I heart summer.

I am finding difficulty giving words to what I want to say, mostly, I think, because I am trying to name at once a specific moment right now that is overlapping with a succession of moments in my past.

I think it starts with summer evening air? Summer evening Midwestern air, perhaps, that is drenched with soil, blooming trees and creeks, made cool by the disappearing sun and held close by woods and fields.

Or perhaps it starts with summers growing up and this particular smell blanketing every experience I have running barefoot through the neighborhood yards, catching lighrning bugs, playing freeze tag, swinging until the sky turned dark and all the kids had to go home. Even then I would open my window and gulp in this perfect air and I, each night, would fall in love with summer evening…butterflies in the stomach and all.

And tonight I sit in Kentucky, hours away from my childhood home, but the air is the same and I still can’t get enough. I’ve moved my pillows to the foot of my bed so that I can be closer to the open window. I sat on the porch late into the evening so make the most of this air that exists only in tiny pockets in hidden corners of my city parks.

All this is to say that I reread The Summer Book by Tove Jannson today and it captures the essence of summer and the magic of childhood and the wisdom of grandparents. Her writing is straightforward and almost sparse, but so right on that no further description is necessary. I have decided that this will be a yearly reread. Last summer I loved it so much that barely had words and could only beg people to read it.

The interesting part is that it is different from other favorites like Anne of Green Gables and Tom Sawyer in that it’s not written for children…the audience is anyone whose heart aches for all that summer is meant to be and for those who remember the goodness of what it was when it was unmarred by work and schedules.

My heart just aches right now in the best of ways.

God Save the Queen.

This is today. It happened on accident after I got to Central Park at 7 am to get tickets for Twelfth Night and learned that there are no shows on Monday. I already had a book, blanket and breakfast, so I went to the Shakespearean Gardens for the morning:









This is the English countryside three summers ago:


















And these are my sweet kindreds in photos that describe better than words our general feelings about the English countryside, which we had pictured in our minds for so long, but didn't really believe it actually existed until we found ourselves frolicking in it:












I couldn't stop thinking about these kindreds and England this morning as I drank my tea and had a hard boiled egg for breakfast, reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, and feeling thoroughly British:) (The book is definitely the English dork's version of Chick-Lit, but I will put aside my snobbery because it was such a lovely indulgence. Set first in London right after World War Two, the main character is a 32 year old female writer whose path crosses with fellow readers who live on mostly rural Guernsey Island in the English Channel). This stolen time reminded me of Beauty and Goodness and Story and Friendship, which all seem so elusive sometimes. I'm not sure why I so often forget all of this and the feeling of a full heart, but I'm pretty sure I would be a better person if I didn't.

this is brooklyn not seattle. stop it.

i swear i see a vein of orange
just north of verrazano

but

despite the layers of almost yellow
and the stripes of nearly blue

above the rising slope of brownstones
and bursting greens of treetops

the water wouldn't stop
impeding my view.

You should really believe in magic.

Magical realism by easiest definition is when an author weaves magical aspects into an otherwise realistic story. I would describe it as poetic exaggeration...but exaggeration is the wrong word because it has a connotation of ridiculous. Poetic...amplification? Magnification?

Gabriel Garcia Marquez describes it as: "...the way my grandmother used to tell stories. She told things that sounded supernatural and fantastic, but she told them with complete naturalness...What was most important was the expression she had on her face. She didn't change her expression at all when telling her stories and everyone was surprised. In previous attempts to write, I tried to tell the story without believing in it. I discovered that what I had to do was believe in them myself and write them with the same expression with which my grandmother told them: with a brick face." Sigh.

Like Water for Chocolate, by Laura Esquirel, is the love story of Tita, the youngest of 3 daughters, on whom the family duty falls to remain unmarried and take care of her mother until she dies;though love story in the broadest--and fullest--sense of the word: passion but also the deep love of great friends and the love of food and life and of course, inevitable heartbreak, all tragic and yet beautiful. It is the hints of the fantastical that make Tita's story so beautiful, and ironically enough, more real. Stark realism just isn't enough sometimes. (These old posts explain a bit more fully.)

I would have to quote way more than what is appropriate for a blog post to fully explain why and how magical realism takes your breath away in this story, so it's probably just a better idea to read the book and see the streams of tears, blankets the measure 3 hectares and the visits of ghosts for yourself. I stand fully convinced that everything is better if a little magical.

For the love of reading.

June planning is half of the reason I still live in New York. The time at the end of the year when my department at work reflects on the past year and begins making plans for the next. I suppose it's a sign that I'm in the right profession, because every year the idea of re-imagining how to help kids love reading and writing is incredibly energizing. Five years ago probably this week I was deciding whether I should move back to Ohio or stay in New York. My first year of teaching was a circus: teaching 3 different subjects, two grades and not having my own classroom, I was literally beat. But when my team sat down to talk, I realized I actually had insight, rather than my typical sitting at meetings and soaking in other people's advice and ideas. Planning was a creative outlet for me. So I stayed, excited for the next year (and an all 7th grade ELA program, obviously)...and the prospect of living in a bug free apartment with two of the greatest friends in the world (the other half of my reason for staying.)

Anyway. My 8th grade ELA team's June planning has been so invigorating. In our re-imagining of our reading curriculum, it has left me wanting to do nothing but read. Truly. 8th grade reading is mostly about going deep, making connections and being excited about the ideas you find. In order to teach into this idea, we are revisiting old favorites from childhood and reading them with a closer lens--teaching skills for close, thoughtful reading with an incredibly accessible text. Then they can practice in a childhood re-read of their own, then apply the skills to their on-level reading. Make sense? Stay with me for why this is relevant to you.

Our read aloud is Charlotte's Web. Yes, the book that you probably read in second grade. But. You have no idea just how thought provoking, well written and life-giving this book is. The teachers are also reading "The Annotated Charlotte's Web" in preparation, which includes a ridiculous amount of information on E.B. White, his overall brilliance, writing craft and the tracing of themes. This facilitates "reading like a writer" better than any text I've come across. I can't wait to talk about this with my students. But. The greatest part:

After our students have read Charlotte's Web with us, and have re-read a childhood classic, they will write an "appreciation." A colleague found these forewords in Penguin's Children's Classics: an author writes about his/her childhood experience reading the book and what it means to them as an adult. It has been so much fun talking about our favorite reading experiences as children: The Little Princess, Anne of Green Gables, The Wind in the Willows...We can't wait to give our students the opportunity to revisit these books and write about their experience with them the first time and what it was like to reread them as young adults. Sigh. It just takes me back to the world of imagination when playing pretend felt so real.

You should seriously consider going back to some childhood favorites and rereading them. I'm convinced that they help remind us of all that is good and true. I just love how reading can change us and shape us and I am forever grateful that my parents "forced" my brother and I to read every night before we went to bed...a habit I never grew out of. I'll post my "appreciation" later this summer. I'd love to hear about the books that defined your childhood. Reread and remember.

I love books.

Soliciting Summer Reading Suggestions...

I typically get a little over zealous in the number of books I can read in the summer, but I do have a lot of time. Books I'm considering right now:

A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry
The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
The Hobbit By J.R.R. Tolkien
1984 by George Orwell
The Savage Detectives by Roberto Bolano
The House of Spirits by Isabel Allende
American Pastoral by Philip Roth

Recommendations? Comments on these choices?

An updated official list with pictures coming soon...

I like television. This is dedicated to my favorite science teachers out there, Beth Mount and Joanna Santarpia.

I really enjoy a lot of television programs.

Every time I say this, there is something in me that feels like it is a confession. Perhaps the true confession is that when I didn't watch a lot of television in college somehow thought I was better? Gotta love the pride of thinking you know everything at age 20. Granted, living vicariously though television shows is probably not smart either: there are real people out there to talk to, though I do have introverted tendencies. (The same argument could be made about incessant reading-but somehow that makes me smarter? academic looking? Ha.) And I don't schedule my life around television shows...that's what hulu.com and netflix are for. But. I've realized that I watch most television the way I read books. There are different categories:

1. I read for plot. These are the books that are mostly entertainment, pure enjoyment and often suspenseful (Anne of Green Gables, Harry Potter--whose literary value is enormous to me, the Twilight series, whose doesn't). Television shows in this category include: Bones (seasons 1-3 only, people), Law and Order, The Closer

2. I read for brilliant portrayal of or commentary on a time or place. These are enjoyable, yet artistic and thought provoking (Pride and Prejudice, The Book Thief, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, Invisible Man). Television shows that fall into this category include: Mad Men, My So Called Life

3. I read to better understand people. Human complexity, heart, struggle and change captivate me (A House of Mango Street, The Elegance of the Hedgehog, Anna Karenina). Television shows that fall into this category, among others already mentioned: The OC (don't even get me started, I swear I will write you a treatise on why I love this show), Friday Night Lights, Damages











Now that that's all out of the way. I just finished watching season one of Lie to Me on hulu.com. Today it's description in my mind changed from pretty interesting and entertaining to brilliant. The premise is that Dr. Lightman, the main character, is an expert in reading human emotion through micro-expressions and leads a team of experts who work on various cases involving lie detection. What I realized while watching the season finale today is that one of the reasons I like this show so much is that it is courageous and timely in its subject matter. Lightman and his colleagues face ethical dilemmas concerning the nature of lies and truth, whether withholding information is playing God and the personal repercussions for working toward the greater good. The final episode of the season brilliantly (and without subtlety) challenged methods of FBI interrogation of terrorists, which I thought was incredibly interesting (and correct).

And though I'm not scientifically minded myself (as with music and art, I have to partake in the skills of others), I really walk away from shows like this one, the forensic anthropology in Bones and even the investigations in CSI wishing I knew more about science--and I think that kids who watch these shows might be more inclined to pursue degrees in science...and I also believe that every town needs detective workers with incredibly precise and sophisticated skill sets: a Dr. Temperance Brennan (Bones) and Dr. Cal Lightman, for example. (Aw, and what the heck, everyone needs a David Caruso, er Horatio Caine). The most interesting layer is that both of those characters are based on real life scientists who also write regularly.

Because I am a dork and was so fascinated by the end of Lie to Me tonight, I did some research. Lightman's character is based on Paul Ekman, who i quite prolific and someone I'd love to read more about. He also writes a blog to comment on each episode of Lie to Me.

My point is. [Some] television can make you smarter.

Of course, I can't end it just like that. I taught my students (wait...retaught for the hundredth time) today that at the end of an essay it's a good idea to revisit their thesis statements. I believe that some television shows explore story just as well as books or good films. Story is story is human experience and imagination. And I love that.