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Saving Time

Saving Time

#SOLC19. No. 9.
Every spring, I grumble about moving my clock ahead an hour. Then I put my grumbling into a poem –“Change the Clock,” fashioned after Dr. Seuss’s GREEN EGGS AND HAM.

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Land-Locked

Land-Locked

#SOLC19. No. 8.
“To feel the wind, sea-scented, on my cheek / … I but crave / That sad, caressing murmur of the wave / That breaks in tender music on the shore.

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The Grandma

The Grandma

#SOLC19 No. 7.
I am alone, gently pushing myself back and forth on the yard swing surrounded by the hush of a warm summer evening …

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Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

#SOLC19 No. 3.
To live, we must inhale goodness, kindness, grace, peace, joy. To live, we must exhale bitterness, hatred, rage, hurt, fear.

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Forever

Forever

I read that passage again, and then I wrote a poem. . . . a Skinny because fewer words seemed best and some words needed repeating.

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Trellised

Trellised

Slice of Life. an untrellised cucumber Isn't it amazing how being a teacher permeates everything we do and think? At least it does for me. Who but a teacher would think of the classroom when looking at a gardening post? And I'm not talking about a science project...

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Kites

Kites

Poetry Friday. Today is National Kite-Flying Day. That's what I just read. Hmmm... I've always associated kites with March winds. I wonder? And... last night I watched "Kite Runner." I wonder now, was it scheduled to coincide with this special kite day? Intrigued, I...

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Crafting a Sentence

Crafting a Sentence

Slice of Life. I was just finishing lunch when a message from a fourth grade class via their teacher lit up the screen on my phone. Figure 1 Anyone who knows me, knows what I immediately did. Here is the snapshot of my notes that I texted back. Figure 2 In my opinion,...

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Scope and Sequence

Some have asked for my original Scope and Sequence -- the one I developed to use when I wrote the Johnny Can Spell and Write Lesson Planner Series.  Here it is:   Alice-Nine_Scope-Sequence  

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High-Sailing Hawks

High-Sailing Hawks

Journal Entry. August 1. Yesterday--that would be the last day of July--my fourteen-year-old, over-six-foot-tall grandson and I were deadheading my very tall rose bush—a bush that grows higher than the eaves of our garage. Stretching out his long arms carefully so as...

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