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Monday, March 31, 2008

10:52 – 11:00, 12:23-12:40, 12:49-55

Today I am still in the word choice chapter of The Revision Toolbox. Today I am going to focus on verbs and nouns. First of all, the textbook says that sentences are the engines of sentences so they should be strong, powerful and specific. I will look over my story and my goal is to change 5 verbs from dull, mundane ones to strong, specific words.

Here goes:

Came into (The world) = entered the world

Grew and matured = blossomed

Landed = obtained

Told him frankly = stated frankly

tease and taught – harass

The chapter also states that nouns are the wheels on which the engine rides, therefore, one should use specific nouns to help the sentence flow.

I will try to pick out five general nouns and replace them with more specific ones. Here goes again:

Tall = towering

I am having a problem with this one. I can’t find too many very general nouns. Even the one I replaced was a adjective.

I read this story to a friend of mine and she says that I need to add a little more description to the scenes. I will try that. . . . . . . Those additions are in the final story in green font. I only added a little bit of description to one scene. I either don’t really know how to do this or I don’t think that it needs that much more description. Please tell me as you read it, do I need more description? And Where?

Other than that, I actually think that I am pretty satisfied with my story now. The only thing that I haven’t done to it is the proofreading. I need to make sure that all of my verbs are in agreement and then I think I will be satisfied with it, at least for my purpose, which was to have a story to share with my daughter. Anyway, I will edit the verbs and then next week I think that I will work on the hat story about my Granny. I know my assignment was to work on one story, but I feel pretty done. I am going to refer back to my mentor text and see how that author handles verb tense. I know that the whole story is in the past, but the way I have arranged it (from sweeping through time, then stopping at specific instances, focusing on them then sweeping again.) I want to make sure that the sweeping and stopping are the same tense. I know in Spanish they are not, but I think in English they will be.

Final Story

On August 20, 1921 a little baby girl entered the world on a small rural farm in Martha, Oklahoma. The first child of Barney and Beaulah S, she was born into a world with no televisions or computers. Her home did not have a bathroom, a telephone or even electricity. She was also born into a world where women in Oklahoma had only recently gained the right to vote. But Joyce would one day accomplish much more than what was expected of a women in her day.

As Joyce grew up she faced many difficulties. After Joyce’s family moved to Texas at age three her mother abandoned the family, so Joyce and her younger brother, Alvis, were sent to live with their grandparents. There Joyce remembers Grandma making biscuits on the wood stove and Grandpa quoting scripture. Joyce learned a lot from her grandparents, but her father would soon remarry and Joyce adjusted, once again, to a new home life.

Over time little Joyce blossomed into a beautiful young woman. Joyce met and married a handsome fellow named John. As their family began to grow with the addition of two baby girls, Alice and Barbara, John obtained a crutial job driving a Dallas city bus. In 1941 the United States entered World War II and by 1944 John was drafted into the US Army. Joyce was pregnant with their third daughter, Linda, when John was shipped off to France. Joyce then decided to drive a city bus, making her one of the first lady bus drivers in Dallas.

“Your husband must have already showed you how to drive this bus because I am amazed you caught on so fast.” Said the instructor who taught her how to maneuver the vehicle.

Driving a big bus could be challenging, as Joyce discovered one bright Spring morning when she drove the large bus out of the bus barn where the buses were stored overnight. In those days, milk was delivered to a person‘s house in glass jars by a fleet of delivery trucks. As Joyce approached an intersection one of these milk delivery trucks raced to try to make it through the intersection and he was directly in her path. Joyce tried to bring the big behemoth of a bus to a halt, but she couldn’t. As the two vehicles collided, glass milk bottles crashed onto the pavement and a beautiful white river of milk flowed down the street.

Another time, on a chilly Autumn day amid towering buildings Joyce made the rounds of her bus route in the dusty downtown of Dallas. At a designated stop a scruffy old man began to ascend the stairs of the bus. Looking up, he saw that the bus driver was a woman and he abruptly stopped, not quite on, not quite off. Moments passed. He stood on the stairs and continued to stare at the rare lady bus driver.

“Either get on or off of the bus.” Joyce stated frankly. The rumpled man continued to just look at her from the bus’s stairwell, not moving an inch.

“I have to close the bus doors, sir. You need to find a seat.” Joyce informed him.

The disheveled man still did not move.

While he stood frozen, Joyce explained, “The bus has to continue the route. You can’t hold it up any longer, sir.”

Finally, as her words had not effect Joyce stood up from the big driver’s seat and, holding onto the shiny metal support bars of the bus, she abruptly put her foot against his chest and pushed him off of the bus. Then, she casually returned to her seat and finished the route. She had a schedule to keep and nothing would stop her from doing her work.

After John returned home from the war they both operated city buses but they eventually changed jobs to driving dump trucks instead. One cold grey morning, Joyce drove just outside of Dallas to Copelle, a small town with a train depot, where carefully, without tipping the truck over, she backed her truck onto a small platform that overhung the boxcars down below. Although this task was difficult, Joyce was not afraid to do this because she knew that she was very skilled. After Joyce finished dumping her truck she parked her vehicle and stood by the coffee stand with the other drivers, all men. A bearded guy, wearing a flannel shirt and overalls turned to the group.

“That the platform is too narrow for my truck. I will have to go somewhere else to dump my load. It’s a shame I drove all the way out here for nothing.” He said.

“I can do it.” Joyce found her self saying aloud. She knew she would be able to steer his truck onto the skinny platform.

“You? A woman? You think you can drive my big truck onto that narrow platform? It can’t be done and you’ll make a fool of yourself if you try.” The man answered.

“Then I’ll show you and we’ll see who’s the fool.” Joyce retorted and before the man could answer she jumped into his truck and began to carefully guide it where it had never gone before. All the men stared.

“It can’t be done. And you‘ll pay for my truck when you mess it up!” The bearded doubter yelled after her.

But Joyce showed him it could. She skillfully backed it up with only a few small inches of leaway on each side of the tires. She dumped the load. All of the men stood in utter disbelief, mouths gaping open. But after the men shook their surprise, they began to harass the bearded guy who doubted it could be done. Joyce jumped out of the truck and glided back to the group, triumphant. From then on no one doubted what a Joyce could accomplish.

Afterword:

In 1953 John and Joyce decided to go into business for themselves. They bought two green dumps trucks of their own and started a business called J. L. D*** Asphalt and Paving. Joyce ran the business by collecting money and doing the paperwork while John and their employees paved airplane runways, driveways and roads, built bomb shelters, put in swimming pools and much more. The business would expand and they added five red trucks. Their family would also expand. The whole time Joyce was running this business she had three more children, two boys and a girl.

Side note/deleted portion of story:

One day while roller skating with her friend she met a handsome and charming fellow named John. John was a wonderful guy, but he was sometimes tricky. The day she met him he pretended he didn’t know how to roller skate. All the girls crowded around him to show him how to skate, but soon he laughed and skated away showing that he had known how to skate the whole time.

Friday, March 28, 2008

1:34-2:04

I am going to resume where I left off yesterday, trying to edit out any excess or distracting or unneeded parts of my story. Here is what I worked on today:

After John returned home from the war they both operated city buses but they eventually changed jobs to driving dump trucks instead. One cold grey morning, Joyce often, drivers drove just outside of Dallas to Copelle, a small town with a train depot where to unloaded their heavy dump trucks into boxcars at a train depot outside of Dallas in a little town called Copelle. carefully, without tipping the truck over, each person she backed their her truck onto a small platform that overhung the boxcars down below. Although this task was difficult, Joyce was not afraid to do this because she knew that she was very skilled. But one cold grey morning After Joyce finished dumping her truck into the boxcar below she parked her vehicle and stood by the coffee stand with the other drivers, all men. A bearded guy, wearing a flannel shirt and overalls turned to the group.“That the platform is too narrow for my truck. I will have to go somewhere else to dump my load. It’s a shame I drove all the way out here for nothing.” He said.

“I can do it.” Joyce found her self saying aloud. She knew she would be able to steer his truck onto the skinny platform.“You? A woman? You think you can drive my big truck onto that narrow platform? It can’t be done and you’ll make a fool of yourself if you try.” The man answered.

“Then I’ll show you and we’ll see who’s the fool.” Joyce retorted and before the man could answer she jumped into his truck and began to carefully guide it where it had never gone before. All the men stared. “It can’t be done. And you‘ll pay for my truck when you mess it up!” The bearded doubter yelled after her.

But Joyce showed him it could. She skillfully backed it up with only a few small inches of leaway on each side of the tires. She dumped the load. All of the men stood in utter disbelief, mouths gaping open. But after the men shook their surprise, they began to tease and taught the bearded guy who doubted it could be done. Joyce jumped out of the truck and glided back to the group, triumphant. From then on none of those men doubted her skills again . what a good driver a woman could be.

During the rest of my time today I would like to try to create dialogue for the part of the story where the man doesn’t quite get on the bus, but doesn’t quite get off. Here goes:

Old sentences:

Then, another day, Joyce made the rounds of her bus route in 1940’s dusty Dallas amid tall buildings. At a designated stop a scruffy old man began to ascend the stairs of the bus. Looking up, he saw that the bus driver was a woman and he abruptly stopped, not quite on, not quite off. As the moments passed he stood on the stairs and continued to stare at the rare lady bus driver. Joyce told him frankly he had to either get on or off of the bus. The rumpled man continued to just look at her from the bus’s stairwell, not moving an inch.

Joyce informed him that she had to close the bus doors and that he needed to find a seat. The disheveled man still did not move. While he stood frozen, Joyce explained that the bus had to continue the route and he couldn’t hold it up any longer. Finally, as her words had not effect Joyce stood up from the big driver’s seat and holding onto the shiny metal support bars of the bus, she abruptly put her foot against his chest and pushed him off of the bus. Then, she casually returned to her seat and finished the route. She had a schedule to keep and nothing would stop her from doing her work.

New Sentences:

Another day, amid tall buildings Joyce made the rounds of her Dallas bus route in the 1940’s dusty city. At a designated stop a scruffy old man began to ascend the stairs of the bus. Looking up, he saw that the bus driver was a woman and he abruptly stopped, not quite on, not quite off. Moments passed. He stood on the stairs and continued to stare at the rare lady bus driver.

“Either get on or off of the bus.” Joyce told him frankly.

The rumpled man continued to just look at her from the bus’s stairwell, not moving an inch.

“I have to close the bus doors, sir. You need to find a seat.” Joyce informed him.

The disheveled man still did not move.

While he stood frozen, Joyce explained, “The bus has to continue the route. You can’t hold it up any longer, sir.”

Finally, as her words had not effect Joyce stood up from the big driver’s seat and holding onto the shiny metal support bars of the bus, she abruptly put her foot against his chest and pushed him off of the bus. Then, she casually returned to her seat and finished the route. She had a schedule to keep and nothing would stop her from doing her work.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

8:15-29, 4:51-55, 5:15-29

Today the textbook talks about replacing tired words with more descriptive words. I will work on that today.

I noticed that I use born a lot in the first paragraph so I decided to change the first one to “came into the world.”

O.K. As I am reading my story trying to look for the boring, overused, tired words, I admit that it is very hard. The book recommends replacing words like “thing” with more interesting and descriptive words. I am having a hard time. . . My editions are in green (and yesterday‘s in blue). I am learning that revising takes more time than composing – or maybe I just need more practice at it.

I am not sure if I did a good job at this, but for the remaining amount of my time today I am going to do is another activity from The Revision Toolbox. I am going to try to cut out things that do not go. The textbook states that up to half of what people write can be edited out. I will try to cut out the things that get the story out of focus or are frivoulous or unneeded. I will cut out everything I think is unneeded and if I need to add a little to make it more clear I will add it in purple.

I did the strikeouts until Joyce landed the job as a city bus driver, but now my time is up. I will have to return tomorrow and do more. This is what I worked on today:

As Joyce grew up she faced many difficulties. After Joyce’s family moved to Texas at age three her mother abandoned the family, so Joyce and her younger brother, Alvis, were sent to live with their grandparents. There Joyce remembers Grandma making biscuits on the wood stove and Grandpa quoting scripture. Joyce learned a lot from her grandparents, but her father would soon remarry again and Joyce adjusted, once again, to a new home life.

Over time little Joyce grew and matured into a beautiful young woman. One day while roller skating with her friend she met a handsome and charming fellow named John. John was a wonderful guy, but he was sometimes tricky. The day she met him he pretended he didn’t know how to roller skate. All the girls crowded around him to show him how to skate, but soon he laughed and skated away showing that he had known how to skate the whole time.

Joyce met and married a handsome fellow named John. After Joyce and John married, As their family began to grow with the addition of as they had two baby girls, Alice and Barbara, John landed a crutial job driving a Dallas city bus. In 1941 the United States entered World War II and by 1944 John was drafted into the US Army. Joyce was pregnant with their third daughter, Linda, when John was shipped off to France. Also around that time Joyce then decided to drive a city bus, making her one of the first lady bus drivers in Dallas.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

6:54 am -7:06, 7:47-7:54, 8:05-8:17

The activity suggested by my textbook. I am to look over my piece of writing and see if there are certain words that I overuse. If I do, then I am supposed to come up with more lively synonyms of those words to increase my word use and vocabulary.

My analysis shows:

I use drive over 5 times and driving over 4 times; I use taught twice very close together; I use bus over 15 times; And I used men/man a bunch (I didn’t count).

I am going to come up with some alternatives and then insert them into the story.

Drive Taught Man/Men

Manuver Instructed Chap

Operate Showed lad

Thrust Fellow

Motor Stranger

Move Gentleman

Propel Guy

Accelerate

Guide

Direct

Coast

Cruise

Steer

Moblize

Manage

In my story I replace 9 words with new ones. I put those words in blue.

Here is what my story looks like so far:

On August 20, 1921 a little baby girl came into the world on a small rural farm in Martha, Oklahoma. She was the first child of Barney and Beaulah S. This girl was born into a world with no televisions or computers. Her home did not have a bathroom, a telephone or electricity. She was also born into a world where women in Oklahoma had only recently gained the right to vote. But Joyce would one day accomplish much more than what was expected of a women in her day.

As Joyce grew up she faced many difficulties. When Joyce was just three years old her family moved to Texas, then the next year Joyce’s mother left the home. Joyce and her younger brother, Alvis, were sent to live with their grandparents. Joyce remembers Grandma making biscuits on the wood stove and Grandpa quoting scripture. Joyce learned a lot from her grandparents, but her father would soon marry again and she adjusted, once again, to a new home life.

Over time little Joyce grew and matured into a beautiful young woman. One day while roller skating with her friend she met a handsome and charming fellow named John. John was a wonderful guy, but he was sometimes tricky. The day she met him he pretended he didn’t know how to roller skate. All the girls crowded around him to show him how to skate, but soon he laughed and skated away showing that he had known how to skate the whole time.

After Joyce and John married, their family began to grow as they had two baby girls, Alice and Barbara. John landed a crutial job driving a Dallas city bus. In 1941 the United States entered World War II and by 1944 John was drafted into the US Army. Joyce was pregnant with their third daughter, Linda, when John was shipped off to France. Also around that time Joyce decided to drive a city bus, making her one of the first lady bus drivers in Dallas.

“Your husband must have already showed you how to drive this bus because I am amazed you caught on so fast.” Said the instructor who taught her how to maneuver the vehicle.

Driving a big bus could be challenging, as Joyce discovered one bright Spring morning when she drove the large bus out of the bus barn where the buses were stored overnight. In those days, milk was delivered to a person‘s house in glass jars by a fleet of delivery trucks. As Joyce approached an intersection one of these milk delivery trucks raced to try to make it through the intersection and he was directly in her path. Joyce tried to bring the big behemoth of a bus to a halt, but she couldn’t. As the two vehicles collided, glass milk bottles crashed onto the pavement and a beautiful white river of milk flowed down the street.

Then, another day, Joyce made the rounds of her bus route in 1940’s dusty Dallas amid tall buildings. At a designated stop a scruffy old man began to ascend the stairs of the bus. Looking up, he saw that the bus driver was a woman and he abruptly stopped, not quite on, not quite off. As the moments passed he stood on the stairs, and continued to stare at the rare lady bus driver. Joyce told him frankly he had to either get on or off of the bus. The rumpled man continued to just look at her from the bus’s stairwell, not moving an inch.

Joyce informed him that she had to close the bus doors and that he needed to find a seat. The disheveled man still did not move. While he stood frozen Joyce explained that the bus had to continue the route and he couldn’t hold it up any longer. Finally, as her words had not effect Joyce stood up from the big driver’s seat and holding onto the shiny metal support bars of the bus, she abruptly put her foot against his chest and pushed him off of the bus. Then, she casually returned to her seat and finished the route. She had a schedule to keep and nothing would stop her from doing her work.

After John returned home from the war they both operated city buses but they eventually changed jobs to driving dump trucks instead. Often, drivers unloaded their heavy dump trucks into boxcars at a train depot outside of Dallas in a little town called Copelle. Carefully, without tipping the truck over, each person backed their truck onto a small platform that overhung the boxcars down below. Although this task was difficult, Joyce was not afraid to do this because she knew that she was very skilled. But one cold grey morning after Joyce finished dumping her truck into the boxcar below she parked her vehicle and stood by the coffee stand with the other drivers, all men. A bearded guy, wearing a flannel shirt and overalls turned to the group.“That the platform is too narrow for my truck. I will have to go somewhere else to dump my load. It’s a shame I drove all the way out here for nothing.” He said.

“I can do it.” Joyce found her self saying aloud. She knew she would be able to steer his truck onto the skinny platform.“You? A woman? You think you can drive my big truck onto that narrow platform? It can’t be done and you’ll make a fool of yourself if you try.” The man answered.

“Then I’ll show you and we’ll see who’s the fool.” Joyce retorted and before the man could answer she jumped into his truck and began to carefully guide it where it had never gone before. All the men stared. “It can’t be done. And you‘ll pay for my truck when you mess it up!” the bearded doubter yelled after her.

But Joyce showed him it could. She skillfully backed it up with only a few small inches of leaway on each side of the tires. She dumped the load. All of the men stood in utter disbelief, mouths gaping open. But after the men shook their surprise, they began to tease and taught the bearded guy who doubted it could be done. Joyce jumped out of the truck and glided back to the group, triumphant. From then no man doubted her skills again.

In 1953 John and Joyce decided to go into business for themselves. They bought two green dumps trucks of their own and started a business called J. L. D*** Asphalt and Paving. Joyce ran the business by collecting money and doing the paperwork while John and their employees paved airplane runways, driveways and roads, built bomb shelters, put in swimming pools and much more. The business would expand and they added five red trucks. Their family would also expand. The whole time Joyce was running this business she had three more children, two boys and a girl.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

2:44-2:58, 6:40-45, 7:11 – 7:27

For the next two weeks I am to choose one of my writing pieces to revise, edit, and publish in the Publishing House of my class. In one of my textbooks the author wrote about how a student of writing needs to get comfortable staying with an idea and/or piece of writing long enough that they can think it over completely and fully. Although I am scared to stick with one piece of writing for two weeks for fear that I will get completely SICK of it, I feel like the piece that I need the most work with is the one of my grandmother who was a bus/truck driver. I will admit, however that I would like to polish up my other pieces as well, mainly my granny B’s piece. My father gave me some pointers on that and I would like to do that, too, but for now I am focusing on my grandmother’s story.

Also, I have been reading a textbook called The Revision Toolbox: Teaching Techniques that work by Georgia Heard. I am to pick four chapters out of this book and then apply them to my teaching, so I have decided that for the two weeks that I am to focus on this story I will do the activities that this author suggests for teachers to do with students. I figure if I can do these activities and make them a part of “me” then I can later make them a part of my classroom. Here goes:

Today’s activity is to take a dead sentence and crack it open. Instead of just telling about something I am to describe what it feels/looks/tastes/sounds/smells like. I will write the old and new in each day’s blog, then on the last day I will show what it looks like in the entire story. If you are looking for the original final draft, you can find it on Jan 31^st, I believe. April 11^th should have the final, final draft.

Boring sentences:

Often, drivers unloaded their heavy dump trucks into boxcars on a little town outside of Dallas called Copelle. To do this, the driver had to carefully back their truck onto a small platform that overhung the boxcars down below. Joyce was not afraid to do this. She knew that she had enough skill to back the truck up without tipping it over the back or side, but once there was a man there that said that the platform was too small for his truck. Joyce knew that she was good enough of a driver to back his truck onto the small platform. When the man said that it couldn’t be done, she showed him it could. She jumped in his truck, backed it up and dumping the load. After she did that the man said that he wouldn’t be out shown by a female. He could do anything a woman could do and from then on he dumped his own truck.

Joyce could always take her truck into places that men said it couldn’t fit. Sometimes she would back into places and only have a few inches on each side.

New sentences:

Often, drivers unload their heavy dump trucks into boxcars at a train depot outside of Dallas in a little town called Copelle. Carefully, without tipping the truck over, each driver backed their truck onto a small platform that overhung the boxcars down below. Although this task was difficult, Joyce was not afraid to do this because she knew that she was very skilled. But one cold grey morning after Joyce finished dumping her truck into the boxcar below she parked her vehicle and stood by the coffee stand with the other drivers, all men. A bearded man, wearing a flannel shirt and overalls turned to the group and said, “That the platform is too narrow for my truck. I will have to go somewhere else to dump my load. It’s a shame I drove all the way out here for nothing.”

“I can do it.” Joyce found her self saying aloud. She knew she would be able to drive his truck onto the skinny platform.

“You? A woman? You think you can drive my big truck onto that narrow platform? It can’t be done and you’ll make a fool of yourself if you try.” The man answered.

“Then I’ll show you and we’ll see who’s the fool.” Joyce retorted and before the man could answer she jumped into his truck and began to drive.

All the men stared. The bearded doubter yelled after her, “It can’t be done. And you‘ll pay for my truck when you mess it up!”

But Joyce showed him it could. She skillfully backed it up with only a few small inches of leaway on each side of the tires. She dumped the load. All of the men stood in utter disbelief, mouths gaping open. But after the men shook their surprise, they began to tease and taught the bearded man who doubted it could be done. Joyce jumped out of the truck and glided back to the group, triumphant. From then no man doubted her skills again.

Monday, March 24, 2008

9:53-10:07, 12:22, 7:40-56

In England today is called Easter Monday because it is the day after Easter. Not only do all Brits take off for Good Friday, but they also have off Easter Monday – today. We had a great day yesterday, although the weather was like none other Easter weather I have ever seen. On Saturday it rained, snowed, sleeted, hailed, sun shined and it was windy all before 1pm – that’s British weather for ya’. Our neighborhood Easter egg hunt was postponed until a later, unknown date, but we continued to have the neighborhood potluck – we just moved it indoors to someone’s house. Then on Easter morning is snowed. I mean it snowed. Everything was covered in white. It did melt mostly by midday, but then in the evening it snowed again.

For the first time ever we had an indoor Easter Egg hunt for our daughter. I always lived in the South when I grew up, as did my husband, so it was a foreign idea to us, but we had to have one for her so we made one upstairs. My husband went around and hid eggs in each of the rooms upstairs and she looked for them. She got an unbelievable amount of Easter candy. Wow. But, I have to say that she was terribly generous this morning because one of her classmates, and his little sister are supposed to come over to our house to experience an American Easter Egg Hunt (they don’t have them). So my daughter loaded up all of the plastic eggs with HER own candy graciously without complaining or uttering one word of disagreement. I was so proud of her.

We spend yesterday at another neighbor’s house. That’s the nice thing about living in an American community abroad, it facilitates friendships because everyone lives away from their family and friends and therefore everyone is ready to make friends and do things together. Whenever we move to a place in the states and live in housing in regular neighborhoods in the community friends are hard to come by because people generally don’t have a desire to get out and meet their new neighbors, but in transient and military communities each person understands what it is like to be the “new person” and so everyone makes an effort to make everyone else feel welcome and invited.

We had a great time next door. The food, which we brought half, was delicious and then everyone pitched in to help with clean-up while we took turns playing bowling on their Wii. Whoever’s turn it was not was washing dishes and cleaning. It was great. Even the kids could play. Then after clean up the kids continued to play the Wii while we adjourned into the living room to watch NCAA basketball and the guys looked on the internet at housing in the DC area. Our neighbors are moving the same time I am and so we are looking at trying to live in a similar town so that we can continue to see each other even after we all move.

So, that is my Easter recollections from this weekend.

As I still have time today to type, I will try to think about something to type about. I am sincerely drawing a blank because I don’t feel too creative today. Since tomorrow I must start revision I don’t feel like today I can really start any new stories although a lot are on my mind. I feel like I have blogged about all the things that are important to me and there is not really anything outside of this class or this blog that is going on in my life that I really want to tell about.

I guess I could try to write another poem. I could always try to do that Love is poem that I tried to do a long time ago – twice – and it never worked out.

Never mind, I really don’t have the creative part in me today. Could I write a different poem? No, I don’t think so.

O.K. I will say that I have been talking to a friend in the neighborhood more lately than before and we’ve just been sharing random things about ourselves, talking about our childhoods, adolescence, and so on. And I mentioned that I was a member of Mortar Board, an honor society, when I was an undergrad in college. That information seemed like kind of a surprise. And I guess I was surprised that that was a surprise because I have always seen myself as a very intelligent person, but I don’t think that I necessarily live my life that way, not that I live my life like a stupid person or unintelligent, but I seem to fill my life with friends who talk about fluff, not meaningful stuff and therefore, I don’t get to exercise that intelligent side of myself. The only three exceptions that I can think are: 1) we have joined a gourmet dinner club and I have noticed that some of the people who like to be part of such a club seem to be better read and better informed than most, 2) when I join the male version of conversations at parties instead of the female conversations, which I don’t do often because it is not really socially acceptable and because the male conversations are not always that much more intelligent and 3) when I talk to my dad. My dad has always been a champion to me. He has always believed in me, believed in my intelligence even when I didn’t and he has always expected the most from me. I really like that. I am sure that I talk enough fluff to my father to really make his head hurt, but underneath all of that he is not afraid to asked me pointed questions or challenge my thinking and I like that. Thank you dad. And I say that because I know he is reading this. Why? Because he believes I am intelligent and he at least seems interested in what I have to say although it is not always of the utmost literary quality. That support, that unwavering love and devotion is more than I could have ever asked for or dreamed of and it is something that I treasure, daily, even if I don’t seem like I do. To know that someone out there is truly and sincerely rooting for me and believing in me means all the difference in the world. Not that my mom isn’t my champion too, she is. But my dad is very sensitive and private about it where my mother is more open and because of that I think my dad’s support sometimes gets overlooked because it is so quiet. Thank you to both of my parents.

This week in my blog I am supposed to (tomorrow is when it starts) edit one of my stories. I am excited, although I know that it will be a lot of work.

Good Friday, March 21, 2008

And tomorrow is Holy Saturday, then Easter Sunday

9:27 – 9:50, 2:31-2:41

I am really looking forward to Easter this year. I been observing some of traditions that lead up to Easter (such as lent and holy week) that I haven’t really observed before. I have found that the anticipation makes the actual Easter celebration that much more meaningful. I like it and think that I will do it again in future years to come. Today is Good Friday and there are many events in my village today to celebrate. There is a family service and a walking a way of the cross through the village as well a devotional service later in the day. There have been services each day this week, but I have not attended any other than palm Sunday due to the kids.

Last week I volunteered at my daughter’s class again. I thought it would be nice to write some of my observations as not to forget them in the future. The biggest thing that I worked on in class was assisting the students in illustrating (on a computer drawing program) a book they wrote the words for about the three little pigs. There are 30 students in her class. 15 wrote the words, 15 will do the illustrations. There are 15 pages in the book, 30 students. Some kids were doing a really great job adding lots of details and making it look interesting and lively. Other students were simply rushing and I really needed to “prompt” them to add details. One cute little girl was not very good at drawing, but she thought about her picture so much. She added eye lashes, teeth in the smile, five fingers on each hand, the nostrils on the nose, everything, but when she was finished the drawing looked like a splatter of paint. You could make out three images and kind of a house, but you couldn’t tell all her work. The only reason I could tell is because I heard her say (“And now he needs lips, oh and a tooth showing in his smile.”). The assistant was having the students write sentences “This is. . . .” Earlier a few weeks ago the students did portraits of other students an now the teachers wanted name tags for the “portrait gallery” they were making in the hall. Miss Machin was working with the students to make hand held dragon puppets on popsicle sticks. The students have been talking about China and after their register time they watched a video on the internet about a gigantic dragon puppet (with probably 20 people supporting it) dancing on a street in China. So the students were making their own puppets. The students loved watching the dance on the internet. It was quite impressive. While students were finished working with in the stations they were assigned, they could play at open centers, then when the teacher was done with all the students in that group she would call another group and all those students would have to stop working at centers and come work with her. All the adults did this and the kids are so used to it that they moved fluidly about the room.

I have a confession to make. This week I have actually been writing (in a file on my computer) my blogs for next week. Next week we are required to start on a 2-week revision of a piece of writing that we wrote sometime during this semester. I wish that we could revise many things that we have written, but as we read in one of our textbooks, it is good for writers to really spend time with a piece because once they feel like there is nothing left to do to it, that’s often when a breakthrough comes and something wonderful changes. I am still waiting for the wonderful. I am learning that revision is harder than actually writing something. The more I revise, the more I feel things need to be changed. The problem is although I can feel things need to be changed I cannot see what exactly. So, I am working away diligently and I hope that next week you will bear with me as I post my most difficult blog posts that I have created yet. They are tedious and difficult. They are not the broad sweeps of writing that I have become accustomed to producing; Instead they are small, changes to a piece I still feel needs more life. I see areas that need to be changed and will work for the next two weeks to keep up on those changes.

My daughter was out sick this week -Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. She has had a fever. Today there is no school. They have a two week break between terms (semesters) and they try to make the break coincide with Easter. So not only was she out three days this week due to being sick, but now she will be out today and two more weeks. To be honest, I really enjoy this time with her. I miss having her around all day. I had cut out t.v. completely from her diet, but with sickness and being home it has encroached upon us again, at least for an hour a day. She always has 30 minutes of computer time a day, even on school days and that has stayed constant as well. Too much electronic entertainment, probably. But we’ve also made a trip to the library this week and I imagine another one on Monday. The librarians were so excited to see her! They all know her there by name. We used to be “regulars” coming in twice a week to exchange books, plus dropping in for events such as Dr. Seuss day or World Book Day. Now that she is in school, I usually just make a trip once a week while she is at school, but this week when they saw her they were so excited. It was great. Wouldn’t it be great if all children were such regular patrons to the library that the librarians knew them all by name? Unfortunately there are those who probably never step foot into the library, at least not on a regular basis.

Our library is not the only place that I pick up books. About once a month I scour our local thrift shop. They get tons of donations of used books, British and American. And they only cost 2 for a quarter. Can’t beat that. I really have to hunt, since there are many books there not worth the paper they are written on, but one can find absolute gems among the shelves if one looks carefully. And I do! I mean I bring home tons. Last time I spend $6.50, which translates into 54 books. That’s a lot and you should have seen my husband’s eyes when I brought the box in – they were as big as saucers! We are in a “get rid of mode” with the move coming up and he was sad to see “stuff” coming INTO the house. But then I reminded him that when we move to Eastern Europe (did I already say where? I can’t remember.) there will not be a children’s library of English language books, so for two years the books I take with us will be the only books the children have, and we read a lot! So, I will accumulate quality books until then (our feast) so that we will have them later (our famine).

My time is almost up and I am rambling away, but before I close, I will say that my blogging has sparked my husband’s grandmother to send me four LONG letters about memories from her childhood! It is great. She is filling in all sorts of gaps and telling things that she has never told before. I love it. I will blog about it more a different day, hopefully writing a moving story about her (which will be appropriate for my children to read near the time of our move – except one big difference is she was moving next door from a house with no electricity to a house that had electricity. How technology and the standard of living has changed in her lifetime!

Maundy Thursday, March 20, 2008

7:00-7:23, 11:02-11:12

Boy, so much is going on in my life. I never do this, but I think I am going to write about that in my blog today. Where do I start? Well, let’s see. . . just a few days ago we got our notification that we are to move back to the US this summer, so last night my husband and I were looking at the calendar and trying to figure out what our life is like for the next few months. It looks like I will spend June with my family in Texas. My husband will meet us in Texas at the end of the month, then we plan to drive around the US and visit people for a while before we head to the east coast by mid-July. My husband attended the funeral of one of his old Army buddies that died in Afghanistan earlier this year. He flew back to The States for it. It was a very emotional time for him and all of the guys. I know after Mike’s funeral my husband would really like to see some of those guys. Those are the type of friendships that transcend time; Those are the type of friendships that last a lifetime. I think it is a good idea for us to visit those people and help him rekindle those friendships. One of the old buddies is having a surprise birthday party organized by his wife, but I don’t think that the timing will work out. We will probably drive up there earlier and see them anyway. And knowing us we will probably drive to New Orleans to see another Army buddy who is now a lawyer there. I haven’t met his new female. My husband met her at the funeral and he says she is real nice. Many of the people have gotten out of the service by now. Actually, most of them have; only a small handful remain in. I guess the funeral for their comrade was an illustration as to why so many of them have gotten out. Everyday I listen to NPR on the computer (living abroad, it is my way to stay in touch with the US and its happenings) and I hear about the number of service members who are killed in either Iraq or Afghanistan and it literally makes my stomach turn and my heart wrench. Sometimes it seems so pointless. I know, I know, “Global War on Terrorism”. . .

Once we get to the East coast, we will be look for a place to live in northern Virginia. We will live there for about a year and then head to Eastern Europe in 2009. I am not sure anyone is up for sight seeing in Eastern Europe. Many people just look at us with quizzical faces when we tell them where we are moving. Each foreign country we live in we often look forward to people coming to visit us, but I am not sure poor Eastern European countries appeal to many people.

We are already on that mental countdown of moving. Each time we get ready to move I seem to go through a reorganization period – mental and physical. Physically I clean out, clear out, and de-clutter. I don’t leave anything untouched, clothes, toys, paperwork, kitchen utensils, towels, sheets, jackets, yard stuff, food stuff, everything. It feels good to purge, reorganize, consolidate and reassess the needs of our family. Something about it is freeing, liberating and fun. It can also be stressful and emotionally difficult, but the positive emotional rewards outweigh the stress it causes. I also go through the same process mentally. I have already felt in myself a mental detachment to the people and the place. I am no longer part of the organizations that sustained me while I lived here. I can already notice that when an acquaintance wants to do something together I am reluctant, not really wanting to invest emotionally, while when a friend asks me to do something, I jump on the idea, wanting to get every last minute of visiting and bonding in before I leave. I am already in the mindset of moving and going. I have almost finished packing my carry-on for the airplane and I still have almost 3 months to go.

Great Wednesday, March 19, 2008

11:22-11:28, 11:32-43, 2:07-2:12, 9:02 -9:10

Today I thought that I would write a little bit about my kids. I am not sure this is a good idea with internet predators out there, but I guess I will risk it because that is what is on my mind today.

As I have mentioned before, my daughter attends British “Reception” this year. It is their equivalent to Kindergarten, except it starts at age 4. She loves it. She is learning how to read, to do simple math and science. They focus mainly on fairy tales and traditional stories, but they study them from all sorts of different angles and points of view. The weave the stories into all of the content areas and make it quite the learning experience. She loves all of the activities that they do. She has both British and American friends and so she floats between the two worlds. It‘s great. Children are so versitle. She still speaks like an American except the words that she learns from her school, then she says it the way the Brits do. For example, instead of saying someone is “sick” and missed school she says that they weren’t at school because they were “poorly” but the funny thing about it is that she says “poorly” with a British accent so it sounds like “Pauly.” At first she had to repeat it about 10 times for me to understand, but then I finally got it. She says other things with that accent too and it is adorable. In fact, yesterday she was home from school because she was “pauly.” There seems to be so many sicknesses going around. Is the States like that as well?

My daughter takes swimming and has made remarkable strides in the year and a half that she has attended. I am very impressed with how well she does, although it dawned on me one day from something that she said that she thinks that almost all pools (except the little inflatable my mom puts up in her backyard in Texas) are indoors and heated because all she remembers is living here in the UK and it is never warm enough to have an outdoor pool, so no one really does. She only knows, from her experience, that people swim in indoor pools. Interesting. Her ideas will change when we go visit Texas this year and we go to the public swimming pool and perhaps my mom’s neighbor will invite us down again this year, too. It has been 2 years (almost half of my daughter’s life) since we have been back to the States. I sometimes wonder what my daughter thinks about a country where she knows she is from but she has such little time experiencing.

My son is 8 months. I think he’s about 21 pounds now, really long and a sweetheart, if I do say so myself. He stands against things like tables and stools. He loves to do that. He can roll front and back and scoot anywhere while staying in a seated position. He can’t yet crawl (at least not forward – he does push himself backwards and that makes him SO mad). He has two bottom teeth and his two top teeth just cut through the gum. He utterly adores his big sister. She is THE light in his eyes. His face completely brightens when she comes into view or even when he simply hears her voice. She is real good to him. She loves to make him laugh. I love to see his excitement as he anticipates what she is going to do. She will go out of the room and then run to him and tickle. Then she will run out of the room again and the laughs in mere anticipation of her return. When we pick my daughter up from school he smiles and laughs and shake his arms and legs until she comes over and says hi to him. So far she plays real well with him (although he is just about to get to the phase where he can get into her stuff, so I am sure that all of that will change the dynamics of their relationship). Bruce is a baby that really knows what he likes and doesn’t like and will let you know if he doesn’t like something by his loud squeal. It is kind of annoying, but he doesn’t do it all the time. He has just reached the point where he can entertain himself for long periods of time by playing with toys that he strings across his bedroom floor by pulling everything off of his bookshelf. He can’t quite reach the second shelf where I keep his books, but as soon as he does there will be books everywhere, I am sure.

I am so lucky to have both of the kids. I sincerely enjoy them both, which is why I am choosing to get my master’s degree at this time. It is a time when I can stay home with the kids and utterly enjoy them, while still progressing my learning, bettering myself, and progressing my career.

Holy Tuesday, March 18, 2008

6:20-6:30a, 1:53-2:04

I think that this is my final draft.  I am sure that I have other responsibilities in life, but these are what I think of off hand.  The idea for this poem came when someone mentioned how many different “hats” many women wear.  This is my response to that. . .  enjoy.

D

Hats?

My many hats?

I don’t wear hats.

But I do wear shoes,

Many shoes.

I wear comfy brown shoes as I walk out the door for the day with a long list of To-Dos stashed in my purse that I will accomplish as soon as I walk my daughter to school on a cold, frigid morning.

I wear stark clean sneakers to go work out, but they feel unnatural so I shed the tennis shoes to practice yoga instead, shoeless, slowing my breathing, stretching my limber body and centering myself in preparation for a new day.

I wear socks as I snuggle into the worn leather chair, still wearing my pajamas and my oversized terry-cloth robe as I drink piping hot chocolate and turn to the good part of my most recent book.

I wear elegant black high heels that squish my toes and make me wobble when I attend church to sing praises to the Lord and worship Him.

I wear outdated black flats attempting to look professional as I volunteer in my daughter’s classroom in order to get a glimpse of my little girl playing among her friends and learning all that life requires of her, academically and otherwise.

I wear sleek, trendy sandals on a hot summer day meeting my mom and my sister for lunch at the quaint little tearoom as smells of the broccoli cheddar quiche begin to make my mouth water even before it arrives at my table.

I wear bright pink Wellies that extend past my calves as I trudge through our back garden on a wet and rainy English springtime day, admiring the blooming flowers and taking in the fresh, crisp air.

I wear goofy indoor shoes around the house, endlessly doing dishes, laundry, cooking, cleaning, trying to keep up with the mess we seem to make and the cleanliness of the neighbor who only has one sweet little girl who never makes a mess, the neighbor who doesn’t go to graduate school in her spare time.

I wear black leather high heeled boots that go up to the knees and make me look sexy as I happily glide alongside my husband on a rare date.

And I go barefoot when walking along the Carolina coast, allowing the cold sand to seep between my toes and the warm waves rush up against my ankles.

Hats?

I don’t wear hats.

But I do wear shoes,

Many shoes.