dewey what he has missed.  I would also be a to intergrate technology into my remedial reading curriculum. 

I would like to maintain my wordpress blog to keep in contact with my new SI friends.  I would like to be able to bounce ideas off of the other fellows and leaders as I try to implement my SI strategies into my teaching next year. What works, what bombed, etc?

The Electronic Portfolio

How does the e-portfolio project change your blog and how you use it? What ways can you use an electronic portfolio as a professional? How could you use e-portfolios in your classroom?

I didn’t work on this today. Bad girl forgot her thumb drive. I will get back to this later.  I would like an E-portfolio for my kids, though.  Eliminate the paper waste!

MU NWP SI 2009

Ethnography

DATELINE July 7, 2009

The following is an investigation report of the cult-like gathering of teachers housed in a compound located in Corbly Hall, fourth floor, Marshall University. The climate in the compound is sub-arctic and forces the members to wear coats indoors in July.

The information given in this ethnography is only the opinion of the ethnographer and should not be considered fact.  The Ethnographer is relieved of all legal and civil obligations and cannot be held liable.

Time: 9:00 am EST

Ethnographer is positioned within the NWP Cult.  She is disguised as one of the Fellows. Leaders are beginning to suspect she is not right in the head. Suspicion is growing.

Note: a fellow is a new member undergoing the “Process” of joining the NWP Cult.  Throughout the past two weeks she had endured many initiation practices and is now privy to inside information.

Leaders of the Cult and Fellows gather in the common meeting room and seat themselves around some sort of uneven ceremonial table.  Each comes in with journal and pen in hand. The group seems happy to be reunited as they were given leave to celebrate the 4^th of July with family members who are not permitted on the compound.  The group is divided between those who drink from cups with lids and those who have open ones. The majority is overjoyed with the food offering of Hostess doughnuts.  It does not appear to take much to make them giddy.

Sister Peggy, Head Priestess (she goes by other aliases Queen, Facilitator, Leader), refers to Beyond the Blush by an author the Ethnographer did not catch.  The Leaders and Fellows are about to embark on the first ceremony of the day: Sacred Writing.  Here they will bare their souls and further bind each other to one another through written and shared confession.  They are instructed to write about an embarrassing moment.  Giggles are heard as they begin to write and soon settle into silence. This will be a true bearing of souls.

So not to blow her undercover FAC-ADE, the Ethnographer prattles on about peeing in a pink tutu and a disgruntled janitor. Then each Sister and Brother in turn reads their confessional.  Brief summaries are included and subjects for further investigations:

• the demolition in demos and unzipped flies
• a savory menu of food feasts off the compound (no bake cookies, spaghetti salad, biscuits & gravy)
• racing with a flailing-armed boy who ran like a girl (now she knows why)
• Reeking burnt hair ala Michael Jackson (Arsonist – Jimmy Beasley)
• Defamation of public school property with permanent markers.
• Breaking and Entering  attempt of a blue van in Wal-Mart parking lot (no charges filed by shocked shopper, no intent to harm)
• Indecent exposure in front of minors by a Teddy Bear losing underwear in school
• Entering without Breaking of Milton Little League fields to find a Purpose for Life                                                                                                                       Note: Steve Martin found a use for his “special purpose” in the movie The Jerk
• Failed attempts at Spanish counting and threats of spousal abuse on holy grounds
• After-the-fact embarrassment, that may or may not be embarrassing in hindsight – Becoming intimate with words?
• Defying laws of nature and physics with center of gravity shifts and using expletives in front of  virgin-eared, naïve children AND the destruction of public property to endanger the life of an insect.
• Denial: blocking out all embarrassing moments and what men tell her. Interest in burial practices of brains and sequin garb.
• Dumpster diving from the bottom up in public schools and shopping for Depends. Doth protests too much. (Mildred and Agnes clearly fictional names)

Time 10:15 am EST

Sisters and Brothers dismissed from ceremonial table. Some eat, some talk, some participate in the quilting bee and add meaningful quotes to the Quote Quilt.

The Ethnographer escapes to the up-flush potty and is faced with a challenge of locked doors, walking under ladders and information exchanges with the undercover maintenance man. Access gained. Is the High Priestess having the Compound bugged in the ladies room?

Time 10:30 am EST

Note: While no formal uniform has been issued for today, one member is noticeably over dressed.  He must be the human sacrifice to the Demo.  Cult  moves to some sort of meeting room known as The Lab.

Brother JD begins his demonstration titled “Addressing the Fear of Math: Mutli-genre Projects”.  He leads the Brothers and Sisters in a rousing chorus of “I Hate Math” and begins to demystify the anxiety and the stigma of math in our schools. Through the writing of eulogies, arrest reports, and the use of video, he is able to convince the congregation that writing is a path for math instruction.  He also uses humor to ease the isolation of students struggling with math concepts.  Praise and suggestions conclude the demonstration. JD has pleased the High Priestess Peggy and the others so he will not be sacrificed – today.

Approximately 12:00 pm EST

Note: Fellows are not permitted to leave the compound during NWP hours.  Celebration Feast is held daily at the ceremonial table.

Sister Jill has been assigned lunch detail.  She serves chili, chips, and cheesecake to the cult members. A mysterious jar of red jam is offered and made from a secret recipe. The Ethnographer is brave, tries it, and is pleased.  Again the Brothers and Sisters are giddy at the sight of food and beverages.

12:45 pm EST

The cult is divided into something called Writing Groups.  Here the Fellows read and revise pre-written pieces in groups of 3 or 4.

Note: Ethnographer believes this is the portion of the day devoted to brainwashing and teaching of the NWP Cult ways.  Fellows are completely free to share and support one another’s writings.  The feelings built in these groups lead to the continuation of the NWP Cult. Writers are built who will later go out and recruit new Fellows.  The Leaders stay housed in The Lab. Fellows are not privy to this meeting.  It is the opinion of the Ethnographer that they use this time to plan Cult activities and contact the outside world.

No Leader could be reached for comment and the door remained closed until 1:45.

1:45 pm EST

Members are once again given a break from Cult tasks. Some Sisters, who will remain nameless to protect their identity, are becoming slap happy from the day’s pace.  Brother JD seems dazed by being spared earlier. His eyes are glassy and he only nods in response when given Deep Revision information.

2:00 pm EST

Brother Ian calls the group back to The Lab and begins the Technology Ceremony.  He instructs the members to visit the SI site and focus on the Creating an E-Portfolio link. DO NOT LOOK AT THE EXIT SLIP.  He then proceeds to lead the group in a demonstration of creating a table of contents using the WordPress page maker on our blogs and teaches the doctrine of link-making. Brother Ian speaks in tongues, but the ethnographer is able to pick out important phrases and extract meaning. He loves the new presentation website he has discovers. Cult members are hypnotized by the swirling words and pretty fonts.

The Ethnographer has, however, forgotten her thumb drive and risks blowing her cover.  Swiftly, she reads the exit slip and begins looking busy.  While the High Priestess and other Leaders are working on Cult related tasks, she works the room interviewing other Fellows about their SI experience.  Brother Ian is moving around The Lab offering aid and overseeing tasks of posts, revision help, Open Mic blogs, and archiving links.  Sister Beth keeps him busy with questions while other Fellows multi-task with hyperlinks and ipods.  He will report to the High Priestess on Techy-progress and grants permission to begin exit slips.

Time Lost

Ethnographer loses track of time and notices other Brothers and Sisters beginning to leave the compound.  They are under orders from the High Priestess Peggy to return for the Sacred Writing Ceremony July 8^th at 9:00 am.  Tomorrow’s events will look similar to today.

Note: The Ethnographer had truly enjoyed the Process of becoming a Fellow in the NWP Cult.  If the High Priestess serves Kool-aid in the morning she will happily drink and then write about it.

LOST TECHERS

TEACHER INFORMATION

“This Class Has Gone To The Dogs!

A Paws-ative Approach to Increasing

Reading and Writing Fluency”

CONTACT

Presented by Lora Sanders

Marshall University National Writing Project

LAST SEEN

Professional Development offered on June 30, 2009

STORY

Are you a lost teacher looking for an innovative way to increase reading and writing fluency and build confidence in your at-risk students?  This demonstration offers information about the use of reading therapy dogs in the classroom.  Research-based information will be presented and a therapy dog will be on site.  Come get the reward of learning a new teaching strategy!

Okay, I’ll tell you on the condition that you do not tell my parents. Promise!  Even though I am over 30 years old, I am not sure the statute is up on being grounded for this one and having the car keys of my powder blue Dodge Omni taken away.

It was the summer of 1992.  My best friend and I convinced my parents that pitching a tent in the backyard was a great idea for two 16 year old girly girls who had no interest in camping, bugs, or being outdoors period.  Rachel’s parents had recently divorced and were cleaning out, actually divvying up, their household items.  Her dad found a large six man tent – An old, grey tarp that smelled like musty socks.  We saw treasure and the perfect way to sneak out without the fear of being locked out! “Can we have it?” we asked, trying to play it cool.  “Certainly!”

So you see, I grew up on large dairy farm located near Point Pleasant, WV.  We pitched our new party palace in the far end of my parent’s five acre lawn on the side of house with no windows of course, but close enough that the cordless phone still picked up if you held your head just right.  We stashed our tent with everything a good girly camper might need. Makeup, Cosmopolitan magazine, several sets of our best matching K-mart bra and panty sets, a jam box, and our combined collection of Prince cassettes.  I vaguely remember the scent of Avon’s Skin So Soft bug repellant so we wouldn’t smell like Off.

The stage was set – cue the boys. Older boys with their own cars and no curfew were summoned.  Boys wearing black concert t-shirts, jean shorts, and in cloud of Obsession cologne.  Our plan was ready.

1.       Say good night to my parents at dusk

2.      Steal cigarettes, Salem Light 100’s, from my mom’s purse for Rachel

3.      Retire to the tent with phone.  Call boys to arrange pick up. 12:30 at the church.

4.      Get dolled up with Max Factor’s Iced Mocha lipstick and Aqua Net in the white can-Extra Hold.

5.      Read Cosmo out loud to each other to find out what to do with said boys (like we had the nerve.)

6.  Sing Prince’s “Little Red Corvette” like rock stars.

7.      WAIT!

Finally the time would come to sneak out of our tent and make our way in the cool summer night to sit on the red steps of Concord Baptist Church for dreamy James and which ever dude he could talk into coming with him. Quietly we would tiptoe out of the tent flashlights in hand. We never turned them on in case someone might look out the window and see the beam or frighten a low-mooing cow in the distant pasture. We let the moon guide us and illuminate our baby oil and iodine tanned legs.   After all or our waiting and giggling, the boys would come and we were off – cruising through town blasting Poison, Cinderella, and the Beastie Boys in a long maroon, elderly Oldsmobile.  There was always a trip to TNT, the deserted WWII bomb storage area, to search for the Mothman and some smoochie-smoochie.

And then the moment of panic, “What time is it!?”

My dad, the dairy farmer, woke every morning at 3:30 am to do the first milking.  This meant we had to be back in the tent before then or we couldn’t return until 5:00 when he was safely gone lest we get caught.  My mom was always fast asleep with Prince Valium and would never wake to check on us short of the second coming.  How could we get back to the security of our gray summer hide-away?

My sister had advised me years before when left the house for college how to safely return home. Her advice was priceless to our very survival and the greatest camping tip we ever received.

1. Check the time.
2. If it was near 3 am, drive on past our parents’ house.
3. Hide at the second cattle bridge with the headlights and engine off.

From this location we could see and hear the roar of my Dads 1983 blue Chevy Custom Deluxe pickup truck.  In the quiet of the wee hours we could hear the rambling of some old country western song on the WQBE radio station if he had the window down.  As saw his red taillights bound out of sight we could let out a sigh of relief. And then would begin to plan…

Same place -

Same time -

Don’t forget to shave your legs!

Remember, you promised not to tell!

I think I could make one to show boring stuff like test taking skills or model think-aloud stratedgies. It might make something so dry and little more interesting.  I could involve my kids in this process too.  I think I could also use digital stories for creating assignments between BCHS and Summit. I think it would interesting to have my grade school kids write the story and have my high school kids make the video. Both groups would really enjoy it.