OWP06

Summary of Presenters and Topics

Dear OWP '06 cohort:
Apologies if my abbreviated summry does not do justice to your total presentation. 
This is only an attempt to consolidate memory-jogging information. I missed two days so I relied on
others for details about presentations on those days.

PRESENTER            TOPIC                                        RESOURCE

Shauna                   Biographical pre-writing                    Graphic organizer/Inspiration 

Kristin                       Golden words/similes                    Rainbows

Rene                        Resume writing                            Inspiration software

Jennifer                Step Up to Writing                            Organizer w/ color &
                                                                                Accordian paragraph

Connie                Visual prompts                                Chris Van Allsberg's Harris Burdick
                                                                                Mysteries 3-12 writing prompt
                                                                                  Doodle Art and sticker stories

Jean                    GLAD strategies &                            Color coded parts of speech
                            Quick draw/write   

Deborah                Sensory Description                        Stations with multi-sensory stimuli

Priscilla                Dialogue in Quotes                            Using comics to write dialogue

Marilyn                Fairy tale writing                                Fractured tales and sequence
                                                                                    graphic organizers

Hafeeza                Characterization activity                    Graphic organizers (GOs)

Amber                    Using Art as a prompt                        Adjectives book and
                                                                                        blotch painting

Anita                Teaching writing w/ themes                    Campfire and detail stations       

Gina                    Visual Elements of Art                        Slide presentation, handout
                                                                                    that details critical categories for
                                                                                   art analysis

Kim                    Research Strategies                             Famous paper fold x 8, Internet:Arbor Day
        `                                                                            On-line Rhyming Dictionary

Pam                    I am from . . . Poem                            Linda Christensen book excerpts,
                                                                                    student samples       

Elizabeth        Step up to Writing (with Jennifer)                 SEE ABOVE

Athena            Making sentences/Parallel sentences         Sentence manip. w/ pocket chart

Maureen            Research writing                                     Inspiration outline strategies/OSLIS

Glenda                Freewriting sources                                Graphic organizer with multiple
                                                                                        categories to stimulate ideas

Paper # 4
Maureen Twomey
                                                                  Dreams to Reality

       In the sultry days of August, when I begin to monitor the penny rolls on the mantle and I count the days ‘til my first paycheck of the school year, when I make one less trip for groceries so I can buy markers, colored pencils and spiral notebooks, at ten cents each, for my classroom, and when I re-examine our tattered classroom anthology once more and the “what if . . .?” makes its first annual appearance, I slip into a self-indulgent little fantasy to escape the realities of my life as a teacher.
       I have a recurring dream about a “perfect” teacher’s life.  Within the framework of this dream I grapple with the doubts and questions I have about this teaching vocation.  The star of the dream is, you know, the "Stepford" teacher.  She’s the always calm and collected perfectionist who designs impeccable bulletin boards, and all her boxes for the classroom are labeled with a current inventory. She writes a grant to purchase software to enhance her classroom laptops (laptops that she received after she wrote a grant the year before), and she arranges and installs a summer exhibit of her students’ artwork.  "Stepford" teacher has already fund-raised for tickets to see this season’s best production at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and the invitations are “in the mail” to her colleagues for the Welcome Back barbeque that she hosts every year. She is always prepared and hopeful.

      

Paper # 4
Maureen Twomey
                                                                  Dreams to Reality

       In the sultry days of August, when I begin to monitor the penny rolls on the mantle and I count the days ‘til my first paycheck of the school year, when I make one less trip for groceries so I can buy markers, colored pencils and spiral notebooks, at ten cents each, for my classroom, and when I re-examine our tattered classroom anthology once more and the “what if . . .?” makes its first annual appearance, I slip into a self-indulgent little fantasy to escape the realities of my life as a teacher.
       I have a recurring dream about a “perfect” teacher’s life.  Within the framework of this dream I grapple with the doubts and questions I have about this teaching vocation.  The star of the dream is, you know, the "Stepford" teacher.  She’s the always calm and collected perfectionist who designs impeccable bulletin boards, and all her boxes for the classroom are labeled with a current inventory. She writes a grant to purchase software to enhance her classroom laptops (laptops that she received after she wrote a grant the year before), and she arranges and installs a summer exhibit of her students’ artwork.  "Stepford" teacher has already fund-raised for tickets to see this season’s best production at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and the invitations are “in the mail” to her colleagues for the Welcome Back barbeque that she hosts every year. She is always prepared and hopeful.

      

Lessons That Change Writers

Title: Lessons That Change Writers
Author: Atwell, Nancie
Pub.: firsthand, a division of Heinemann, 2002
Reviewed by Maureen Twomey

     Nancie Atwell is probably the single strongest influence in my writing curriculum, so I write this with an acknowledged bias.  That said, Lessons That Change Writers is evidence of the growth of thought and practice in a master teacher. Atwell’s honesty is reassuring; she struggles with many of the same things that we all find difficult to approach with student writing.  Yet she has documented her progress and this edition, plus the accompanying binder with black line masters for transparencies and authentic student work samples, is the fruit of her vigilance.
     She has altered her stance in small ways and it is easy to respect her reasons.  “The longer I teach, the simpler my teaching becomes” is Atwell’s open statement. She describes the way that the confusion she felt wrestling with theoretical approaches has faded and been replaced with “a bracing sense of efficiency and productivity.”  She claims her role in the classroom as teacher now, citing her more extensive training and experience. It is easy to forget that, even as you are nurturing talent and creating academic safety, you are the teacher.   

Love That Dog

Title: Love That Dog
Author: Creech, Sharon
Pub.: Scholastic, 2001
Reviewed by Maureen Twomey

     For me, all the best things function on several different levels of complexity.  Love That Dog, a novel/text book/poetry anthology, is a simple but perfect illustration of all the best things.
     As a novel, the reader, in journal-style entries, views the world suddenly through the eyes of the main character Jack.  At first he might be written off as a typical literal thinker, but quickly we see that, in spite of his reluctance, he simply cannot resist affirming his sensory response to words used in the poetry of others.  Jack evolves into someone I recognize, he is like students I’ve had in my classrooms many times.  Evolves isn’t really the right word though, because he has been there all along.  He is revealed slowly–unfolding–like the poem that he gave Miss Stretchberry that was "all folded up in the envelope with the tape on it."

The Educator's Reference Desk

The Educator's Reference Desk  http://www.eduref.org/index.shtml
Reviewed by Maureen Twomey

     I stumbled onto this site when I was trying to find AskERIC, an old Dept. of Education Database of research and journal articles that I used working on my master's.  (ERIC has gone the way of many useful projects that are no longer funded by the government.) I was pleasantly surprised by the multiple resources available through The Educator's Reference Desk.

     The site is organized into four broad categories: Resource Guides, Lesson Plans, Question Archives, and Search GEM/ERIC.  The Resource Guides direct the site user to categories such as classroom management, building safety, peer counseling, and on and on.  Anything that you might need

Book Review #2

Title: Coaching Writing: The Power of Guided Practice
Author: William Strong
Pub.: Heinemann, 2001
Reviewed by Maureen Twomey

Coaching Writing has some very provocative theory and practices about teaching writing.  That said, this is not a book to pick up to find quick answers.  I believe I could read this several times and still not grasp everything he is presenting.  Strong's philosophy seems shaped on locating a balance in "coaching" writing that is at once pragmatic, traditional and flexible.  He speaks of "exercising language" as a refinement of oral and written communication.  Strong starts with the basics, such as sentence-combining, and emphasizes that direct instruction needs to take place; sentence structure and grammar can't be left to contextual teaching.  Since there are many varying philosophies about teaching grammar, he addresses the theoretical squabbles by examining the strengths and weaknesses of the arguments.  Ultimately, Strong feels that whole-discourse sentence combining leads to the ability, not the requirement, to write complex sentences.

Book Review #1

Title: Writing Reminders: Tools, Tips and Techniques 
Author: Jim Burke
Pub.: Heinemann, 2003
Reviewed by: Maureen Twomey

Writing Reminders is a practical, detailed and extensive collection of 62 entries that are designed to help teachers and students write powerfully and effectively. Most entries, or reminders as Burke calls them, are organized using the following sections:Title, Rationale, What to Do, Classroom Connection, and Recommended Resource. 

When the Different Questions are the Same Question

                              When the Different Questions are the Same Question
                                                  by Maureen Twomey

     My least favorite moment in the classroom is when a student asks, “But what do you really think?   While I have many strong opinions that I express outside of the classroom, I am discouraged that students are encouraged to believe that teachers have all the answers or that their teacher's opinion should influence their opinion.  There is, however, a fine line between instruction and the potential abuse of authority. Usually I remind the students that, if they think about it, I have already exercised my voice in the classroom in many visible and invisible ways.  Even though the state has substantial influence in what skills and content are taught,  my personal choice of the selection that we read, my direction of a discussion or my guidance in interpreting the significance of an event greatly influence what the students take away from the classroom experience.  This whole issue of influence takes on an even more challenging direction when events in or out of the classroom prompt a student to ask for personal guidance in an important life question.

An End of Innocence

The End of Innocence
    Fiona never caused any trouble.  When she suddenly was moved to Ireland with her mother and father and her older sister, she never complained.  She missed her backyard, with the Chinese elm and the oleander and the sheets billowing on the clothesline, and she longed for Grandma, with her orange tress and the funny little pantry where Fiona played.  She was homesick for everything that had been familiar, but she kept it to herself. She was the glue that held her family together, even at five and a half.  She was a bright and introspective child who didn't miss much about the goings-on in the world around her; generally Fiona just tucked the observations away, like little treasures to be brought out for just the right occasion.
    When faced with school for the first time, in a strange new country and in a school filled with other little girls that looked like they could be her sisters, Fiona tried to show a confident face.  She made friends and cleverly adapted to everything new: uniforms, Irish lessons, field hockey.  She even had to wear two different pairs of shoes: outside shoes and inside shoes with strange rubbery soles, good for the floors but clumsy to walk in.
    One of the few things she brought from home was her blue and yellow plastic pencil box. It was made of hard plastic, opened with a clamshell-like hinge, and was long enough to store pencils and rulers and things. Like many things in Fiona's life, the pencil box had a surprising feature. Hidden inside the design of the box, if she looked through the hole at one end and slowly twisted the plastic knob at the other end, was a fantastic display of rainbow colors and intricate designs that delighted her eyes. A kaleidoscope, unique and mysterious, concealed in the ordinary.
Her friends and classmates delighted in looking through the kaleidoscope as well. Fiona frequently allowed them to borrow it for a few minutes to peek in wonder. One day, a girl didn't want to give it back when Fiona tried to collect the pencil box. 
     "Come on, I have to go sit down.  I'll get in trouble," Fiona asked and pleaded.
    "I'll just keep it until lunchtime." the girl replied.
    "No, give it to me now, I want it back," Fiona implored.
    Surprisingly, the girl looked up and saw Sister Demphna approach. Fiona felt relieved because Sister Demphna did not put up with any nonsense.  She ruled the classroom with strict rules and a rigid disposition. Fiona was not one of her favorites, but still she knew that justice would be done.  Sister Demphna would make the girl return the pencil box.
Fiona was unprepared for the next chain of events. Sister Demphna was looking at her with piercing steel-blue eyes.
    "Fiona, go to your seat," Sister firmly instructed.
    "She won't give me my pencil box," Fiona blurted.
    "You're a spoiled little American.  You need to learn to share. Go sit down.  You'll get your pencil-case back later," Sister coldly retorted. Clearly this was about more than the pencil box.
    Before she realized what she was saying, Fiona sputtered, "That's not fair."
    "You are a selfish girl!  Now she will keep the pencil-case until the end of the day," Sister Demphna said with a triumphant tone while maintaining her unfeeling, narrow-eyed glare.
    Fiona was sick.  Her stomach was churning and she felt like she had just been hit. She blindly made her way back to her desk, with tears burning the rims of her eyes.  Somehow she knew that she should not let Sister see her cry but she could not hold back the tide.  She could scarcely wipe the tears away before they were dropping onto the desk top, even making the thin lines of her paper form damp little blue lumpy circles. Fiona could barely hear Sister's instructions and grew even more anxious because she didn't know what to do. 
    The day was slow and painful. Fiona longed for the final bell and her pencil box.  She hurried to the back of the room when it was time and everyone was getting their school bags.  Sister loomed over her suddenly and turned to the girl,
    "Give it to her before she cries," Sister prompted scornfully.
    Fiona could barely contain her relief in having her pencil box back in her own hands. She looked it over carefully and then placed it in her book bag.
    Fiona took the pencil box home and never brought it back to school.  After the pencil box fell from daily use, it didn't hold the same mystique. It also reminded Fiona of the incident whenever she looked at it.  She knew now that Sister Demphna hated her for some unknown reason, because she was American or maybe because she was liked and accepted.  Fiona would never know for certain, but she knew that she could never trust her teacher again.  In fact, she looked at adults very carefully after that, watching for the fear and the anger and the coldness.  It took time to earn Fiona's trust after that. It was an end of innocence.

Finding A Way In

        I can still remember the topic of my admission essay to Lewis and Clark College.  It was some ridiculous extended metaphor about how my life was coming together like a woven rug.  Ironically, my life was much more like an abandoned knitting project, a scarf with lots of dropped stitches and uneven tension.  The application, at my sister’s urging, was a last minute act of desperation.  I had been trying, unsuccessfully, to find a full time job that could support me and my two-year-old sons.  Even if I could have afforded full-time child care, I wanted to still be at home with them.  My left-over dreams of a traditional home and family were dying a slow and painful death. 
        Even as I pitched my entry into an “academic community” as the finishing touch to secure the warp and weft of my future, I wondered what an “academic community” did.  Was it similar to living in Lancaster, Pennsylvania and becoming Amish?  As long as it helped me to pay my rent and spend time with my sons, who cared? 
        I didn’t believe that it would work but I was searching for a way out. Everyone I knew seemed to be looking for a way out.  My sister knew about all this student loan stuff because she fantasized about going back to school and fulfilling her dreams. My new friend who lived next door wanted to leave her husband, but she didn’t want to give up their comfortable lifestyle.  The details of survival were oppressive and chaotic, but commonplace in my experience.  I wasn’t losing a comfortable lifestyle; I was trying to save us so anything was an option.   Weeks later, when I received the letter from Anne something or other, Dean of Admissions for Non-traditional Students, I was stunned but thankful for the end of my search.
        But admission to Lewis and Clark was more than an option and anything but an end to my search.  My first term was a blur.  I was juggling lots of reading and Mister Rogers’ neighborhood, and play-dates at Indoor Park and learning to word-process.  And amazingly, I found I had great difficulty supporting a family of three on my financial aid allowance. Go figure.  The first week of winter term found me checking the job board for anything I could get.  Soon I found myself walking up the steps to a funny little cabin wedged between two diverging cobblestone lanes, and dwarfed by the shadow of the Watzek Library.  I still don’t know what possessed the gentle woman, with elegantly-grayed hair and a quizzical but kind expression, to hire me.  I had no real skills to offer at that point, only a growing curiosity and the desire to keep going. 
        Day after day, this magical little office grew more and more like an oasis.  Practically speaking, I was learning how to transcribe the audio tapes from Nancy’s Lincoln County maritime fieldwork, and helping to get out the bulk mailings for the Northwest Writing Institute’s summer course offering.  But I was really learning something much more important: I was watching Diane and Kim work to grow the legacy of the institute with intention and respect, I saw the passion of Joanne and Nancy as they honored traditional arts and artists, and I felt the struggle of all to generate funds through grants and graduate school budgets and departmental politics.  Everyone in the cabin loved and believed in community; oh, yes, I now was beginning to know what that meant. 
        As the terms passed, I became knowing about the ways of the campus, and my sons grew and played on the architectural lawns and fountains, and stomped with their little cowboy boots on the wobbly porch outside the cabin door.  My most significant lessons were unfolding outside of the classroom. Life as mother and student had blurred together in a beautiful way, and work now had purpose and was energizing.  I learned the advantages of living in the margins.  I witnessed the power writing held for hungry teachers.  There were workshops of storytelling and poetry that transformed the emotionally bankrupt.  Celebrating with friends and food and words had become commonplace.  Did everybody live this enlightened and magical existence?  No one’s life in this amazing circle was without difficulties yet somehow working together made it easier, more possible and more meaningful.  Each week I grew closer to answering some questions but, even better, I was asking other questions.  In fact, I began to see that asking the questions and believing there were answers, eventually, took an inordinate pressure off of me. 
        By the time I graduated, it was clear to me that my years of work in the funny little cabin had opened my eyes to other insightful and intentional individuals all around me, flying under the radar.  They were powerful and activist in quiet ways that inspired even more individuals than I could imagine.  The little cabin has long since been torn down, making way for progress and monolithic buildings, funded with endowments to attract more endowments. Nothing, however, can ever tear down my memories of that place and time.  I still have moments when my life looks like the uneven scarf with dropped stitches, but now I recognize that the dropped stitch doesn’t have to be a mistake; it might be a marker.