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Monthly Archives: December 2008

Tricky Teaching Maneuvers

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A Facebook friend of mine posted a link recently to Pride and Prejudice told in Facebook status updates, which of course I bookmarked and sent to all my friends whom I though would appreciate it. I also sent it to the teachers I work with who cover Pride and Prejudice because I thought they and their students might get a kick out of it.

The trouble with web projects like this is that they are funny and clever, but how do we turn them into true teaching aids? The tricky part is trying to move beyond a clever gimmick, especially when it comes to technology, and really use it to help the students see the book in a new way. So I started thinking about whether I could adapt it somehow in my own courses. I already do a pretty good board game project in conjunction with Jane Eyre that I adapted from a post at Eduholic, but then I started thinking about The Great Gatsby, which I teach for my juniors.

When I first was thinking about how to teach Gatsby, I came across this lesson plan from the NEH talking about the “secret society” in Gatsby, which really brought home for me how much the novel is about what goes unsaid between the characters. And isn’t using Facebook updates a great way to map that out, to show some interior monologues, a new and somewhat passive-aggressive way for Tom and Daisy and Gatsby to do their fated and fatal dance? I’m going to have my students try it in the spring, as an in-class exercise when we read Gatsby, and I’m excited to see how it goes. Either we’ll do it at the end, as way to wrap-up the novel, or maybe as an ongoing activity we can all collaborate on together as we read.

Today with that same class, we watched portions of Dead Poets Society, a classic in the hearts of English teachers everywhere (or at least, in mine), which was timely for us as we finish a unit on Whitman and Emily Dickinson and move into a unit on The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. We didn’t have time to watch the whole thing, so we only watched the sections that directly connected to the reading we’d done, including the great scene at the end when the students stand on their desks and salute their teacher with, O Captain! My Captain!. It’s tricky to show with students this age, because if you insinuate that you are want to be that kind of inspirational, life-changing teacher, they might recoil immediately.

For me, the lesson I wanted them to take away is that there’s no use in trying to remain too cool for poetry. Even if it doesn’t resonate with you, at least take the risk and give it a chance, because if it does hit home, there are immeasurable riches in store for you. And I love the part where Keating (played by Robin Williams before his scenery-chewing got the better of him) says that medicine and engineering and the law are all worthy fields and admirable goals, but that truth, beauty, love and poetry help us think about why we are living our lives and what is most important to us in those lives, no matter what career we pursue.

Who knows what the students will take away from it all, but I’m willing to take the chance whenever I think it’s worthwhile.

Open Your Heart to Me

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This is probably one of those universally acknowledged truths, but sometimes I still surprise myself at how apt I am to cry now, since I became a mother.

The holiday season is rife with crying potential, of course– last night I watched Love, Actually and teared up more than once, I’ve been rereading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and I’m sure I’ll sob uncontrollably through the last few chapters, like I have every time I’ve read it (Dobby’s death! Kreacher’s loyalty! Mrs. Weasley! Hagrid carrying Harry’s body! Neville and the sword!). The other day, while driving to school, I started crying because I heard a song that reminded me so sharply of being pregnant and immediately post-partum, and all the swirling emotions that meant. I’m that woman now, the one who tears up at every lost puppy and long-distance commercial, the one I would have mocked when I was a world-weary teenager.

I used to pride myself on being tough, even though I have always been a romantic. I saw something valuable in not being sappy, or cheesy, or any of those other words we use to mean someone who is open to emotions and allows themselves to be touched. But whatever toughness I saw in myself, whatever protective shell I thought I had, is long gone, and now I shiver with tears at the slightest provocation. But there’s a bravery I never knew in being so open to misery and pain and still continuing to live your life despite all the terrible things that can happen in this world, once you see that having great love means being open to great pain as well.

While I write this, there is Christmas music playing the background, music my mother bought me right after I got married, so that my holidays would always be full of the Elvis, Frank Sinatra, and the Phil Spector Christmas albums she loved. We got our Christmas tree today, and most of the ornaments are up. Only one has broken, a glass pickle I bought in Ohio once I knew I was pregnant and would soon have a tree of my own. Soon it will be time for twinkling lights and an angel with fluffy feathered wings, and soon I’m sure I will tear up again, happy that the year is over, glad for what my life has brought me, and determined to survive what the next year may have in store for us all.

Bits and Bobs

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It’s December 2nd, and I don’t have a Christmas tree yet. This is decidedly distressing to me, especially because I don’t yet know when and how we’re going to acquire one. My husband’s first exams of his law school career are next week, and that fact, coupled with our lack of suitable transportation, have combined to stymie my tree-buying efforts. I do have a sonnet in the shape of a potted Christmas tree though, so that’s something.

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Anyone with a substantial collection of books has faced the eternal question: when to purge? Laura Miller’s essay in the Sunday NYT book review section has me thinking a purge may be on my to-do list this winter break. I definitely come down on the side of those who believe their personal library is more a reflection of themselves than repository of unread books, but when I’ve looked at my shelves recently, and as I’ve thought about holiday books to order myself, I know I have books on those shelves that simply don’t need to be there any more.

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If you’re looking for an album that’s perfect on dark winter nights, might I suggest Fleet Foxes? It has certainly become my winter album, though Jenny Lewis’s Acid Tongue is a worthy contender as well.

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I’m going to my first meeting of a poetry group this Saturday. It’s an established group, and I met a few of the members in my poetry workshop this summer, and they invited me to join. I’m nervous for several reasons, including my usual semi-anxiety about new situations and people, but also because the poets in this group are not only accustomed to working with each other, but are pretty well-established as poets themselves, with many publishing credits between them. I’ve been going through my notebook, trying to decide what piece to bring in as my first piece to workshop with them, and have been pleasantly surprised at how much I still like some of the pieces I haven’t worked on in a few months.

Comfort Me with Apples (and Cookies)

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Comfort Me with Apples: More Adventures at the Table is one of three memoirs by Ruth Reichl, food writer extraordinaire, and I’ve always thought it was such a great title. Titles are tough for me, so I always appreciate a good one, and all three of her memoirs have great vivid titles.

And this post isn’t about that book (though I do recommend it), but as the holiday season nears, comfort and tradition are in the air. My stepmother and her sisters did a big cookie swap every Christmas time for years, decades even, and I have such fond memories of spending a Saturday with her every year, cranking out dozens and dozens of cookies, the same classic recipes each time. I keep a few boxes of brownie mix on hand each winter, because on a snowy day, my mother always made a batch, and when I see the first flakes fall, I can almost smell that warm chocolatey aroma. I’ve made brownies from scratch, but they don’t pack the same nostalgic punch. There are a lot of great comfort foods, of course, like mashed potatoes or roast chicken or mac and cheese, but I think there’s another kind of comfort food, too, that reconnects you to a time or place or person each time you load up your fork or pile your plate high. This year, I’m determined to have my own cookie-baking marathon, with my own girls for helpers, and my stepmother even gave me an old favorite cookie cookbook to help me build my repertoire.

This Thanksgiving, it was my job to bring the desserts, so I made two new ones: a pear-cranberry clafoutis and iced pumpkin cookies (though with cream cheese frosting, instead of that glaze). I think both will become holiday favorites, and someday my girls will taste a sweet custard or pear and think of these years. It’s times like these when I understand why cooking is such an essential part of that nebulous realm we call homemaking, and when I’m so glad I’ve learned so much about cooking in recent years. I have no way of knowing exactly what my girls will remember from their childhood years, and sometimes that is such a terrifying possibility, but I hope they’ll also remember the smells and tastes of all the food I have made for them, for special days and lunchboxes alike.

Cooking is so much more than providing food, of course, but sometimes it just brings you home, with the right bite of brownie in your mouth, the right bit of frosting on your tongue, the right faces and voices all around you.

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