This morning, I had the opportunity to introduce my sister at a workshop she gave for Academic Coaches in North Carolina. She wrote the book "Differentiated Literacy Coaching" (ASCD). Having been an Academic Coach in this same district in the not so distant past made me realize that leaving was the best idea ever. Introductions are like a writing genre unto itself, and I believe, when drafting, allows the audience to hear the "story behind the story".

Whenever I read a new book, I always go to the dedication page and Mary happened to dedicate this one to our parents where she says: “For my loving parents, you passed on to me a love of learning, a sense of community spirit, and an intellectual curiosity about the world around me. For this and for so many gifts I cannot begin to measure, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

If you could work with me for a moment, I have to make an important phone call and I need your help. You see, it is my mom’s 83rd birthday, or somewhere about, and I thought in the spirit of community with you all we could wish her a happy birthday. Her name is Catherine, but no one calls her that. So make sure you call her Polly. And we can chant all at once: “Happy Birthday Polly”

[I called my mom on the phone and the collective group sang her a Happy Birthday song over the phone.]

More than likely what I have to tell you about Mary probably wouldn’t find itself on the “About the Author” page of her next book. Instead, what I have to share is the back story of a life told in a way that only a little brother could tell it. And hopefully, with the story you are about to hear, you too, will get a sense of why she does the work that she does working alongside classroom teachers; why she believes in the principles and protocols outlined in the book as steps that can be taken so that the most important voice in the conversation, that of the classroom teacher, can be heard.

If there were a way to predict the way lives unfold, I probably wouldn’t have been surprised that Mary would be doing the work that she does. You see, as far back as I can remember, she allowed her younger siblings the opportunity to dream, to build, and to think of possibility.

For example, sometime in the late 60’s, we sat at the corner of Prospect and Irasburg selling lemonade to practically no one. At first, we thought that this wasn’t such a good idea because it was hot that July afternoon and the pavement at our feet was a scorcher. However, what I do remember is that Mary convinced us that selling this lemonade was the best idea ever and the money we made: we got to keep. That is what Coaches are able to do. Make believers out of the ones, who, at first, think that the ideas shared aren’t useful and if done supportively gives classroom teachers shiny pebbles in their pockets.

And speaking of pebbles, on a trip to Washington, the state; Mary, my brother and I found ourselves at the bottom of a ravine where Mary began collecting these pebbles. This is what coaches do, they are resourceful and do what it takes to work alongside classroom teachers gathering the pebbles that when used, create a beautiful garden. However, the difference was, on this trip, they weren’t pebbles at all, but gigantic rocks that she proceeded to put in her pocketbook. This would have been reasonable if she lived a few hours away; she didn’t. I began to question her sanity because she lived in New York. She needed them for her rock garden, she said. All I could do was shake my head. This is also what coaches do.

Mary was the person who couldn’t sit still (sounds familiar, huh) and as she ventured off to college and in between made her way to Paris and Ireland and other places around the globe she would always come back home again to the ones of us still there telling us the snippets of her story and all that she learned along the way.

Mary recently sent me one of her articles that she wrote titled, “Utilizing Information technologies to Support Coaching. Can you Teach an Old Dog New Tricks” and in it she talks about: the listserv; the podcast; the twitter; the wiki; the blogs and the google. You see, this is one thing Mary does. She isn’t afraid to learn new things; explore unchartered waters; or admit that she doesn’t have all the answers; instead, she takes that country road forward and along with the ones she coaches, continues to learn herself. She takes the first step by developing relationships with those mentors who will help her grow. It is not a mentor that someone else provides for her, but one she seeks out and is based on the direction her learning takes. Sometimes she finds them in unexpected places: the ‘autistic woman’ she was a companion of for a year in the 70’s; a storyteller she shares a house with during her work week; or her little brother. This is what coaches do.

Over the past ten years, I have had the opportunity to work alongside Mary as she worked within districts and schools in North Carolina, Maryland and New York. And throughout this time, something that I always knew, I witnessed her ability to make relationships instantly with the ones she meets. She does this by first, listening to the stories that are told; then, threads possibility in the midst and finally, supports the act of “trying it on”. She creates structures that give permission for classroom teachers to dream, to build, and to think…. ….of possibility. This is what coaches do.

Finally, as she shares with you the research and practical structures from her book, think in terms of how these are possible within your role as literacy facilitators. Think about the areas that need to be strengthened in terms of your direct service to building capacity within your school, whether that be in the form of lesson development, co-teaching, demonstrations or collaborative observations. And remember that the cycle of learning is continuously in motion so you too can dream, can build, and think of possibility…..

Beyond Worrying.....

I picked up the local paper at the coffee shop this morning and then sat out on the back deck prior to my work day started and read with interest a story of Quiet Bravery. It shared the story of a fourth grade student standing in the face of violence in a non-violent way. It was a stance on no-bullying and for this, I honor the fact that this student felt compelled to stand up for one of his classmates. What perplexed me most was after sending accolades, well-deserved by the way of the student’s good citizenship and pleasant attitude, the classroom teacher made the statement: “I have some students I have to worry about….” I think it struck a chord within me because sometimes the struggles to make connections are with the students who aren’t compliant; the students who don’t immediately respond to our expectations; and for the students who may, for various reasons, not have pleasant attitudes. With this in mind, it poses the what questions: what are we doing to connect with the students who are complaint and to those who are not; what are we doing to connect with the students who have a pleasant attitude and for those who do not; and what are we doing to connect with the students who respond and for those that don’t. Something for us all to think about every time we walk into our classrooms. In reflection, continue to ask the question: “What actions, beyond worrying, am I taking to connect with every child?” Until next time…..Teach

Sunday Scribblings......Lost

The voice on the other end of the phone had me thinking about life on Prospect Hill. Distance was surely measured in years; however, I could tell that the childhood bond, in some small way, connected our disconnected lives. It had been close to 40 years in the making that separated that time from now, yet, amidst the “catching up”, it was that one idea we kept revisiting: growing up in a small northeastern town in that pocket of the world that I have always known as the “Northeast Kingdom”.

In that pocket of the world where living was simplistic, not simple; where there was no fine line between a kid and a grown-up; and when you went out the door after supper, you returned safely after dark. It is in these memories, those bonds of friendship past, and the new friendships developed through the years that make our moments matter.

And in the years between then and now whether it is a phone call unexpected or a cup of coffee with a friend, what I continue to return to are not those lost moments measured in degrees, but the stories shared and the ones still yet to come-until next time…..Teach

Traveling north on the silver star.....

I traveled by train north on the Silver Star in the early morning of January 17, 2009. There were others sitting with me, and though strangers, our pilgrimage was much the same. Onward we traveled through small towns and large ones: Southern Pines, Cary, Raleigh, Rocky Mount, Petersburg, Richmond, and Alexandria until we stopped on the tracks laid at Union Station. And on this same day, traveling south would be another man, far from ordinary, who we bestowed, the title of our next President: all hopeful that he would do extraordinary things.

And in the days that followed, others from all over the country and the world converged to be personal witnesses to this time in history. There was energy in the air throughout my days there, and though I had been to this city numerous times this was somehow different. And through my personal lens, it was in this difference that we embraced, collectively creating the beginnings of a new America where this possibility of inclusiveness was close at hand.

Everywhere we went, the back stories of individuals from Boston, San Antonio, and Chicago; Memphis, San Francisco and Tuskegee; Seattle, Little Rock and Charlotte breathed. We breathed deeply the individual reasons that brought us there in the first place; we breathed in the cold air of our collective history and, in silence, we possibly forgave our past injustices. We breathed and breathed some more, experiencing the joy alongside millions of others knowing that this marked the beginning, not the end.

And if, on the morning of January 20, 2009, in a city where millions converged from the United States Capitol well past the shadow of the Washington Monument is but a sign of times to come. Where kindness, thoughtfulness and optimism prevailed; then, I am hopeful that each one of us, will collectively pay it forward in our daily lives and in the work that still needs to be done.

I am fully aware that I am putting Barack Obama up on the highest pedestal. I know that he is just a man. I know there will be moments that he will disappoint; moments where disagreement, tension and conflict will arise. However I also know that if hope is what we long for, if change is what we seek; then I choose to walk alongside such a man in creating a positive vision of tomorrow.

In the wake of the new day, in front of the house on Capitol Hill, Phil and I stood alone underneath the streetlight waving to the 44th President of the United States as the Presidential entourage passed by on their way to Union Station. Though I have know way of knowing, I have to believe that Barack and Michelle waved back.

Leaving Union Station, I travel once again by train on the Silver Star in the late afternoon of January 22, 2009. There are others traveling with me, and no longer strangers the pilgrimage somehow changed us. Onward we traveled through small towns and large ones: Alexandria, Richmond, Petersburg, Rocky Mount, Raleigh, Cary, and Southern Pines until we reached the tiny town of Hamlet. And I, stepping off the train, stood still until the train moved slowly south, waving to these once upon a time strangers and the words of Barack Obama, our 44th President of these United States echoed through the silence of this Carolina night:

'Let it be told to the future world that in the depth of winter, when nothing but hope and virtue could survive, that the city and the country, alarmed at one common danger, came forth to meet it.'

“America, in the face of our common dangers, in this winter of our hardship, let us remember these timeless words; with hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come; let it be said by our children’s children that when we were tested, we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon…..

With your eyes fixed on the horizon, look forward to possibility and continue seeking those spirit lines in your field of dreams. Until next time......Teach.

Tell me more......

In the work that I do, I get to spend spontaneous moments watching the art of teaching unfold, and then, I write about these moments. As with the previous posting, this visit wasn’t planned. It caught me by surprise when visiting a school seeing Karen doing what she does best: working alongside teachers. I am in awe every time I have the opportunity to observe her teaching. I think it has to do with her attention to intention; I think it has to do with the fact that she knows the right time to step back and quietly wait, then, at the right moment she is able to provide renewed direction; and finally, I think it has to do with the fact that she is a learner herself and in her demonstrations of what is possible allows others to “try it on” before they, too, pay it forward.

Gathering the children on the floor in front of her she quietly waits until all are sitting on the carpet. When she leans forward in her chair slightly, I believe it is intentional because Karen has learned that this seemingly simple gesture lets them know that what they have to say is important.

Today they will be problem solvers: those independent thinkers puzzling through on their own, a word problem that is displayed on the poster board. From the onset, Karen creates a space where thinking is at the core of her teaching. Instead of feeding them the answers, she nurtures the soul by posing questions that will let them discover for themselves the path that needs to be taken. The language Karen uses defines her as a teacher. She is one who seeks to understand: “Tell me more.” “What are we trying to find out?” or “If you don’t know, turn to your neighbor and ask.”

These questions are intentional and based on what the children tell her. Through the lens that Karen views the world, the destination reached isn’t the most important part of the journey. It is in the steps taken along the way that allows for possibility.

Using her internal road map, Karen scaffolds her teaching around every bend in the road. This is based on the social aspect of learning that she values, creating frames of action that permit children to interact with their neighbor, to share with the group questions and surprises, or, if necessary, one-by-one, to stay behind on the carpet for a little while for further clarification.

And when the moment ends, I slowly move out the door, and turning one last time I whisper……tell me more-until next time…..Teach.

Spirit lines often overlooked.....

A feeling of joy happens every time I have entered her classroom and it’s not the fact that this is her namesake, though, some of you may claim that our names dictate the way in which we view the world. If you are a believer then this truly would be the case.

In this classroom thinking is valued in a way not often seen. It is in the way that Joy interacts with her children that sets her apart. The way in which the language used lets each of her children know that first, they are loved; second, that she expects much; and finally, the teaching that unfolds is based on what her children tell her.

Joy doesn’t tell her children what or how to think, instead, through the demonstrations of her own thought process and the way in which she phrases the questions asked informs her teaching and possible next steps.

Five minutes into my visit, Joy sits on the edge of her seat leaning closer to the students and says, “Tell me more.” This simple gesture of moving closer provides a sense of warmth that resonates throughout the room. A silent agreement that says, “All voices are heard in this space.”

Another student when asked to share her thinking in solving a problem blurted, “I got it wrong.” Joy’s response back was, “That is ok. I want to know what you were thinking along the way.” The child then lifted her thinking from the pages of her life.

The “spirit lines” often overlooked came to life that Thursday morning: “I want to know what you were thinking along the way”

Tell me-until next time…..Teach.

Sailing to distant shores.....

The turns in the road dictates the direction one takes in life and no matter what the wishes of others seems to be; ultimately the decision is ours to make. As I work alongside teachers and academic coaches, I must remember that my charge is to facilitate a stroll to the water’s edge, then, my responsibility rests in demonstrating “the tools of possibility” that are available. When constructive and informed decisions are made, individuals within schools are better equipped in potentially deciding for themselves which distant shore to sail.

In my interactions with others within schools, I am reminded of my own beginnings and I remember those who held my hand as I strolled down to the water’s edge. It was Esther, who was the first to give me feedback. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear; however, it was what I needed to hear in order to grow as a classroom teacher. It was Esther who walked alongside me for awhile as she demonstrated “these tools of possibility”. And when the bend in the road pointed in two directions, it was Esther who let go of my hand. And I, not knowing which road to take, turned around as she waved me on. I stumbled until next in line came Barbara who reached out her hand as well and side by side, we continued along the path.

Back then, I was given an opportunity, that taste of possibility to re-invent for myself all that lay ahead in my adventures to distant shores. So on this day, I leave you, my readers, with three gifts:

The first one is to slow down. I want you to know that in this race the journey along the way is important as well and sometimes, when we are focused on the brand new sneakers on our feet; the pavement below the rubber; or the tape right before the finish line we lose sight of our purpose. Then, possibility and opportunity pass us by and we don’t get to see with brand new eyes.

The second gift that I want to give you is one of time. I want you to know that the winners aren’t always the ones through the tape first. With that in mind, my gift to you is to take fleeting moments of time to hear the wind whistle on your back, to look up and see the soaring eagles fly in circles in the sky: to stop to breathe along the way to wander off the path for a time to sit on a rock and listen to the sound the river makes.

And the third gift I want to give you is the will to finish. Yes, we will find ourselves at the threshold of the finish line, and instead of racing with all your breath, my gift is for you to create those moments in your life that take your breath away. So remember in life and the work that is yet to be done, when you go out into the world: slow down, give yourself time and most of all have to will to finish.....until next time-Teach

When you're ready, I'll be waiting.....

In the book, I’m in Charge of Celebrations. by Bryd Baylor, she talks about creating celebrations. It begins like this…..

“Sometimes people ask me, ‘aren’t you lonely out there with just desert around you?’ I guess they mean the bear grass and the yuccas and the cactus and the rocks. I guess they mean the deep ravines and the hawk nests in the cliffs and the coyote trails that wind across the hills. ‘Lonely?’ I can’t help laughing when they ask me that. I always look at them…..surprised. And I say. ‘How can I be lonely?’ I’m in charge of celebrations. Sometimes they don’t believe me but it’s true. I am. I put myself in charge. I choose my own.”

Though I discovered this book twenty one years ago when I was just beginning my journey as a teacher, still today, I find myself returning to its pages time and time again.

Once upon a time like my friend Karen, at an age she is now, I, too, ventured far from the place I called home. At the time, I was fortunate to learn alongside a diverse group of first graders who lived in the middle of the desert. It was one of those experiences that I carry with me.

One morning at the beginning of the school year, we ventured out into the desert which was our playground. In each of our hands was a sacred stone, a gift from the earth. We formed a circle amidst the cactus and the yucca. Then, we spent the morning telling stories to one another: those small moments that mattered. As each story unfolded the keeper of the stone placed it in the center forming a smaller circle to our own. When all these stones placed concentrically were returned to the earth, we joined hands and thanked each other. A celebration of sorts and as Byrd so simply put: “I put myself in charge. I choose my own.”

A Cree storyteller once said that…..
"…..stories are beings. You invite them to live with you. They’ll teach you what they know in return for being a good host. When they’re ready to move on, they’ll let you know. Then you pass them on to someone else."

Where are the stories in your life? When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting…..until next time-Teach

Shadow sketches of a life: my life.....

Sometimes a photograph placed in ones hand sparks a memory long ago forgotten and over the miles and miles of roads that I have traveled, an image resonates that can’t be freed until it is written on the page. A photograph contained within a scrapbook is one of many artifacts of a life created by a mother who gathered these treasures for all of her children.

Across the street on Prospect Hill, a white house stood next to a big red barn. And inside that white house eighteen of us posed in the back room of Mrs. Coffey’s home at the age of five. Interestingly enough, I remember all but two. A by-product of what happens when you live your kid-life in the same northern town.

The white house next to be big red barn is where we went to “school” and though the details of this time are shadow sketches, there are glimpses of what I know to be true.

In that same room where the photograph was taken, right before you entered the enclosed back porch was “the bright red chair”. Now that was something special, or it was believed to be at the time. It was the place of honor and Patty, Mitchell, Dean, Laurie, Nancy and Dolores; Keith, Randy Margaret and Karen; John, Paul, Lauren, Jane, Rhonda and Theresa wanted to be sitting there.

I’m sure I had my chance.

Some things never change. In my house, I, too, have a favorite chair that I sit in to write the shadow sketches of a life: my life. What about you? .....until next time-Teach.

R.E.A.C.H.: Responsibility + high Expectations (followed by Action)- Consequences = Hope

On my way back home on Friday down the road with more traffic lights than I can count, I called a friend of mine expecting only to leave a message. When she picked up on the fifth ring, I was pleasantly surprised. Originally, my intention was to have a short conversation concerning our travels to the same city at the end of October. Instead, it lasted well over the ½ hour mark. However, this made the slow moving traffic seemingly go a little faster because I was in good company. We bounced from one topic to another with her sharing thoughts about her consultative work with classroom teachers in the middle and high school and I with my work with academic coaches. Interestingly enough as I thought about it later, which I often do after the conversations have ended, there seemed to be common threads that connected our stories together as our talk came full circle.

And as I sit at my writing desk looking out over my deck as the sun shines through the blinds on this early Sunday morning, I am reminded of an earlier time in my life when R. E. A. C. H. played out. I don’t recall how old we were but I do remember the characters in the play: my two brothers and I; my sister and JC; Mrs. G. and my mom. You see, there was a woman at the end of Prospect Street who we perceived as mean, and therefore, being the pranksters (or today what would be called “a mess”) decided that we would dump the bagged leaves that Mrs. G. had put into the plastic bags. And so we did, and after, running for cover through the trail leading to the woods back home. As small towns go, the news soon hit our household and my mom, to say the least, was NOT HAPPY!

We soon found ourselves speed walking to the end of our street to Mrs. G. house. Halfway there one of us said to my mom. “How come JC doesn’t have to come with us?”

OOOOPS!

My mom looks at the four of us and says sternly, “Because I am not JC’s mother and if I was, she would be here alongside you as well."

It was our last walk to the land of consequence all the while seeing the white house visibly before us until we made our way onto the front porch steps. Our hearts ticked away louder and louder and louder it pulsed until Mrs. G. opened the door and there she stood in all her oldness.

I’m not sure if my mother had not been there whether on our own we would have taken responsibility, but what I know to be true is that she was. Today, that is what I call hope. My mom set high expectations for us all, and in doing so, whether forced or not, we ultimately took responsibility and followed it by action fixing the mess we had created. Something for us to think about and before I go away for the day, I end with this question: When in your life have you used the principles of R.E.A.C.H.? And in the work that you do when have you articulated it to others?.....until next time-Teach.

Learning to learn all over again....

Communication is the key in forming lasting professional and personal relationships. This is another segment as I think about the work that I do, specifically in working with Academic Coaches. This is a follow up letter that I wrote after a recent professional development offering.

Greetings,

Hopefully the coaching conference that you are attending today will provide additional strategies to add to your ever increasing toolbox. I look forward to continued professional conversations with a focus on your roles as Academic Coaches.

Your position comes with responsibility, however, imagine all the students you will impact with every teacher you support in their professional growth and learning. I am fully aware that we are at different places in the continuum with the coaching thing, and I am personally committed, along with the curriculum folk, to hold your hand along the way; to challenge your thinking; to give you a little push into uncharted waters; and of course, to step back when it is warranted.

With this in mind, I want to highlight some key points mentioned as you step out further in your role as Academic Coach. On the last page of the book I read aloud to you all, The Geraniums on the Windowsill Just Died, But Teacher, You Went Right On, Albert Cullum so eloquently says, " Teacher, come on outside! I'll race you to the seesaw! No, you won't fall off! I'll show you how! Don't be afraid, teacher. Grab my hand and follow me. You can learn all over again!....."

In your role as Academic Coach this is so fitting and right on the money. Confidence in what you are doing is key. Believing in your skill set by showing teachers how to seesaw, not in a way that puts your knowledge ahead of theirs, but in a way that, side-by-side, you learn new ways of doing: learning how to learn all over again. And finally, I want you to think about the student who was most challenging to you in your teaching and constantly revisit those strategies that worked in making a difference. You will find that these same strategies will work for our teachers as well.

Possible Outcomes: As an outcome to the training provided, I want you to "try it on". This is what you do: first, locate a classroom teacher who is willing to have you demonstrate a shared text engagement with his/her students. This can be someone you have developed a relationship with, however, to go to the place of discomfort, challenge yourself to seek out the teacher that possibly needs a hand to hold, and learn together. Second, the way in is this: first, ask if the content lead teacher shared the information with them on Shared Reading within the Context of a Comprehensive Reading Program. Second, if the answer is yes, then ask them if they have tried some of the techniques outlined. If the answer is no, then tell them that you would like to demonstrate the strategies outlined with the training. However, it is important no matter what means that the classroom teacher remains in the classroom with you. A strategic read aloud can also be tried. I had conversations with some of you concerning options. This is perfectly acceptable and tells me you are thinking. After the demonstration lesson, reflect on what worked and what didn't work so well. Be prepared to share these at one of the next meetings for a period of time.

Coaching: feedback vs. evaluation: The way we phrase our questions, for the most part, directly impacts the outcome. Therefore in highlighting strengths, recommendations and next steps consider these possibilities:

Strengths: You might think about using ...I noticed... at the beginning of your sentence. Then making a statement directly connected to student outcome and evidence noted. Be genuine in your thinking.

Recommendations: You might think about using ... Have you thought about...? In this way, it provides options that doesn't slice or dice what is happening. Choose your words succinctly. And another tip: Focus on one or two easily achievable goals.

Follow up: You might want to think about having a coaching conference where you speak one-on-one to the classroom teacher. You might think about using... Based on the recommendations provided, what are you willing to try next time?

And as always, if you have questions, points of success or wonderings, do not hesitate to contact me. Enjoy your weekend.....until next time-Teach

The geraniums on the windowsill just died, but teacher you went right on.....

Do you remember the exact time, place and location of where you bought a treasured book? Follow me as I reflect and rediscover one of those out of print long lost treasures that are pathways to the soul.....

The leaves were changing and falling from the branches. A few days previous a soft blanket of snow covered the hills of New England and the winter weather sweaters had been unpacked from their plastic shells. I was a few short months away from the end of my last internship and two away from matriculating with a degree in elementary education. At one of our evening seminars in late October, my professor and mentor at the time read aloud from this book and I knew I had to own it. After numerous phone calls around the area, I finally tracked it down at a store located on the cobbled main street of a northern town some 40 miles away. It was 1983 and sadly, the themes resonating from the pages still hold true twenty-five years later.

So when I re-discovered this "pathway to the soul" at the bottom of a rectangled box located on the top shelf of a rarely used closet; some 929 miles from where it was first discovered twenty-five years earlier, I knew that in some way it needed to be shared.

The opportunity arrived just yesterday when I spent the afternoon with a group of twenty academic coaches and read aloud The Geraniums on the Windowsill Just Died, But Teacher, You Went Right On by Albert Cullum. Through the lens of childhood, we discover all over again the way we felt; the way we were; and how, sometimes, we lost our way miles from the heart of the matter. Though I can't re-print the pages, these few need to be shared:

"Teacher, let me swim in a puddle, let me race a cloud in the sky, let me build a house without walls. But most of all, let me laugh at nothing things. " -page 16

"On the mornings you tell us about the night before, you're like one of us. The dress you bought, or a movie you saw, or a strange sound you heard. You're a good storyteller, teacher, honest! And that's when I never have to be excused." -page 20

"I have a messy desk, I have milk money that rolls, I have a lazy pencil, a book that won't open, a mouth that whispers. I have a zipper that doesn't want to, homework that won't work, and a hand that throws crayons. I have a shirt that's out, shoelaces that won't tie. And sometimes I wet my pants---but never on purpose." page 22

However, sprinkled within are those teachers who are our raindrops of hope. Those individuals who continue the work that they do and truly listen to the voices of children; who allow the children to lead the way; and side by side, splash through the puddles amidst this ever-changing landscape.

And finally, in the words of Albert Cullum who said it so eloquently those many years ago.....

"Teacher, come on outside! I'll race you to the seesaw! No, you won't fall off! I'll show you how! Don't be afraid, teacher. Grab my hand and follow me. You can learn all over again....."-page 62 ...until next time-Teach

Sunday Scribblings: Is it "Forbidden" to change the scribble....? I did nonetheless. This one is called "Shortcuts"..

The scribble for this week was "forbidden". Veering off the course somewhat I chose to go into forbidden territory and write instead an experience that I call "shortcuts".

Sometimes, a shortcut leads you on the road to nowhere and gets you to your destination quicker. Sometimes, unintentional happenings get in the way. Yesterday, on my way back home again, I veered off my regular path and took a road less traveled. My guide was the voice on my GPS telling me where to go. Then.....

.....the unexpected happened. Idling in the left turn lane I noticed that the traffic lights were not working. Thinking to myself that this was a disaster waiting to happen due to the fact that the cars to the left and to the right were not slowing down, I inched my way past the line ever so slowly. Then, looking in front of me I saw a red car make it's way across the barren land and as it inched across the median, it was slammed by one of those fast moving cars to the left. With my foot still on the brake I moved it back as "the car" came toward me. Watching and then watching some more, it came to a stop about six inches from my passenger side bumper. Then, I put it in park and ran over to the woman in the front leaning against the steering wheel with her head resting on the deflated airbag. The horn of this car was blasting and smoke was billowing out of the car. (OK, OK, in truth, it wasn't billowing. I believe it was the radiator hose causing the smoke. So in this case it would be a softer billow.)

Within seconds the emergency service workers arrived and took over all the time my car staying put until Trooper Jackson (I like that name: Trooper Jackson. Say it out loud and I do believe you will agree with me.) came and gave me permission to move it out of the way. The woman was all right as were the four in the other vehicle.

If there is to be a lesson here it might play itself out like this:

First, in theory, there are shortcuts that will cut a few miles off the journey. In theory this lends itself to be true. However, in truth, the unintended happenings along the way dictate that there are no shortcuts.

Second, not everyone plays by the rules and Robert Fulghum would be disappointed that the lessons learned in kindergarten about taking turns doesn't always stay with us into adulthood.

And third, if it is a shortcut you take, remember that there are more important things along the way that may need your attention. ...until next time-Teach

Sunday Scribblings: Wedding....

I was going to skip this scribbling entirely and then I remembered that I was asked to do a reading at the wedding of Leah and Mike and figured what the heck, this scribbling thing sure has my attention. So though I wrote it years ago, it still holds true today for they are still going strong with three kids in tow.

One Note, One Song, One Love
JPAM

Your love will need the rain.
It will need to feel that gentle sprinkle
of the rain sometimes
lightly spraying your face.
You will need the magic of the rain.
To feel the hard pounding rain sometimes
soaking at the embers for it will cleanse the soul.

Love is like that.

Your love will need the sun.
It will need to feel the hot penetrating heat
of the sun sometimes
darkening the fibers
You will need the magic of the sun.
To feel the heat of the sun sometimes
peeling away the rough-hewn layers
for it will be the key to your heart.

Love is like that.

Your love will need the wind.
It will need to feel the soft wisp
of the wind sometimes
fluttering at your feet.
You will need the magic of the wind
To feel the tip-tapping song-dance of the wind sometimes
swan-singing its melody
for it will uplift the spirit.

Love is like that.

Love needs the rain
and the sun
and the wind
sometimes

The gentle sprinkle for it cleanses the soul.
The penetrating heat for it is the key to your heart.
And the swan-singing, tip-tapping, song-dancing celebration
for it will uplift the spirit.

Love is like that.

My wish for you this day

is to always keep that sense of wonder

within arms reach and to remember

what brought you to the altar in the first place.

A place where hope lies within

that makes the possibility

of dreaming close at hand.

This moment is layered with promise

and we find comfort in knowing

that this is one more story

to be shared around the supper table of our lives.

A piece of our collective history.

Another story that has made

the moments of our lives matter.

A moment that God has entrusted to you.

To love deeply.

From this day forward

an angel will be resting on your shoulder

and the silent whisper that is spoken in your ear

is a love song that only the two of you can hear.

This music, it comes from a chord,

a note that the angels record.

And once this soft-slow waltz

written on the page is choreographed

you will dance to the rhythm

sung only in God's name.

One Note, One Song, One Love.

Until the next time....-Teach

For more entries of weekly writing practice, go to: (http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com)

I just added...

I just added shelfari to my blog. Check it out. Listed are some of my favorite finds or the ones I read to take me away Calgon. My new favorite is Where the River Ends by Charles Martin. I picked it up and started reading while on vacation in Vermont. Once in my hands I couldn't put it down and ended up taking it back with me to North Carolina, and then finishing it up before mailing it back to my mom. A story of a man who travels one last time with his wife to where the river ends. A last goodbye between two people in love-until next time...

On the road ramblings...

I have a great deal of time to write when I am on the road. I don't mean writing drafts on paper, but crafting the lines inside. Somehow driving and writing in the literal sense would not be a good idea, though honestly, I have seen some things drivers do that surprise the heck out of me. One morning on my way out of town driving down Monroe Avenue, I saw a woman balance the application of eye shadow while driving. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

On second thought, that is so wrong.

My recent purchase of a Garmin (GPS) has proved to be a worthwhile investment considering the traveling I have been doing lately. The voice speaks to me and when I make a wrong turn, I am waiting for the voice from the box to say: "You dang fool. Turn the other way!!!" I also find myself talking to the box on the windshield calling out: "Hey Lady, which way you taking me this morning?" I have yet to name it. For some reason I'm thinking that if I did, it would be time to check myself in... until next time-Teach.

Sometimes...

Over the course of the next few days, I will be writing my thoughts on supporting classroom teachers and the responsibility of instructional coaches to meet this end.

Over the years, I've listened to more nonsense than I can count; attended more workshops that ship me off to "johnny-land"; and sat through numerous planning sessions. And the ending note is the same: a colleague looks into my eyes and I into theirs, and with the glazed look, I say to myself out loud, HUH! what just happened here? And the realization after all is said and done is what we have left is a bunch of nonsense to put on the shelf of nothingness.....

Therefore.....

.....sometimes the responsibility of an instructional coach lies in the listening. Sometimes I just have to listen to what they are saying, and oftentimes, to what they are not saying. Then, based on what they give will determine what they get.

......sometimes the responsibility of an instructional coach lies with autonomy. Classroom teachers having control in making informed decisions. This doesn't mean they do so without question, however, it can be done in a way that values all perspectives.

.....sometimes the responsibility of an instructional coach is to find solid ground. Sometimes being placed on a pedestal is hard work and one never knows when you will be knocked off. And when you fall on your head, it hurts. It is important to find colleagues who won't let you stay on that pedestal for long, and if you are having trouble finding one, let me know. I have a few I left behind.....until next time-Teach

Finding your way back home again...

I am on the road a great deal traveling the blacktop weaving my way across, around and up and down the state of North Carolina. I leave in the early morning hours at the beginning of the week and return four days later. They say once you leave you can never go home again, and whoever "they" happens to be, I choose to disagree. I have traveled the road leading to nowhere many times, and the wheels always point me in the right direction: wherever home is at the time.

On the road I meet lots of interesting folk. Something can be said about living in the rural south where the people are friendly, the tea sweet and the peaches aplenty. After living in cities most of my adult life, I find myself in my travels returning to those spaces where everybody knows your name.

I am reminded of the song "Life in a Northern Town" by Sugarland. High on the hill on Prospect Street, the house of gray still stands tall and my parents, they still live there as well. A place of their own for over fifty years where they raised a family of seven, which in and of itself, is no small feat.

I am reminded that going home happens over and over again when something new sparks a memory, a thought or an idea experienced long ago.

And when I visit the woman alongside the road at the peach stand, in some crazy way, she reminds me of Geraldine. She was a neighbor up the road who would run out of the house on those days when the football would find its way over the fence. Instead of tossing it back, she scooped it up in her hands and the white robe, which matched the color of her hair, would lift her as she speed streaked back to her front porch.

The football. It was lost forever.....

.....until one day, her husband Charlie brought a box and once opened, an assortment of balls were filled to the brim. We graciously thanked him for his kindness not letting on that we knew. We could see in it his eyes knowing that the one thing he wanted most to come home was finally home.

Where are the sparks in your life found? Go in search of these treasures and you, too, will find yourself returning home time and time again... until next time...-Teach

Sunday Scribblings: The invitation...

The letters came by mail two or three times a year, finding their way to my hands across the miles and miles of concrete slabs reaching the place where the cactus blooms; gently creasing the branch of the birch pines high atop the Sierra mountain range; and the token on the seat of a subway train on Chicago's west side; til finally resting in my open arms amidst the suburban sprawl on the outskirts of Charlotte, North Carolina.

From 1987-2000, “Woodstock” as she was fondly called, would share her life on the page. And as always, it ended with the invitation....

“Will you come back and be my teacher in ____ grade?

I, too, would respond via letter and share snippets of my own life. Though the last time I saw her was during her second grade year, before my eyes she grew up developing her language and her ability to express herself, and in turn, sharing vignettes of the life she created.

In June of 2000, “Woodstock” graduated from High School and this time, the invitation read: “Will you come to my graduation?”

Unfortunately this wasn’t to be the case, however, I did pick up the phone on the day in question and talked to Meghan, (and Kenneth, and Keith) wishing them well in the world and then I thanked Meghan for including their 2nd grade teacher in the celebration. Little do they know that this letter is framed and placed above my writing desk, providing inspiration and validation that a piece of the journey that is “work” is worth it-….read other noteworthy invitations at http://sundayscribblings.blogspot.com/ - until next time......Teach.

And then he danced....

My daddy,
he loved to dance.
Every Saturday of my life
he’d take my momma’s hand in his,
and then, they’d walk on out that door.

Down…..
Down…….
Down the road
past Delacorte’ Market,
over the railroad tracks,
to the far side of town
where they cut up a rug
at the country jambo.

My four brothers, two sisters and I,
we waited. Waited until we heard the
putt, putt, shutter, hum of the rusty ol’ pickup
come to a stop at the end of the driveway:
it woke us up.

We waited until we heard
the click, clack, shutter, clump
of the rusty ol’ screen door shut:
it woke us up.

And we waited until we heard
the shoo, shoo, shutter, hum
of momma whispering in daddy’s ear
telling him to stop all his nonsense: it woke us up.

So, one by one.
one by one by one by one,
we made it to the top of the stair
for we knew that a celebration
was commencing to begin.

My older brother,
he was already there,
leaning against the wooden banister,
playing the sweet, sweet sound of music with his lips.

My brother,
he played that harmonica
with all his heart and soul
and I loved the rhythm of its beat.
I could tell by the way my daddy
was laughing and carrying on,
with his arms draped over my momma’s shoulder
that he loved it too.

Taking hold of my momma’s hand
he took two steps back
doing the side-swerving,
hip-swinging shuffle
with his shoes, tip-tapping
across that hardwood floor.

We, too, moved our feet
from side to side,
my sister showing us how
to feel the rhythm
of daddy’s love song
to momma.

My momma,
she leaned her head back just so,
and with a move that surprises me still,
she fell with her back into my daddy’s arms.

We gasped.
All of us did.

He caught her though,
always did, and lifting her up in the air,
we sang along to the music clapping real loud
with our knees knocking together
as they continued to swoosh, swoosh, swoosh
across that dance floor.

My daddy,
he loved to dance.
Every Saturday of my life
he’d take my momma’s hand in his,
and then, they’d walk on out that door.

Down…..
Down…….
Down the road
past Delacorte’ Market,
over the railroad tracks,
to the far side of town
where they cut up a rug
at the country jambo.