Teacher Writes
8/5/08
Objective/Transformative/ Subjective Write
Objective:
Composed of branches and bark, leaves and berries. There is a green ivy vine growing from the ground and has covered the bottom main trunk. There are small, berry-like, growths on the ends of the twigs. The berries are in clumps of 2-3. The berries are in the process of turning from green to red. The three main branches make up the trunk. These main branches then divide into 2-3 smaller branches. These smaller branches then have several small twigs extending out with leaves and berries. The leaves are mottled and look disease ridden. The leaves move in a slight breeze. The bark on the main trunk is peeling. There is a small knot on the main trunk.
Transformative:
Her gnarled branches twist into the sky reaching for the life giving sun. The top branches bend their will to the blowing breeze. The disease ridden leaves threaten to infect the lifeline. The berries show the day to day progression of time. The swaying twigs give the impression of a carefree existence. Upon closer inspection the leaves show the true wrinkles of time. SOme are healthy and strong. These are the laugh lines and the reason to continue. Those that appear less than healthy become the wrinkles from stress and time. These are the struggles of a lifetime piled high for the world to see. The new growing berries try to conceal the passage of time, but the make-up has smudged and the true story is told,
Subjective: The growth begins strong and true. The split of time shows the division of life. The tree strives to be more than a shrub. It reaches tall but she is too divided to be strong. Her strength comes from her foundation, the lifegiving roots that run deep, unseen and often forgotten in time. Her fragile state can be seen as she reaches toward the future. The branches bend t o the will of the wind. But some stay strong and resist the ease that bending would provide. It is in these that her true strength is shown. These are the extensions that remember the foundation. Remember where she comes from. Remembers the life giving roots that injected the strength to stay strong.
Blending of the three:
Her Strength
The people walk by with hardly a glance. If a thought is given at all, the student may be thankful for the slight amount of shade that is provided by the small tree that strives to be more than a shrub. The occasional person may stop to take refuge in the cool that the leaves, though mottled and disease ridden, provide. Yet she stands proud though forgotten or glanced upon. Her place in the world rooted to the earth, grounded in the strength that nurturing provides. She stands firm in the power that comes from her foundation, the life-giving roots that run deep, unseen and often forgotten in time. Her fragile state can be seen as she reaches toward the future. Some of her branches bend to the will of the wind. Yet others resist and stay strong. The twigs that refuse to sway to the wind of time stand firm and resist the ease that flexing would provide. This is where her strength is shown.The new growing berries try to conceal the passage of years, but her make-up has smudged and the true story is told. These are the extensions that remember the foundation. Remember where she comes from. Remember the life giving roots that inject the strength to empower her to grow on.
8/4/08
Personal Glimpses (Show and Tell):
Family is near and dear to my heart. Without my family, I would be lost. My family always supports me and gives me the confidence and strength to be who I want to be. My object is a bookmark with my daughter's picture on it. I also have one of my son (I am not trying to show any favoritism.) Every time I read a book, I am reminded of the smile and love my children give me. Because I read at night, as a way to relax before sleep, I am at my most peaceful when I see the picture of my children. If I start a new book, I change the bookmark, son, daughter, son, daughter. The continual loop keeps them in my mind always. Without their support, and the love from my husband, I would not be the strong confident woman that I am. The saying, "Behind every good man, is a better woman" seems a falsehood in my case. Behind this good woman is a better family.
Sounds
The of the sticks rubbing together reminded me of the sound of rain on a metal roof. Growing up I lived on a strawberry farm. In the month of June I spent outside in the field covered in dirt and squished strawberries. On those rare occasions in which the rain was too hard to be in the field picking I would seek shelter under the pavilion roof. The sound was deafening under the metal shelter. This was often a wonderful reprieve from the pounding sun beating down upon my bare shoulders. Many times there were other customers seeking shelter with me. We would sit and listen since it was too loud to talk. We would munch the sun-ripened, still warm, lucsious berries. This was often times the only berries I ate since if I ate while picking that would mean fewer berries in my quart basket. THis was a huge deal since I was paid .25 cents per quart.
What's in A Name?
My real name is Jennifer Ann Strickland
My name yesterday was Jennifer Ann Goodrich
Tomorrow my name will be Mrs. Strickland
In the morning I am Mommy
At night I am Honey
In the afternoon I am CRAZY
Secretly I know my name is Wildflower Warm Breeze Laughing WarriorWoman
I am all of these
To hold these personas inside me
I must stretch, flex, and grow
No wonder my jeans are tight
6/20/09
This I believe. . .
Children need time to be children. I believe that little girls should be little girls, not little women. I believe that boys need time to be boys and not men. I want my kids to have the freedom to roam. I believe that without a chance to be children the mind is stiffled. I believe that as a mom I need to alllow my children the time to be kids, even when they do not want it. Exploring, even if only in the backyard, can lead to magical experiences. A forced venture into the open air lead my daughter to discover a painted turtle laying six eggs in the dirt where our pool once stood. This then lead to an afternoon of questions. How long does it take for a turtle egg to hatch? Does the mommy ever come back to her babies? How do the babies get out from under the dirt? How do the babies get into the mommy?
The magic of the world is new when seen through the eyes of a child. Without the chance to act like a kid, the magic of the world would be lost.
Annotation for This I believe:
(Reflective Write)
The idea for my This I believe came from personal experience with my own children. I have a daughter who just turned 9 that believes she is 19. She wants to act and dress so much older than her reality. I struggle with constantly reminder her that it is OK to be a child. I constantly try to help her act more childlike.
Personally, I like the story of the turtle eggs the best. I believe I did this part well. My struggle was in stating my belief without becoming "preachy". This is not easy to do for me. I would want to give more examples to explain my belief. For me, that would be the best way to balance between the stating and preaching.
I plan to explore the examples of I believe statements and podcasts given on the website. I would like to try this with my students. I think this would be a good piece to add to the Senior Writing portfolio class I am developing.
Laughter is beautiful
The child’s crisp tinkle
Smile of a newlywed
In a laugh lines deep wrinkle
The half-hidden school girl’s
Sheepish soft titter
The heartfelt gafaw
Reconciliation, no longer bitter
Crying is beautiful
The new mother’s tears
Joyous at site
The child’s dark fears
A reunion of friends
The father’s silent pride
That drips on his cheek
Friends, arms open wide
A copy change poem with credit to: Elizabeth Coatsworth
Written by Jennifer Strickland
8/5/09:
Why do I write?
Because I was told NO
- I write to put thoughts to paper
- I write to make my thoughts have meaning.
- I write to create.
- I write to emulate my favorite authors.
- I write to teach.
- I write to learn.
- I write to tell my story.
- I write to become a better writer.
- I write to become a better person.
- I write because I can.
Writing is an extension of myself. Once the ability to express myself through the written word was in my grasp, I loved to write. I loved the freedom it gave me. I loved the ideas I could express, especially the ones that no one would listen to out loud. I would write tales of horses. I was never fortunate enough to have one of my own, so I dreamed of the adventures I could have IF I had one. My dreams and fantasies went on paper and no one could tell me to:
Stop annoying me.
I have heard this before.
If I told you once, I have told you a thousand times: NO MORE.
As the angst ridden years of teenhood presented new challenges, wants, desires, I used writing to try to escape. I wrote of others teens in worse situations than myself. I wrote of a better place, different time, better skin. I used my writing to become someone else, someone I liked.
Then the worst possible comment that an aspiring writer could ever receive was told to me. My teacher said, "You cannot write well. You are not good enough."
I stopped. I did not write again unless I was told I had to or else. I stopped writing dreams, fears, fantasies, desires. I stopped expressing myself through the written word. I stopped thinking of myself as a writer.
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Writer's Marathon
Marathon Write 1:
The oasis from the sun. A place in the shade. The cool respite from the heat. The tall white tent was all of these and more. A moment waiting to happen where the anticipation is felt even when no one is around.
The event will take place in hours and preparation has already begun. However, this event is only one moment in time. Granted a moment that most likely has been a year or more in planning, but still just a moment. A person wonders if the same amount of time (or hopefully more) has been spent thinking and discussing the moments after the event. The moments that stretch into years that all come after the happily ever after.
Having just recently celebrated my fifteenth wedding anniversary, my moment is fresh in mind. Last week I sat down with my husband, my daughter and son to walk back in memory the event that has lead to my life today. We looked at pictures and tried to describe the event to the kids. We tried to describe the heat and humidity (after all June 18, 1994 is to this day the hottest day in Michigan history.) We told the children stories of how the Church was the same Church where daddy and I were baptized, and in fact, it is the same Church where my daughter was baptized. We described the story told by the priest of our first date and the lost muffler that resulted in a very embarrassing predicament. In fact, this was the first time that Gra and Papa realized what truly happened to the muffler that night.
Marathon Write 2:
Sploosh. Sploosh. RRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Sloosh. Sploosh.
And gliding silently across the water, amidst all this sound, the mother duck watches over her fledgling children. The thought occurs to me, something I had heard somewhere, that ducks pick there mate for life. The one that is chosen is the one that is with each other for the remainder of the years to come. I wonder how many of these moments she has had in her life. How many broods has she raised? I ponder my own fledglings at home. I cannot imagine watching them grow over the years and then see them spread their wings to leave, and then start over again from scratch.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids. I would do anything for them; however, I have no urges to start again. Seeing babies does not stir any feelings to start fresh. Instead, spotting an infant asleep in a mother’s arms only reminds me of the times I had that same moment with my children. I smile and remember. Then I think to myself, “Thank God that is not me.”
I have loved every stage of life my children have been through: the sleepless nights to the skinned knees to the pronouncement of words, to the sleepovers and friendships. I glory in every new accomplishment and watch closely each new struggle. I look toward all the new events yet to come. I look toward the time my son experiences his first published piece of writing. I imagine my daughters first time under the spotlight. I also realize that these events mean more independence on their end and less reliance on me. These events become a gradual spreading of wings, a slow flight toward the unknown, a slow swim into the future.
I watch the silent observance of the mother duck and think these thoughts to myself.
Write 3:
The branches positioned next to the precarious perch of choice look solid enough to walk upon. The temptation to step off onto the nearest leaf is one that is hard to resist. This
temptation to leap without a parachute is one that has guided my life. I often times step out into the world with only a thought of where I want to end, but no true plan on how to get there. I truly believe that taking a leap of faith into the world is the way to make things happen. I married and moved 1,000 miles away from any life I had ever known. I was a recent graduate with a newly minted certificate stating I was a teacher. With these in hand, I traveled with my new husband to Fort Walton Beach, Florida to start a new life. Eglin Air Force Base was what brought us to this spot. This meant my husband was guaranteed a job,
but I had no source of income. More importantly, I had no outlet to use my abilities. I spent the first week very lonely waiting in our apartment for my husband to return. I wrote lots of letters home (this was before e-mail became the source for news). After that I got my act together. I knew that there was always a spot for good teachers, and it was this guiding
principle lead me to personally deliver my resume and letters of recommendation to the five high schools in a 20 mile radius of our home. This leap lead me to meet the principal of Choctawhatchee High School, Mr. Richard Bounds, the man who gave me my first “real” job. It was only later that I found out I completely bypassed the required step of applying through the county office and waiting for an opening to occur. Instead I took the leap, without the parachute, and jumped into the job. After several years of teaching the Big Green Indians, and two kids later, my husband and I decided we wanted our children to grow up knowing their extended family. I strongly felt that the importance of family meant including aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins. Unfortunately, in the 8 years of living in Florida, we had not been able to convince any of those relatives to move down to us. Since my husband and I are high school sweethearts, the extended family is all in the same area. Every one that is except us. This next leap of faith carried us back home. Again, I jumped without a chute and moved without a job or even a place to live. This leap has lead us to where I am today. Sometimes I feel like I am still free falling, however, I know the landing will be worthwhile.