Ode to Friday Remembered: 6 words and a color

reddening checks
devour
smooth grape leaves

Nothing says "must read!" like good, old fashioned censorship.

New Your Times Article, "With One Word, Children's Book Sets Off Uproar."

Thanks Superstar Reading Goddess Amy.

Book Review: Busybody Advice to a Character

to Goat from That's What Friends Are For
Written and illustrated by Valeri Gorbachev

Goat, if you were so concerned about Pig, you should have gone over early. However, since you prepared for the worst and did not burden Pig with your paranoia, I forgive you.

Ode to Friday: 6 words and a color

Peach:
the soft baby smell
lingers
lightly

Watching with Wonder, take 2

White, frosted, wetness
Scary roller coaster roads,
Thank you, Jack, thank you.

Watching with Wonder

White wetness outside,
Slowly freezing the road ways,
Why, Jack, am I here?

Haikus in Perspective

Happy Teacher:

Daydreaming, I am
background to heavy questions.
A Philosopher


Disgruntled, irritated teacher:

Children think too much,
creating complications,
Snot nosed know it all.

Ode to Friday: 6* words and a color

such a tiny cut
causes
such searing
red
pain



*give or take

I miss the Writer's Almanac. At 6:50, I miss it - I am at a meeting, at the xerox machine, at the library. I am anywhere but at my radio. My mind is all business, no room for poetry.

At 6:30, I was in my car, stopped at a red light, watching the sky turn from navy, to dark purple, to pink. I was in the perfect spot, at the perfect time. My mind was all poetry.

Paris on the Way to the Office

Two students on their way to the office. One wearing her pink Parisian pashmina, the other wearing Lisa Loeb's glasses:

Me: "Off to Paris ladies?"
LL: "Yes."

Later, during dismissal:

"How was Paris?"
Random student: "You went to Paris?'
LL: "Yes, on my way to the office. I had great Italian food there."

Interpretive Ribbon Dancing Galore

I haven't been to work in three weeks and it is beginning to show. My productivity level went from "20 minutes is just enough time to save the free world" to "let me just hide in my blanket cocoon." I have not: re-organized any files, read anything that was not fiction, found my journal, or created model thinking lessons for the next semester. I have, however: found my lost red-hoodie, learned all the words to High School Musical, and mastered the art of biscuit making.

Symbolically

I think it maybe a sign. A symbol of my faltering love. My ipod erased, damaged, no, killed my Writer's Block podcast of Daniel Handler's Adverbs. The podcast I have listened to everyday for the last 90 days. The podcast that I might have listened to twice a day during Report Card Crunch. Ok, maybe three times. But the soothing voice of my literary crooner made senseless bubbling all the better.

Maybe it is for the best. The podcast was a crutch, a mask I used to prove my love for my new boyfriend. I have yet to actually read Adverbs – combination of too many library fines and a disdain of hardback books. I glanced over the Snicket books, only to re-read The Blue Sword instead. You could say my love was more of a flirtation. That I loved passionately for the 40 minute podcast, and then forgetfully for the rest of the day.

However, I still have The Basic Eight on my bed stand.

Skeptically

Daniel Handler is my new literary boyfriend. It came as a surprise to me too. I will not deny, he is not my usual literary lover of the now: too dark, too foreboding, too not the garden party and floral dresses that is my literary life. Plus, I was never a fan of Lemony Snicket.

Then, with one night, one wheel, and one chapter, I was a changed girl.

It began, as all great romances do, at a book store. My defenses slowly crumbled when he skimmed over his crowded surroundings. His fingers danced between clenching and fiddling as he seemed to build an exit strategy. I love a nervous author as much as I love a good exit strategy. An author who truly wants others to enjoy his words. He just wants to share! Give him a chance! My inner nice self whined. My inner mean self decided that I would wait 10 minutes before embarking on my own exit strategy - the children's books display.

I never checked my watch. So nice! So personable! So witty! He was the poster child of all that I want from my authors. So down to earth! So just one of the gang! I was in the middle of my love affair before I knew that it had begun. Maybe it was the wheel of choice that bewitched me? Maybe it was his clever use of repetition that hypnotized me? Maybe it was my need for a new good book that got me. I was in love. I was in love with a man and his book.

Another One Bites the Dust

Well, this week was not meant to be the start of something new. Maybe "Book of the Week" next week? Other blogs that will not happen this week:

• Inspiration from Carl Anderson, or There is Much Missing from my Writer's Workshop.
• Crazy warm weather.
• Road trips with the pregnant.
• A Very Special Desperate Housewives.
• An ode to black tights.

Book of the Week

Inspired by Mr. Fred Bowen, I am here by creating blog deadlines for myself. My new day goal includes blogging one book review like entry each week. Best case scenario, I will blog Duck for President by the time election results are finalized. Worst case scenario, this goal will never come to fruition.

Happy Voting.

Private Matters

In the comforts of my own home, behind closed doors, I laugh while reading. I laugh, rather I snort, sometimes gasping for air. I hoot over crazy family scenes that play like a slideshow of my childhood - bad road trips, ruined family dinners, neurotic parents. I laugh partly out of relief - my father is not alone in his quest for the greenest grass in the subdivision - partly out of an author's clever word play. I am a sucker for language. Speak in puns and clever analogies, and I am yours.

However, in the mini dramedy that is public transportation, I confine my side aching laughter to a smile and maybe a quick in take of air. Yes, I do find myself shaking to hold in the giggles. But few would notice a passenger shaking, while all would notice the girl shrieking in hysterics. They might even call for help.

With strangers, I am naturally a shy wall flower; making this blog an odd outlet for my desire to write. I do not like to be noticed, I do not like to stand out, I do not like to be remembered, especially on the metro. Skepticism and apprehension were one of the many gifts my parent's bestowed on their children. Coupled with my active, and colorful, imagination, my apprehension easily turned into complete paranoia. How many middle school students choose metro stations based on good hiding places from gun welding maniacs? Luckily, my mind movies alone do not guide my decisions. I know I have a higher chance of witnessing a road rage car crash then a random act of violence in the Smithsonian metro stop.

Nevertheless, laughing on the metro is still frowned upon by the Emily Post in my head. Laughing would not only prevent the anonymity that I crave, but would, heaven forbid, open the door for conversation. Say the friendly stranger to my left is also a reader? Or the book cover caught the eye of my fellow pole hanger? My laughter might just be the invitation that normal, friendly people need to start up a conversation.

And as much as I wish it, reading does not allow me a one way ticket to invisibility. So, "Good book?" leads to a polite smile and chit-chat about favorite books, favorite authors, and of course, the awkward pause when the small talk runs dry. I wish I was a girl who craved, encouraged, did not run and hide from these casual conversations of life. What fascinating people I might meet, fellow books lovers, before bed authors, and home librarians. Instead, I hide in the comfortable world of social security and confine my laughter to my bedroom.

Reasons I love fall

• Because it means pumpkin bread which is really moist cake with chocolate chips. But saying "I had pumpkin bread for breakfast" sounds much healthier then "I had moist cake with chocolate chips for breakfast."


• Wearing black tights.


• Layers upon layers of scarves, sweaters, and jackets.


• The wind makes for perfect bed cuddling, book reading, sunshiny days.


• Swirling leaves.

Oh how I love the Sunday paper. The only paper that can rip me from my shelter of soft blankets and soothing denial. I spring out of bed with purpose, with urgency. My paper, my day, can wait no longer. It takes me through breakfast, morning nap, lunch, afternoon nap, couch comfy time, pre-dinner snack, post dinner snack, the shower, and bedtime. The read pages lay strewn around my room like autumn leaves, while the to be continued pages stack on my rocking chair. Waiting for an early morning read.

If only saving Sunday pages for later made everyday as peaceful as Sunday.

Terrible Teacher

While my students buzz share their daily reading expereinces, I am passing notes to the world. It is hard to teach reading when you would rather be reading yourself.

Someone left the paper out in the rain

I miss Wednesday's paper. It's advice, it's recipes, it's descriptions of food that I think I might like. Thursday's can never compare. I sullenly flip through it's sections. Skim the comics, the obits, the letters to the editor. Daydream of the comfort of Wednesday's paper and the excitement that will be Friday's paper.