I Have Observed I'm Ready to Start Blogging Again

Looks like I'm back from my blogging hiatus.  School has begun in earnest and tons of time and energy is going in that direction. Yet, I felt the need to check in here.

This year I am teaching purely 7th grade. This is a big change -- the last time I taught one grade level was the 2009-10 school year.  I have intensive readers and I have got to say, I am loving it.  

In the classroom we have been spending a lot of time setting up our reader and writer's notebooks.  The writer's notebooks are decorated and covered with contact paper. The students have taken complete ownership, from my observation.

And that is what this blog is about -- observation.  This summer I taught myself to slow down and pay attention, and I'm glad to say that I am remembering what I learned this summer and am continuing to apply it.

My return to writing started today when I was driving to a yoga class. I began to make mental notes on things I observed, and then wrote them down as soon as I got to my destination.

Driving to Yoga Class Labor Day 2014

The town is quiet

A dusty white pony dips his head to graze at the fence by the side of the road

Dry palm fronds sway slightly as they lean over in the late summer heat

"God bless the broken road" plays on country radio

Royal palm tree trunks create shadow stripes along MacGregor Boulevard

I miss my turn-off to my usual parking lot

The road I'm on has a farmers stand with a sign that says "Georgia Peaches"

I realize I have found a better place to park

A shady spot

The mid-morning air hangs heavy

Now some gentle movements

For balance, clarity,

And even deeper awareness

*

This is the kind of thing I started training my students to do last Friday.

I started by asking them to make observations of the classroom, and then observation of themselves. We then proceeded into a listening observation. Each time they were expected to write specific things about what they saw and heard. The listening exercise included me playing my Tibetan singing bowl. One class got into an extended conversation afterward about lucid dreams and deja vu, all brought to mind by the sound of the bowl. It so happened that by 7th period my principal was in observing my class, and she loved it, too.

Then we moved to the poem "Observer" by Naomi Shahib Nye. This poem is about observing the world. 

I watch how others things travel
to get an idea how I might move.
A cloud sweeps by silently,
gathering other clouds.
A doodlebug curls in his effort to get there.
A horse snorts before stepping forward.
A caterpillar inches across the kitchen floor.
When I carry him outside on a leaf,
I imagine someone doing that to me.
Would I scream?

In the heart of the day
nothing moves.
No one is going anywhere
or coming back.
The blue glass on the table
lets light pass through.
Something shines
but nothing moves.
I watch that too.

We picked it apart a bit as we sat in our gathering place for the lesson, and then I sent them back to their seats to think about creatures and things from nature they have observed-- how a pet snake moves, what a butterfly does, how a tree moves in the wind. During fifth period we had some tech support people come in to fix up something on the smart board. I told the students to observe them and make some notes about what they were doing. 

I think the word for how I've been operating is "emergent."  

Finally, we got to the Marty Stuart song, "Observations of a Crow."  

We listened to the song and followed along with the lyrics. Miracle upon miracle, I did not have one complaint about it being "country."  In fact, my one student, who can do a mean moonwalk, was nearly dancing along as he sang.  We talked about all the things the crow was observing, and that in his dialogue the crow made up some words. They then had to write from the perspective of the creature or a thing--what does that creature or thing observe about the human world? What does it see as it goes through its day?  They were advised to write in first person to make this come alive.

It was a relaxing and easy lesson, and got them writing and collecting ideas in their Writers Notebooks.  The students aren't writing as specifically as they need to, but we have a beginning, a foundation to get us started.  We'll see what emerges from here.

The Sounds of Silence at Shiloh

I fell in love with Herman Melville's poem "Shiloh: A Requiem" the second year I was teaching American literature.  I remember a wonderful discussion with my students about how the sounds created in the poem -- the repetition of f's and sh -- caused the poem to sound like one big "hush."  It was only because of the poem that I wanted to visit the Shiloh Battlefield, which lies between Memphis and Nashville.  I am not ordinarily one for visiting Civil War sites, but this one had my attention.  More than 23,000 soldiers were killed in a very short battle here in April 1862. 

This past year I discovered a story in the 8th grade textbook written by Ray Bradbury called, "The Drummer Boy of Shiloh."  

The story is short and quite intense, and includes the detail of the peach tree blossoms falling such that they looked like snow.  The peach trees were no longer present at the site, but the area was designated.  The story intensified my interest.

While there we learned about the Hornets Nest -- a battle in the woods where the bullets were so loud they sounded like hornets.  And the Bloody Pond, where both sides came to clean their wounds and quest their thirst.  The grounds are beautiful, but the loss of life on this battlefield is beyond the imagination.

Being at Shiloh is like one big hush.  The best I have to offer are pictures and Melville's beautiful words, which I read out loud on the church property while we were there.

Shiloh: A Requiem

by Herman Melville

Skimming lightly, wheeling still,

The swallows fly low

Over the field in clouded days,

the forest-field of Shiloh --

Over the field where April rain

Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain

Through the pause of night

That followed the Sunday fight

Around the church of Shiloh --

The church so lone, the log-built one,

That echoed to many a parting groan

And natural prayer

of dying foeman mingled there --

Foemen at morn, but friends at eve --

Fame or country least their care:

(What like a bullet can undeceive!)

But now they lie low,

While over them the swallows skim,

And all is hushed at Shiloh.

17,000 Books and a Bunch of Goats

I was not even aware of Carl Sandburg's home being in North Carolina until it was suggested as a destination for our day together with my cousin Doreen and her husband David.  The home is on a huge property in Flat Rock, North Carolina, tucked within the hills and simply stunning in its beauty.  

We arrived at "Connemara" around 2 p.m. and had to walk a mighty steep hill to get to the large white house, which overlooked a large pond.

Pondside

View from below

View from the house

One of the most interesting facts about this home, and the thing that makes it so fascinating, is that shortly after Sandburg died in 1967, his wife and daughters sold it to the United States as a historic site, taking only their personal effects with them.  Inside the home are the 17,000 books he owned, his record collection, and every stitch of furniture.  Below is a photo from his wife's office with the calendar still set at July 1967, the month he died.  His guitar is pictured below that, with a bust of a young Abraham Lincoln.  Sandberg did not just write poetry, but is known for his several volume biography of Lincoln, as well as fiction writing.

As the story goes, Sandburg and his wife lived in Michigan. But in the 1940's, they decided to move somewhere else because his wife Paula was deep into raising goats, and she wanted an environment more conducive to her goat-raising and breeding activities.  Carl could work anywhere, so they picked up and moved, taking every one of the 17,000 books with them.

The picture below is Sandberg's writing room. He propped his typewriter on an orange crate because he said, "If Grant could run his campaign from an orange crate, I can write about it on one."  His advise to writer, which we heard him say on an introductory video is "Just put one word down after another.  It is when you try to do two or three at a time that it gets difficult."

His wife's bedroom.  Doreen reflected in the mirror

Pathway to the goat barn

The house itself has a wonderful layout, and the grounds include gardens, a caretakers house, and several out buildings and barns.  There are many hiking trails which are definitely used, as we saw many people on the trails, even on a hot and sticky Carolina day.

Sandburg had a rock outcropping he often sat on to write.  That was probably my favorite place. 

 "It is necessary now and then for a man to go away by himself and experience loneliness; to sit on a rock in the forest and ask of himself, 'Who am I, and where have I been, and where am I going?'...If one is not careful, one allows diversions to take up one's time -- the stuff of life."

Doreen giving perspective to the outcropping

An inspiring day

Observation Poem: "Court Square Park, Memphis"

I'm in Court Square Park on a perfect summer Sunday morning in Memphis, Tennessee.

A squirrel came by looking for a handout.
The fountain is silhouetted in the morning sun.
The sound of water falling
Soothing.

Haiku:
Soothing water falls
Birds scatter while conversing
Sunrise tree afire.

Yesterday a young lady from St. Louis said it is humid here!
I laughed.
Not the least bit humid to me.

My banana has a sticker that says: Peel the love.

The Kress building vibrates
 in cobalt blue, bright yellow, and gleaming gold.

Sun in my eyes.  A couple with a black fluffy dog walk by; the man has to run when his pet chases a squirrel.

The dog wears a pink harness.

There was a wedding here yesterday in the gazebo.  I saw the groomsmen later. They wore gray.

It's 8:00 a.m. Central Time.  Temperature 73 degrees.

The dog is still pulling the man around trying to find the squirrel, who is long gone up a tree.

A black man in a straw hat walks by. His silk shirt has tan and cream colored squares with large letters: B, C, E, I.  The "I" is always laying sideways.

What does it mean?

There is a building in the distance that has decorative half moon designs in gold and black.

A plaque on the base of the fountain reads: "Restoration and Illumination of this Fountain by Memphis Light, Gas, and Water Division City of Memphis 1949"

The sun illuminates the falling water.

Natural...calming...restoring.

Five Days on the Road -- Photo Journey

Monday: The silvery Suwanee River in northern Florida was a beautiful sight to see. No one was around, but on the weekends this river is full of tubers, as the dozens of shops selling tubes would indicate.

Tuesday:  We were spending the night in Gulfport, so drove over to Biloxi just to check it out.  The beaches there are flat and it really appears that the water is on level with the rest of the land -- and it probably is. I had heard there was a lighthouse and when we saw it...well, we had to laugh.  It is like a toy lighthouse.  Truly do not know how anyone ever saw a light from it, but I suppose they did.  Along the E. Beach Blvd. they have a replica that is nearly the same size.  We motored down to the Hard Rock Casino and spent a little time eating nachos, drinking beer, buying some gifts and earrings, and checking out various wardrobe pieces and instruments from famous rock and roll musicians. Other note of interest:  an antique shop sign in Gulfport said it sold "Used and New Antiques" -- not quite sure what that means.  

Jim at Cafe Du Monde, waiting for beignets and coffee

Jackson Square as beautiful as ever

Wednesday: New Orleans, French Quarter.
I have been wanting to return to New Orleans ever since I was there over Thanksgiving weekend in 1979 with my friend Cathy Jones.  Back then, New Orleans was not even much of a destination.  The French Quarter had its charms, but in general the riverfront was undeveloped, with the defunct Jax Brewery building falling apart.  Cafe Du Monde -- the famous coffee and pastry shop -- overlooked the river, which bends so beautifully through the Crescent City.  When we were there in November, it rained a lot, so much of the outdoor activity was limited.

So it was much different to be in New Orleans when it was summer, when it had been through so much, when it had made so many changes, when it has become a destination in itself.  We parked and walked along the gorgeous new riverfront park.  Back in the day there was one steamboat tour -- now there are several.  The park is basically a huge dike meant to protect the city.  Once back down on street level, we visited Cafe Du Monde, which is now blocked in by the dike, but at least someone had created some beautiful art to help soften that blow.  Painters Alley was bustling and was where I found the Faulker House bookstore.  Before walking in, I heard a patron of a painter telling him, "My writing practice is haiku."  Big smile to that, as this year I have been practicing haiku as well.

The bookstore was small and stacked with books.  I discovered that Flannery O'Connor had actually wanted to be a cartoonist and a book of her cartoons was published in 2012,  I purchased a book of Blues Poems and a guide to the Blues in Mississippi, our next destination.  We also found a stone and crystal shop where I purchased Mardi Gras colored beaded earrings.  I am on the hunt for many new earrings this trip, since I am terribly bored with mine.  After making some gift purchases, we settled into the Jackson Brewery for a craft beer and to make hotel reservations for the night.  Next stop: Laurel, Mississippi, where we had a steak dinner and called it a night.  We are now seeking out markers along the Mississippi Blues Trail and Country Trail the next two days.

Painters Alley

Jackson Brewery

Poetry Interlude:  "The Blues" by James C. Morris

These are the blues:
a longing beyond control.
left on an unwelcome doorstep,
slipping in when the door is opened.

These are the blues:
a lonely woman crouched at a bar,
gulping a blaze of Scotch and rye,
using a tear for a chaser.

The blues are fears that
blossom like ragweeds
in a well-kept bed of roses.

(Nobody knows how tired I am.
And there ain't a soul who gives a damn.)

Meridian, Mississippi

Thursday:  We drove to Meridian to visit the Jimmie Rodgers museum.  The woman running the museum was full of information, shared a video, and showed us some of the most interesting items -- mainly his guitar.  No photography was allowed, so I was unable to get any pictures.  Jimmie Rodgers is considered a huge influence on blues and country artists everywhere.  His "blue yodel" was what has been imitated by blues and country artists in various incarnations throughout the years.  Jimmie had a very short career -- six years all told -- as he suffered from tuberculosis which eventually did him in.  He was very successful for his time.  After the museum, we found our first blues marker at Singing Brakeman park.

After the sites in Meridian, we drove to Philadelphia to see the Marty Stuart marker.  It is Marty's Saturday night show on FamilyNet that encouraged us to make this trip. We look forward to seeing Marty perform next Friday in Nashville.

After Philadelphia, we stopped in West Point to check out the Howlin' Wolf marker. It included a sculpture based on a photograph, and was in a park area. Very pretty this town.

Marker on Main Street Philadelphia

Most towns in Mississippi looked like this.

Howlin Wolf has always been a favorite

Believe it or not, it was still time in the day, so we made our way to Tupelo to see Elvis's birthplace.  The grounds there are simply gorgeous and features a huge visitor's center, a rather hokey movie about his life up to age 13, his childhood 2 room home, church, and even outhouse!  Elvis has both blues and country markers on the grounds.

Elvis at 13 statue.  Markers in the background.

Tupelo is a crazy town to drive around.  Even our GPS was overworked with "take this ramp" -- "merge right" -- "make a left U-Turn."  But Southern hospitality, which is a very real thing, was alive and well.

We woke the next morning to rain -- miserable, dreary, beating on the ground rain.  The temperature had dropped into the 60's and yes, seemed chilly.  The weather caused us to scale back our plans, which had included the B.B. King Interpretive Center, a seeking out of several blues and country markers in the Greenwood area, the infamous Tallahatchie bridge, as well as the three different burial places of famous blues artist Robert Johnson.  However, where we ended up made for a perfect day.

Friday: Oxford and Clarksdale, Mississippi

The rain kept our windshield wipers busy as we drove west to Oxford, the home of Ole Miss.  After so many little towns, it was quite different to be among such an elegant and academic atmosphere. We found the town square -- which boasted a blues marker of its own -- and I found my way to my destination -- Square Books.  I love independent bookstores, and this one was a beauty.

I arrived in my shorts and t-shirt, but was among people in jeans and rain jackets, most of which gave me a kind of smile. It was obvious I was an out-of-towner in a town of close knit academic types.  I even heard a store employee mention Beth Ann Fennelly, who I know is the head of the poetry masters program at Ole Miss, as I took a workshop with her at the Sanibel Island Writer's Conference. I purchased an autographed novel written by the bookstores's owner and some gifts, and then we were on our way to Clarksdale, home of the blues.

This town is loaded with markers: Wade Walton, Sam Cooke, Ike Turner.  It seemed no matter where we looked, there was another marker.  A few other blues pilgrims were in town with us, checking out the museum and the markers.  We finished off our visit with a barbecue meals at Abe's BBQ, located at the crossroads famous as being the place where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil so he could play the blues guitar like no other.  The blues guide I purchased in New Orleans takes issue with this location and, of course, the whole this is just Faustian mythology.  But it is a unique spot, and we enjoyed being part of this mythological and musical odyssey.  

Authorized spot for graffiti

Robert Johnson mural

Our main destination

Corner of Delta and Blues Alley, Clarksdale

The famous Crossroads

Friday evening we arrived in Memphis, our home for the weekend.  Our musical odyssey continues with visits to Graceland, Sun Studios, and the Rock 'n' Soul Museum.  Watch for the next update!

Beach Day -- 27 June (Photo Poem)

While I Was Away from the Beach

While I was away from the beach

the boardwalk weathered a bit

new tire marks were chiseled into the sand

the spring sunflowers all went to seed

While I was away from the beach

the sea oats grew and multiplied

a brilliant blue day called out the sailboats

 a local retiree put up a beach umbrella for shade.

While I was away from the beach

a child collected branches

and made a seashell tree

a dragonfly was born to alight upon it. 

While I was away from the beach

a mother turtle laid her eggs in the dark of night

the protectors of her offspring 

put up signs and yellow tape.

While I was away from the beach

the turbulent tide came in

leaving only broken shells and kittens paws

for the shell-seekers to feast upon.  

Bowman's Beach on a June morning