210 East Rosedale The Literary and Education Journal of the Pennsylvania Writing and Literature Project

Summer/Fall 2012-Volume 1, Issue 1

210 East Rosedale Summer/Fall 2012 – Volume 1, Issue 1

Contributors

Teaching Memoir In Retrospect: A Life Devoted to Teaching by Jean Shervais A Teacher’s Epiphany……………………………………4 by Heather Winterbottom

Personal Memoir History is Found in a Kitchen……………………………6 by Brian Kelley Rhythms of Reality……………………………………….8 by Rita Sorrentino Tell Me a Story…………………………………………..11 by Diane Dougherty Azalea Benches…………………………………………13 by Carrie Hagen

Education Article/Tips Reflections and Applications on……………………….16 How Big Questions Engage and Motivate Students who have

Grown up Digitally – a Jim Burke podcast by Sandra Crook Reader’s Theater: A Recipe for Research……………18 by Rita DiCarne Imagine Making Matters………………………………..21 by Judy Jester The Tipping Point……………………………………….23 by Maryellen Kenney Decorate the Classroom with Student Thought……...27 by Richard Mitchell Kindness Matters………………………………………..28 by Kate Walton

Photographs and cover photographs by Tricia Ebarvia

Poetry Lilacs………………………………………………….30 by Rita DiCarne After the First Elegy…………………………………31 by Don LaBranche After the Eighth Elegy………………………………32 by Don LaBranche Inquiry………………………………………………...33 by Janice Ewing

Book Reviews Good Reads: Fiction………………………………..34 by Linda Walker

Photography Tricia Ebarvia

Meg Griffin

Patty Koller

210 Rosedale Literary Journal Staff The Pennsylvania Writing and Literature Project

A National Writing Project Site since 1980

Director: Dr. Mary Buckelew

Production Editor: Meg Griffin

Assistant Production Editors: Brian Kelley, Sally Malarney and Janice Ewing

PAWLP Staff: Ann Mascherino, Toni Kershaw and Sally Malarney

www.pawlp.org

From the Director

Dear PAWLP Fellows & Friends,

I am delighted to introduce the inaugural Summer/Fall issue of 210 East Rosedale: The Literary

and Education Journal of the Pennsylvania Writing and Literature Project. There is truly something for

everyone in our first issue. From poetry, to teaching memoirs and personal memoirs, to strategies for

teaching informational essays, the varied interests and passions of PAWLP Fellows are showcased in our

first journal. PAWLP Fellows share their insights, wisdom, and joy for life and teaching through their

writing and photography.

Brian Kelley’s (WCU Fellow 2011) enthusiasm and willingness to tackle the initial

organizational challenges were invaluable and moved us forward. Without the editorial leadership of

Meg Griffin (Bucks Fellow 2005), this first issue would not be possible. In between and around teaching,

hiking in New Hampshire, and dog sitting for her children, Meg brought this journal to life. Her

creativity and diligence made all the difference! Many thanks Meg & Brian!

The title of the journal was inspired by the continuity Saturdays facilitated by Diane Dougherty

and a call for a title that might connect to a PAWLP location or connect with the heart of PAWLP.

PAWLP fellow, Janice Ewing suggested “210 East Rosedale,” and it seems like a good fit. Although

PAWLP activities take place in myriad locations from the Michener Museum in Doylestown, to Valley

Forge National Park, to Longwood Gardens, PAWLP’S energy radiates from the offices at Rosedale –

where the PAWLP Staff , Ann Mascherino, Toni Kershaw, and Sally Malarney hold down the PAWLP

Palace (or fort – depending on the season) and assist PAWLP Fellows in their good works to enhance the

literacy lives of students and teachers of grades K-16.

Although far flung in our work, the meetings, the comings and goings, and the socializing at

Rosedale shape and strengthen our community.

210 East Rosedale offers something for everyone -- from the humorous to the profound --

Enjoy!

Sincerely,

Mary Buckelew

IN RETROSPECT: A LIFE DEVOTED TO TEACHING By Jean Shervais

The ancient Greeks got it right: the key to a happy life is balance in all things.

Looking back on my decades of teaching adolescents, I’ve come to realize that it’s been a

balance of many things that has kept me happy and content in teaching while many around

me were becoming embittered or frustrated. Of course it’s also been a little luck, a lot of

passion, and a certain joie de vivre. You say you’d like to know the secret to a long and

happy teaching career? Well, I can’t promise that, but I can share a few things I’ve learned.

As new teachers, we all have a passion for the subject we’ve chosen. Being a

teacher of literature and the written word, I am an avid reader and writer and want to share

what I uncover with others. The tricky part of teaching adolescents is that they are skeptical

about whether that passion for a subject is justified or true. They have to be convinced.

That means much of a teacher’s job is learning how to persuade others to give something a

try. I realized early on that all of my students were not going to love Shakespeare with the

same level of intensity that I do. That didn’t stop me from sharing my love of his masterful

wordcraft, his sound plot structures, and his finely developed characters. For my students

who preferred contemporary or futuristic works, I sought out well written modern pieces that

could offer them the thrills in language or storyline to hook them into lifelong reading habits.

And even for my weakest readers, I helped them to see that there were works out there

worth reading to gain an insight on themselves and on the world around them.

All experienced teachers share a secret: the kids keep us young because we learn

from them everyday. Valuing our students and their youth and inexperience is one of the

hallmarks of a good teacher. I have been fortunate enough to teach students of all ages, of

many backgrounds, and of varying temperaments. Finding the balance in reaching all the

students in a classroom yet keeping order has never been an easy task. I wrote the

following poem remembering back to a day in my first year of teaching:

Photograph by Patty Koller

CAT AND MOUSE

Scritch! Scritch! Scritch! Scritch! Standing in front of my desk as a first year teacher, I register the smug smiles and the air of expectancy hovering in the room. Leaning towards my desk drawer, I hesitate Scritch! Scritch! Scritch! Scritch! then turn decisively to the chalkboard and begin writing the day’s assignment. Excited faces fall. Several students shuffle their notebooks.

Eyes dart back and forth in a kind of Morse code: “What should we do?” Scritch! Scritch! Scritch! Scritch! Boldly, Darting Eyes in row three raises his hand. “Yes, Brad?” “What’s that noise coming from your desk?” How to respond? Ignore it? Deny it? Reject it? Scritch! Scritch! Scritch! Scritch! Slowly I pull back the drawer. Two beady eyes stare up at me. I grab the small brown mouse firmly in hand, “What a lovely present! Thank you!” walk to the outside door just beyond my room

release the frightened creature who scampers off while I turn back for the next game of Cat and Mouse. I wrote the poem because I remembered vividly how exciting yet scary life as a beginning

teacher can be. For every daily success, there are many more challenges and setbacks, but

doesn’t that describe life in general as well? Accepting what works and learning from what

doesn’t can provide the best grounding for a happy life and a successful teaching career.

I haven’t said nearly enough about the importance of being upbeat, of respecting

your students so that they will respect you, or of seeing the humor present in even the most

challenging situations. These are the building blocks that help create each year’s layer of

successful teaching and learning. Working with professional colleagues who also recognize

the importance of optimism, respect, and a good laugh is the blessing that crowns the whole

structure.

With the right attitude, a little luck, and a deep sense of the sacred trust we as

teachers hold—helping our individual students to grow and recognize their own strengths—

we are influencing the future of our society. When we realize this, how can teaching be

anything but a joyful challenge? It has been for me, and I hope it will be for you as well.

Photograph by Patty Koller

Jean Shervais taught in the Owen J. Roberts School District for 36 years as a high school and middle school English teacher. She

currently works as an adjunct professor for Cabrini College. She describes her teaching experiences as a “wonderful way to spend a life.”

She is a lifelong native of Chester County and is both a Writing and Reading Fellow of the National Writing Project. Jean hopes to continue

working with PA Writing & Literature Project during her retirement and is looking forward to having time to enjoy the beauty of Chester

County and to contribute to making it a better place in any way she can.

A Teacher’s Epiphany

By Heather Winterbottom

When asked what I took away from my student teaching experience, I respond with the

expected. “I had an awesome cooperating teacher. We got along and she respected my ideas and

encouraged me every step of the way.” True. “I had a fabulous university supervisor, with

whom I still communicate and share my successes.” Also true. And, “I had a healthy support

system.” I lived with Mom and Dad—lunches packed, laundry done.

I wrote textbook perfect lesson plans. All my materials were thoroughly researched and

organized. I even had the quintessential student teaching wardrobe.

I had hoped that because of my organization and hard work my students would blow me

away with their brilliance—brilliance they achieved, obviously, from my well rehearsed thought-

provoking questions and inspiring lectures. They did impress me to an extent. They were nice.

They nailed the 3x5 exposition on why Oedipus is the Aristotelian tragic hero, and they

understood that Julius Caesar was about Brutus, not J.C.

Big deal—everyone has that. But there was no epiphany—no affirmation that I was going

to be a great teacher—that I had what it takes. Nothing that solidified what kind of teacher I was

going to become.

Epiphanies, however, don’t come in neat packages with rays of light and an angelic

chorus. I learned my most valuable lesson from a nightmare situation—one that didn’t fit into my

scaffolded plan.

I did the most fabulous anticipatory activity for Lord of the Flies. I “dropped” groups of

kids on a deserted island and asked them to create a community. The kids theorized and built and

fought—it was wonderful—I was wonderful. After the clay models and dioramas of their islands

were turned in, I asked the students to reflect on their group experience and determine whether a

leader emerged and what conflicts developed while creating their community.

The connections to the novel and the creation of an actual microcosm were brilliant—this

was going to earn me the gold star of student teaching. During the experimental phase of the

assignment, I wanted to observe (but not influence) the progress of the groups. Equipped with

pen and clipboard, I adopted the persona of a tree—just watching and going with the flow.

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I got to Joe’s group and they, like the rubric driven students they were, started asking

questions. I refused to answer them. I told them I was a tree. I could only listen.

Joe asked, “What kind of tree are you?”

“A palm tree, of course. You are on a tropical island.”

“Cool. Can I hold your coconuts?”

An innocent question, but we both got the other meaning. Our faces turned five shades of

red as embarrassment rose like cartoon characters.

How was I supposed to react? What do the classroom management gurus say about

situations like this? I knew I should probably scold Joe for being inappropriate, and I knew I

should let him know that I would not tolerate that type of language in my classroom.

I also knew that his eyes could not open any wider and that his face was redder than mine. I let

myself be human. I laughed.

It was funny. It was a mistake. We got over it and moved on.

Now that I’m a “real” teacher I’ve faced many similar situations. Like when Ben pulled

down his pants because the room was hot and when discussing a sexual scene with euphemisms

Brian sang the theme song to a porno, I laughed. They were in high school. They were funny.

My epiphany couldn’t be studied from a book or copied from a lecture. It was authentic.

It was important. I can be serious, and I do work from structure. I learned not to break

down if life doesn’t go according to plan. The real world—the one I’m supposed to be preparing

my students for—doesn’t go according to plan. Teaching is an art of modeling behaviors.

So, laugh.

Heather Winterbottom is starting her 10th year of teaching English at Avon Grove High School. Over the years she has taught

students with abilities ranging from special needs to Advanced Placement. She recently finished the West Chester University

graduate program with a M.A. in Teaching, Writing, and Criticism. Heather has previously published in The Prentice Hall Reader 9th

ed. wherein she prepares students for the AP Language and Composition Exam. She completed the PAWLP Writing Institute in

2007 and hopes to participate in the Reading Institute soon. In her “spare” time, Heather enjoys reading but will be busy planning her

June wedding and her sister’s wedding four months later!

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Photograph by Meg Griffin

History is Found in a Kitchen by Brian Kelley

Through a text message my mother asked if I wanted Aunt Connie’s china. I didn’t

remember Aunt Connie ever cooking...let alone having china. Aunt Connie (born Conchetta

Quattrone) barely cooked--to be fair, she tried, but just wasn’t good at it--married for a cup of

coffee, and lived most of her 90 years of life in the row house she was born in--the older

daughter of five children of Ferdinand and Josephine Quattrone.

Her father, Ferdinand, left Italy on the steamship Bolivia on May 1, 1901 and arrived at

Ellis Island on May 21, 1901. He missed the tsunami of 1906 that leveled his home town of

Reggio Calabria--driving fast-acting survivors to wait out the catastrophe up into caves high

inside the mountains. It so ravaged Messina and Reggio Calabria that Italian women in our

family refused to even place their feet in the Atlantic Ocean--they believed it to be possessed

with evil.

Ferdinand raised a family on a meager salary generated from plucking slim strands of

boiling straw from enormous iron drums. Bent and molded over a hat block, he used his bare

hands to manipulate the scalding reeds. Aunt Connie recalled her father’s hands as eternally

swollen, hard, and red--his hands were not best described as burnt, but cooked.

As a latch-key kid waiting for my mother to return home from any number of jobs, I

spent many hours in Aunt Connie’s home through the 1970s and 1980s. One of the many houses

on 10th Street managed by an Italian woman, I found myself peeling my bare legs from plastic

slip covers or staring with fear at the hard marble slab corners of the tables.

Some Italian women ran their house alone in the 1970s because America took their

husbands through work or war. While others ran the house, as in my aunt’s case, because it was

left to them while brothers and sisters married themselves into their own brick and families.

In addition to watching Merv Griffin with my aunt after school, and Happy Days at night

in the house I lived in with my mother, our extended family lived in two additional homes on the

same block--at any time, family could be found walking freely to and from to any one of four

houses. We all ate many of our meals among the other houses.

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As I grew older I learned a few things from hanging out with all of those rough-hewn

Italian women: how to cook; the throbbing sting of a wooden spoon; wine tastes best snuck in a

jelly glass; and the life of a family evolves around a kitchen table--where you share much more

than just a plate.

I asked my mom to text a picture of something from the china set. When it arrived, it

was a round plate. While I still do not recall ever eating from that china in Aunt Connie’s house,

it came as no surprise that my mother added that Aunt Connie wanted me to have the china.

When I pick it up and bring it to my house, my first order of business is not to find a

place to store it, but the right recipe to fill it and the right people to sit around it.

Brian Kelley teaches 8th grade creative writing in the Unionville-Chadds Ford School District. He writes about his

experiences teaching writing to middle school students in his professional blog Walk the Walk

(www.walkthewalkblog.blogspot.com). Previous publication includes Shakespeare Magazine (Georgetown University) in 1995 and

the literary journal Passager in 1992. In addition to writing, Brian serves as an assistant football coach at West Chester University.

He lives in Kemblesville, PA with his fiance Karla and their six rescue dogs and cats.

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Photograph by Meg Griffin

Rhythms of Reality

by Rita Sorrentino

Despite the fact that I find reality shows contemptible, I must confess that I participated

in one, perhaps one of the very first ones. No, I didn’t have to eat worms, survive a trek through

an infested jungle, or betray someone for money, marriage or a makeover de jour. Instead, I

stood in line for hours at 46th and Market Streets while praying feverishly that I would get into

the Arena before the cutoff. If so, one hurdle down, one to go.Once inside I had to subdue my

built-up excitement and impatiently listen to a list of house rules that most of the teenagers

waiting to get into Bandstand already knew by heart.

“No …,” an important looking dark suited man began.

“…chewing gum,” we’d respond hoping to speed up the process.

“No suggestive dancing,” he’d continue

“No..” he could hardly get his words out.

“…pants or shorts for girls,” we spieled off.

“And boys must have suits jackets,” masculine voices pipe up.

With verbal agreement and visual compliance taken care of, we were ushered into the

studio’s small dance floor, framed with wooden bleachers. Rushing to get a good front and

center seat, we giggled, fussed with hair, and anticipated dancing alongside or possibly with the

“regulars.” Add to that the delight of sharing in the popular Rate-A-Record ritual. “I like the

words. It has a good beat. I give it 90. “ Life seemed simple then: follow the rules, clear-cut,

black and white reality.

When fall arrived my dreams of being a dancing queen were only footsteps away. I

attended West Catholic High School just around the corner from the Arena that hosted the WFIL

Bandstand. However, this proximity did not come at an easy price. Our teachers warned us that

we were not permitted to go on Bandstand, or heaven-forbid, appear on this suspicious TV show

in our uniforms. Whatever the consequence, creative Catholic-school girls across the city devised

the fad of wearing the infamous maroon sweater backwards. Hiding the school emblem became a

badge of courage perhaps foreshadowing later religious disloyalties. But for then I had an

opportunity to enjoy the music, meet new friends, and appear on an ahead-of-its-time reality

show. We could dance the afternoon away without any worries (except perhaps to wonder what

our teachers thought was so reprehensible about this simple pleasure).

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When the show was over, a mad dash to Pop Singers, a nearby soda fountain, followed.

Inside a jammed booth we sipped cokes, rubbed elbows with the regulars and listened to songs

from the jukebox. “Does Your Chewing Gum Stick to the Bedpost Overnight?” “Little Darlin’,”

“ I Will follow Him,” and “A Whole Lot of Shaking Going’ On” to name a few. My friends and I

treasured these moments of innocence and friendship accompanied by lively music.

Life slowly changed. Responsibilities at home, and gradually, extra curricular activities at

school occupied my time. The daily dance show changed to a weekly show, and eventually

moved to California. Our teenage dreams of being dancing queens also relocated. We took turns

hosting basement parties where we played our 45’s, practiced new steps, danced to tunes of

popular girl groups and found rock-n-roll relevant to our adolescence.

Never again would life be that innocent. Assassinations, the civil rights struggle, and the

Vietnam War framed the next decade. The Beatles “yeah yeah yeahed” us with their new sounds,

but sooner or later they, too, yearned for the peace and certainty of “Yesterday.” The Beach Boy

went “Surfin’ USA” while Simon and Garfunkel preferred “The Sound of Silence” during these

tumultuous times.Subsequently, rock music turned hard and acidic. I can’t say for certain what

day the music died for me, but as rock became less personal and harder to listen to, I tuned out.

But not for long!

“Hi, Rita. It’s Judy. Pick up or call me back ASAP,” the answering machine greeted me

late one Sunday evening. I hesitated for a moment but then returned the call. “What’s up, and

what’s so urgent?’ I asked in an almost uninterested tone.

“Did you watch American Dream tonight?” she started the inquisition.

“No, and I didn’t tape it if that is your next question.”

“Too bad,” Judy started to tease but then blurted out. “I think I saw you on a piece of old

Bandstand footage. A line of kids were doing the stroll and my eyes caught two girls in uniforms

with pageboy fluff hairdos. It really looked like you and Joan.”

Well, there went my 15 seconds of fame. I sighed and said goodbye promising to talk

later in the week. Remembering poodle skirts and bobby socks was not on my agenda for the few

remaining hours of that weekend.

My sister and I will pick up the conversation again. She enjoys reminiscing about the

days of old. I think it soothes her long-distance soul that craves a closer connection to family and

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friends. I’m not overly nostalgic, yet, my Bandstand days hold fond memories for me. The rock-

n-roll of the 50’s resonates with a good time in my life.

Recently, I discovered a pseudo-bandstand at Curves for Women Fitness Center. The

music is lively and there’s a “Whole Lotta Shaking Goin’ On.” I don’t have to wait in line to

dance to the beat, because now I’m a regular. What goes around comes around – slightly altered

to accommodate reality.

Rita Sorrentino is the technology teacher at Overbrook Elementary School in Philadelphia. Rita joined the Pennsylvania Writing

and Literature Project in 2004 and the Philadelphia Writing Project in 1994. This year Rita was honored with a "Teacher as Hero" award

from the National Liberty Museum for her commitment to professional development through her work with teacher institutes and

networks. Rita is currently interested in finding opportunities to assist today’s digital kids in using digital tools for their writing and

publishing. Rita’s piece, “Rhythms of Reality” was written during the PAWLP 2004 Writing Institute.

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Photograph by Meg Griffin

Tell Me a Story by Diane Dougherty

He has tanned and muscled arms and hands calloused from years of hard work in the coal

mines. Embedded just under the skin of those arms and those hands are bits of anthracite coal,

remnants of a mine explosion that nearly took his life and did take one lung, leaving the other

barely capable of breath. Yet, those hands pick tomatoes, weed the garden, and pluck raspberries

with a delicacy that belies their appearance.

“Daddy, why did you go back to work in the mines after the war instead of running away

to be a cowboy?”

He pauses his gardening and looks at me thoughtfully. “Uncle Guilio’s been telling

stories again, has he?”

“Daddy, Uncle told us you wanted to be a cowboy. Isn’t that true?”

“There’s lots of things that aren’t lies, honey, that aren’t exactly true either.”

My father understood the concept of “story truth.” In our family there are lots of stories:

“The day the pig got loose”

“Ma takes a stand”

“Daddy chases Poncho Villa across the Rio Grande”

“Anthony breaks his arm pretending to be Superman”

Each story told again and again over Thanksgiving dinner, during picnics at the lake, or on

leisurely Sunday afternoons. Stories with the same plot lines told a little bit differently

depending on the narrator.

“There’s a lot of things that aren’t lies, honey, that aren’t exactly true either.” Is that

why, when I read a memory story, one of my sisters invariably says, “That’s not the way it

happened at all.” My memories are clear as crystal; they just aren’t true facts, apparently.

The morning I questioned Daddy might have really been late afternoon; it might have

happened not in the garden but on the back porch. Maybe it was raining—a thunderstorm, and

since I am terrified of thunderstorms, Daddy tells me a story to distract me from my fear, a story

about chasing bandits when he was in the U.S. Cavalry.

I am thinking of all of this because of the trailer for War Horse, a movie to be released on

Christmas Day. When he sees the trailer my grandson, Collin, wants to know about his great-

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grandfather. “Mom-mom, didn’t you say that

your father was a soldier with the cavalry in

World War I?”

“Yes, Collin. He never talked about the

war, but my Uncle Guilio told me stories about

it. My father served under General Jack

Pershing and was caught behind enemy lines at

Chateau Thierry. Under cover of darkness he

and two companions made it back to the U.S.

line, dodging German soldiers throughout the

night. My uncle said that the three men were

lucky to have escaped capture, but I like to think

they were clever and brave.”

The “clever and brave” story is not mine

to tell nor was it my uncle’s. Still, we tell it

anyway. How my father lay still, face-down in the mud, pretending to be dead. How he waited

until the sounds of German voices faded into the woods before inching his way forward towards

escape. How he met two other soldiers trying to get to the American line to resume fighting.

How they returned to duty and served honorably until Armistice Day. My uncle told me all of

these stories. I believe every one.

“There’s lots of things that aren’t lies, honey, that aren’t exactly true either.”

"Diane in San Antonio...her father's daughter"

Diane Esolen Dougherty is a retired teacher from the Coatesville Area School District where she also served as Department Chair

in English. She is a teacher consultant for PAWLP and lives in Downingtown with her husband Joe. In her spare time she enjoys spending

time with her children and grandchildren.

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Azalea Benches By Carrie Hagen

My father encouraged his children to talk to strangers.

Dad could befriend almost anybody. He said hello to people he passed on the street,

and he even talked to crossing guards. Whenever someone returned his wave, I would ask who

the person was.

“I don’t know,” Dad usually replied.

“How do you not know?”

“I don’t have to know everything,” he would say. “And neither do you. Work on

that.”

My younger brothers and I didn’t want to work on being friendlier. The three of us

shied away from meeting new people. Dad tried to combat our social awkwardness by finding

shared interests between us and whomever we encountered -- like the vendors at Phillies games,

the waitresses in the old Woolworth’s diner, the homeless guy who mopped the floor of 7-11 in

exchange for hot dogs. We ignored his conversation attempts. Unless he tried to make

connections with people who kind of looked our age.

More than a few times, Dad turned to teenagers in the football stadium or at the ice

cream stand and asked if we knew them from school. Mortified, my brothers and I cut him off.

“Shut up, Dad!”

“They don’t care, Dad.”

“Dad, what’s your problem?”

Our tone varied depending upon the attractiveness of the person before us. Dad,

though, didn’t mind any overt disrespect. Laughing, he would shrug and say “God bless” to the

bewildered onlooker. Back in our Dodge minivan, he tried to analyze our discomfort.

“What’s wrong with you kids?”

Our answers were the same.

“They don’t care, Dad.”

“Dad, what’s your problem?”

“Shut up, Dad!”

And again, he would laugh.

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What we -- his children -- didn’t notice was how many people welcomed Dad’s

attempts at conversation. I realized this after his heart attack, when familiar-looking strangers

approached and asked me about him.

Dad hadn’t been feeling well when my brother David got married. The doctor knew

that his heart was in bad shape, but Dad didn’t want the prognosis to interrupt my brother’s

wedding plans. He spent the morning of the wedding in his hotel room, trying to hide his

constant cough from my concerned mother.

A few days later, on his commute home from work, a coughing fit forced him off the

road. Two state troopers noticed his erratic driving and assumed he was drunk. Once they

recognized Dad as a medical emergency, they pulled him out of his van and rushed him to the

hospital.

None of us had recognized the coughing fits as mini-heart attacks. My brothers and I

knew that heart disease ran in our family, but Dad’s gregarious personality dismissed his

doctors’ concerns, even after the quadruple bypass. The first time I visited him in the hospital,

he asked me to pray for him. Then he introduced me to his nurse, a woman my age who also

didn’t like her new sister-in-law.

I wanted to pray, but the effort became one more awkward conversation that my father

forced me into having. Before visiting the hospital the next night, I walked through my

Philadelphia neighborhood, towards the azalea garden that borders the Art Museum grounds.

Every spring, the wind pushes sweet fragrances of pink, white and purple blooms into the traffic

that clogs Kelly Drive. I sat on a bench behind a wine-colored bush and looked across the street.

A homeless man sat on a bench opposite me. I had noticed him before. He wore a neck brace

and pushed around a large cart full of flannel shirts and stuffed bags.

As soon as the hospital released Dad, he began to retain water weight and struggled to

breathe. Mom took him to the emergency room; this time, doctors officially diagnosed him with

congenital heart failure. I asked my parents what I could do. “Pray,” they both said. I walked

again to the azalea garden. The same homeless man sat on the bench across the street.

I started seeing him there every day. Sometimes he stood next to his cart behind the

bench and held onto a cane. On rainy days, he wore a blue poncho. I wondered what would

happen if a speeding car lost control, jumped the curb, and crashed into him. I wondered if I

would be the only person to call the police. I wondered if I would even make the call.

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Dad entered the hospital for another operation; he returned home with a defibrillator in

his chest. Further tests had revealed greater damage, and the medications weren’t keeping

enough water out of his bloodstream. I visited him the night after the implant. The light was out

in his room. I sat in a chair and watched him sleep.

An unseasonably warm Indian summer extended into the fall. The homeless man took

off his flannel jacket and began standing in a T-shirt underneath a tree a little distance behind the

bench. I thought about asking if he went to the homeless feeding on the Parkway every Friday

night. I thought about making him a sandwich, or buying him a hot dog from the vendor down

the road. I wondered if anybody bothered him at night or gave him coffee in the morning. Each

afternoon, I told myself that I would cross the street to say hello on my way home.

And then, one day, he was gone.

Carrie Hagen is the author of we is got him, the narrative nonfiction account of the first recorded ransom kidnapping in American

history (The Overlook Press, 2011). Her essays and commentary have appeared in the Philadelphia Daily News, Nerve.com, SN Review, and

other publications. She taught high school English in the Council Rock School District for twelve years.

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Photograph by Patty Koller

Reflections and Applications on Jim Burke’s Podcast

“How Big Questions Engage and Motivate Students who have

Grown up Digitally” by Sandra Crook

http://www.heinemann.com/podcastDetail.aspx?id=18

I had an opportunity to listen to one of Jim Burke’s podcasts. I was intrigued by his

fiveminute podcast because it forced me to reflect on my teaching style. Jim Burke asks, “Who

gets to ask the questions in our class and which questions are asked?” Typically questions

coming from the teacher imply the teacher is assessing students’ understanding and in general

encouraging literary discourse among students. Traditionally, when students ask questions, they

are looking for clarification and a check for understanding. In Burke’s lesson, the roles are

altered. Instead, it is not about the teacher asking the questions, rather the students getting an

opportunity to be guided in asking (and answering) the bigger questions. Burke points out this

generation, native to technology, have grown accustomed to having input. In the digital world,

students interact, navigate and challenge. Unfortunately, it does not always happen in the

classroom and we risk our students shutting down. As teachers, Burke suggests we give them “a

seat at the table” and share the power of inquiry. Giving power to the students to ask the

questions allows students to create their own learning opportunities. Burke suggests at the start

of a unit, to give the students a subject and as the unit unfolds, allow the students to ask the

bigger questions that directly affect their lives.

I wanted to try this out for myself. After we read Beowulf in my senior English class, I

asked my students to form small groups and identify the central themes. Next, I asked my

students to record on chart paper some “bigger” questions that connected those themes with

today. This part was a bit trickier, but as I walked around the class, there was insightful

discussion taking place. Groups recorded their questions under each theme, hung them up and

presented their questions to their peers. Interestingly, common themes were shared but there

were different questions between the groups. Next, everyone walked around and informally

responded to the questions on the chart paper. One of my students asked, “What happens if I

disagree with what someone else said?” All the better, I thought!

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Once students responded to the questions posed, it was evident there was a lot to compare

with modern connections. Discussion focused on the themes, like whether good always prevails.

Several people spoke about the most recent wars in the Middle East and what makes someone

“good” or “evil”. Others related conversation to the theme of glory. The students asked whether

glory was necessary to die for in modern times. Finally, I asked students to choose one of the

many questions and respond to that question in an informal essay. To my delight, the students

were eager to write and share their opinions. This lesson allowed students to get to the heart of

the story while making modern connections. This lesson gave students not only a “seat at the

table,” but a strong voice.

Sandra Crook is in her twelfth year teaching English at Twin Valley High School. Her experience includes working with ELL

to Advanced Placement students. Sandra serves as the English department chair and also advises the National Honor Society.

Sandra is also actively involved in the WCU community. She is a double-Fellow of the PAWLP summer institutes and has presented at

the Saturday seminars. Currently, Sandra is in her third semester at WCU as an adjunct in the Languages and Cultures department.

Sandra enjoys traveling and learning about new cultures. Over the years, she has led several delegations with the People to People

student ambassador program. This past summer, Sandra spent two weeks in Nepal helping to build houses with Habitat for Humanity.

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Photograph by Patty Koller

Readers’ Theater: A Recipe for

Research

by Rita DiCarne

Take 20 enthusiastic seventh graders with an idea

One adventurous teacher

Two cups of research skills

Three tablespoons of group cooperation

A pinch of problem solving

And a dash of critical thinking

Gently sift through ideas. Fold in research with cooperation. Add the problem solving,

and carefully stir until all lumps disappear. Blend in critical thinking. Allow mixture to whip

itself into shape (approximately six –eight class meetings over several weeks). Serve to an

attentive audience.

Recently, I had the opportunity of looping with my sixth grade language arts class. While

the thought of having the same group of students two years in a row was very exciting because I

just loved the kids, it was also a little daunting. I had never taught seventh grade language arts

before, and I wondered whether or not I had enough tricks up my sleeve left to keep my students

sufficiently engaged and motivated.

One of the first questions the kids had when they found out that we would be together

again was whether we would again be doing Readers’ Theater (one of their favorite activities). I

was not sure about Readers’ Theater since we had already performed the scripts that I owned. I

told them that I would check to see if I could find any 7th grade level scripts. Well, leave it to the

kids to solve the problem at hand. They wanted to know why we could not write our own scripts.

Frankly, I did not have an answer – why couldn’t we? So we set off on our journey into the land

of script writing.

Pre-heat the oven. At our first meeting the students discussed various topics they were

interested in exploring. The students simply listed all the topics on the board and then began to

discuss the pros and cons of each topic. Would they be able to find enough information on a

particular topic? Would it be interesting to an audience? Did the topic lend itself to the dialogue

format of Readers’ Theater?

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Whet the Appetite. Once the groups decided on topics, they then began to list subtopics

that would require research. For example, Group 1 chose World War II. They gathered a list of

subtopics including: Pearl Harbor, concentration camps, fleeing from Germany, women in the

war, rulers, generals, weaponry, battles, children, and music. Group 2 chose to research the

origins of London Bridge. Each member of the group was then assigned a subtopic to research

for their next team meeting.

Gather the ingredients. Students came to class prepared with the information they had

researched about their subtopic. Each student took a turn giving a summary of his or her

material. Through discussion, students sifted through the information and began to narrow down

the topic. The World War II group decided to focus their attention on fleeing from Germany (one

student had a first person account from his grandmother), Pearl Harbor, the role of women in the

war, and D-Day. Group 2 decided they needed to research the origin of London Bridge and

Henry VIII and his six wives.

Let simmer. Once the students narrowed down their subjects, they choose parts and began

writing dialogue. Their job was to capture the essence of the material within the constructs of a

play that could last no more than fifteen minutes. All members of the group were required to

have a speaking role.

Taste Test. As with all writing, the scripts needed some revising. Students took turns

reading their parts aloud. The group first listened for accuracy of facts, interesting language,

correct chronological order, and of course grammatical mistakes. Then they listened for fluency,

rate of speed, volume, and expression as each person read.

Serve the dish. Students were given a few class periods to rehearse their lines (students

read from scripts during the actual performance), add some stage movement, and come up with a

few minimal props. A date and time were selected, and each group performed on stage for an

audience of fellow students, faculty, and parents. (Other times we have simply performed in our

classroom and invited another class in to see the performance).

Review the Restaurant. The day after the performance, students were asked to write a

reflection of their Readers’ Theater experience. They were to include strengths, weaknesses,

comments, and suggestions. The feedback was wonderful. The students wrote about the fun they

had researching, the collaboration skills needed for the group to be successful, and the feeling of

satisfaction that they felt after performing an original script. They enjoyed it so much that they

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persuaded their science teacher to allow them to create a Readers’ Theater as their presentation

mode on a chapter about the ocean. She used their performance as the assessment of the chapter.

Vary the Recipe. I continue to use Readers Theater with my Language Arts Class in a

variety of ways. Last year we adapted two picture books into Readers’ Theater Scripts. This year

we are revising an existing script to better meet the needs of the makeup of our class. But by far

the most rewarding experience has been using it for research. The students learned many

research skills such as: generating a question, narrowing a topic, consulting various sources

including first person accounts as well as writing skills including: drafting, revising more than

once, and editing. They also learned that publishing can take on many forms including a stage

performance. I knew I had hit a gold mine when in the eighth grade yearbook one of my former

students wrote that her fondest memory was creating and performing a Readers’ Theater.

Excerpt from London Bridge

Catherine of Aragon (#1)

When I was young a pact was made To marry a king, but I was afraid Although I was wife number one,

He divorced me because I gave him no son.

Jane Seymour (#3) King Henry VIII thought I was the one

But when I became sick after bearing his son He made it quite clear whose life he would save

So our son survived, and I went to the grave

King Henry She was the one I desperately loved

But when it was time to choose I gave her the shove.

Anne of Cleves (#4) I am the King’s 4th but not up to his level

He felt that I looked just like the devil Even though it was a huge hassle

It worked out OK, and I got the castle

Rita DiCarne currently teaches seventh grade ELA at Our Lady of Mercy Regional Catholic School in Maple Glen, PA. She

leads professional development workshops as a teacher/consultant for PAWLP, specializing in the area of Content Area Literacy. She is

Wilson Language Certified and enjoys working one-on-one with struggling readers and writers.

Rita serves as an adjunct faculty member at Bucks County Community College where she teaches Introduction to Rhetorical

Skills and at Delaware Valley College where she teaches Content Area Literacy in their TCIP program. In addition, DiCarne has been

published in Today’s Catholic Teacher Magazine and A Cup of Comfort for Teachers.

Rita resides in Horsham, PA with her husband Chuck and is thoroughly enjoying her newest role in life: mother-in-law.

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by Judy Jester 21

Quick tip: Showing them your own writing in process is a huge boon in this process. Both you and they better understand what you’re attempting. If you make something and interview someone all the better.

Judy Jester has been teaching middle school English for twenty-five years in the Kennett Consolidated School

District. A graduate of Immaculata College, she earned her master’s degree from the University of Delaware. She is a fellow

of the National Writing Project and serves as a co-director of the Pennsylvania Writing and Literature Project at West

Chester University. She has taught graduate courses in the teaching of writing and reading for over fifteen years.

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The Tipping Point

By Maryellen Kenney

This past January I began to explore writing with the high school students in my Written

Communications class. This is an elective class populated by freshman, sophomores, juniors, and

seniors. A few enrolled because they love writing. Some signed up because they wanted to

improve their writing skills. Most were there because a parent or guidance counselor told them it

would be “a good idea” to take the course. I have discovered that a ”good idea” can mean

anything from, “you better get some help with writing” to “we have this empty place in your

schedule next semester and…”

I’ve been teaching long enough to know that creating a community within a classroom is

a necessary first step to creating a safe place to learn, a safe place to take risks with writing. The

sense of community comes first and the learning comes after that. I had been struggling to create

a community of writers, a safe place where writers could work, depending on one another to help

lift the level of their pieces. This time it was truly a struggle. John hated writing and was angry at

his mom who forced him to take the course. Anna was a shy freshman, intimidated by the

seniors. Carla would rather have been in another course with all of her friends but it didn’t fit her

schedule. Joe and Candi are boyfriend and girlfriend. They signed up to be together. (Sigh)

Several weeks into the semester, I could not understand why these students would not

come together. Despite my best efforts, they would not write honestly and care about what they

wrote and one another. We wrote every day. I wrote with them. Every day any student who

wanted to share something they wrote had an opportunity. We filled our writer’s notebooks with

rich fodder for further thinking and writing. There was choice, lots of choice of topic and genre.

We conferenced with one another. I modeled my own writing process. We studied the writing of

mentors whose writing inspired and moved us.

Still the vibe in the classroom was not right. I knew that many of the seniors were

burdened by their graduation project, a major research paper. This writing elective course was

taking a back seat to that. I knew that many of them did not need this course to graduate. What I

couldn’t understand was the lack of response of the underclassmen to all my efforts to have a

fully functioning writing workshop. As a seasoned teacher, experienced with many years of

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using writing workshop in my classroom, I was frustrated at my inability to bring this class

together. I knew that I had to keep trying.

In November of 2006 Smith Magazine asked readers to submit six-word memoirs. You

may remember reading Hemmingway’s: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” A colleague across

the hall had mentioned six-word memoir to me and so I went to the Smith Magazine site. I was

delighted by the challenge that writing a good six-word memoir might be and thought my

students would be also. In class the next day, we perused the site, reading the memoirs submitted

and talking about them. Some said so much. Some raised so many questions and then left those

questions unanswered. They were intrigued. Over the next few days we played with writing six-

word memoirs, sharing them, talking about what made some better than others. During that effort

I sensed that the climate in my classroom was changing.

Indeed, this assignment was the tipping point for creating community. Why? To write a

six-word memoir requires cutting to the chase, using a small number of words to say much. It’s

hard. These novice writers finally really cared about their pieces and knew that despite their best

efforts their message may not come across. They were unwilling to leave any questions

unanswered. They wanted to make sure that everyone knew what their struggle was and where

they stood with it. I allowed them to write a short paragraph giving some background on their

six-word memoir, an explanation, if you will. Some of the memoirs were, well, memorable.

Many were not. But the paragraphs were the powerful part. Finally they were buying into their

own writing.

The best stories are inside you.

by Naomi

I don’t like to share my stories and experiences with people. I like to make them happen,

and let life go, and think about my memories, maybe write them out, but it’s always for me, and

me alone.

Finding the way back to myself.

by Taylor, 17

Throughout my life I have changed who I am just to please others. But I believe I’m

finally coming to terms with myself; I’m finding out who I really am as a person.

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Those tiny voices await loving ears.

by Ashani

I somehow manage to forget that Ashayla may have something meaningful to say. I think

it’s the case with most people, especially older brothers or sisters like me: you don’t expect

younger children to have something worth saying, so you choose not to listen. That is a foolish

mistake to make. She’s silly and ditsy. She likes terrible music. She’s awkward to be around. But

she also needs someone there to listen when she’s having trouble figuring stuff out. I haven’t

been home enough to talk to her about anything, so when I found out that she was in counseling

for self mutilation, I hated myself the most. I didn’t judge her for what she did; I understood. I

still can’t live with the fact that at her age she has to bottle all those things, silly or not, from

anyone. I’ll make sure to ask, and listen, next time.

Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder Inattentive Type

by Nate

Those six words have made my life what it is. I don’t like to call it a disability because

people assume I’m just hiding behind a crutch. I am not asking for sympathy or empathy, I

simply wish to be heard. When I was younger my mother didn’t know I had ADHD and

therefore she thought I was just “lazy, irresponsible, and immature.” I think my mother struggled

with the stress from my father, who was a recovering alcoholic, and raising two other children. I

was a boy who would frequently act out in class, forget to write down his homework, or even

forget his backpack on the bus as late as third grade.

When I was little I would always get in trouble towards November or December for

reasons as simple as not doing my work or acting out in class. I knew my mother had a temper

that was easy to lose but things like that never occurred to me when I would act out. One year I

did something in the weeks before Christmas, which is four days after my birthday. When my

mother got a call from the school telling her that her son was being disruptive and a distraction in

class she saw red. On my birthday night I sat at the kitchen table with tears streaming down my

face, dripping onto my cake. No one in my family joined me as I opened my presents. Not my

younger brother, my older sister or even my mild-mannered father. They all left me to sit alone

when I was eight. This kind of treatment towards me continued until high school started.

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Not only did my relationship with my mother deteriorate, my grades slipped more and

more as the years went on. On occasion I would do better than the year before, which I accredit

to teachers that were able to work with my ADHD, but they only increased by a small margin. In

sixth grade, after my pediatrician recommended that I should be tested for ADHD I went to a

doctor in a big house in Bryn Athen to find out what was wrong with me. I remember the room I

was in like I’d been there a thousand times when it had really only been three visits. It was a

circular room with a desk at the center and a tall bay window to the left of the desk, white shades

and a small bench with a pale green pillow. The man who sat at the desk asked me simple

questions and had me solve puzzles. Silly things I thought had nothing to do with testing me for

ADHD.

When my mom and I found out that I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity

Disorder Inattentive-type I looked at her and I just said “I told you so.” My “disability” may not

be exactly what shaped me into who I am, maybe it was and compiled with my mother’s abuse it

formed me. I am Nathan and I have ADHD I-T.

I’m my own mother and bestfriend.

by Christina, 16

My mother was never really around much in my life, and when she was it was in a very

negative way. So a little over two years ago I decided to cut her from my life completely.

Recently I lost my best friend. She just decided our friendship wasn’t working anymore. I

think the absence of people you care about in your life can definitely be a bad thing but it’s also a

great chance to gain newfound independence too.

I write with my students every day. I learn right alongside them. This year, with this

class, I learned another lesson in persistence and creativity. This particular writing experience

cracked open the door to that place where writers need to live. Not all my students were willing

to walk in and be there. But some were and I was there to work with them. Reluctant writers

need someone who cares enough not to give up. They need someone who will push to find the

writing assignment that clicks with them. This year I learned to keep trying because there is a

tipping point.

Maryellen Kenney teaches English at Upper Moreland High School in Willow Grove, PA. She has been a Fellow of the

Pennsylvania Writing and Literature Project since 2002. Over the past 26 years she has taught at the elementary, middle,

and high school level.

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Decorate the Classroom with Student Thought By Richard Mitchell

This year I put a stop to the boredom and tediousness of the first day of school by asking

my students what they “think.” In my beautiful maroon-velvet storytelling chair, I read Dr.

Seuss’s Oh, the Places You’ll Go to my Advanced Placement seniors. I then asked them to

consider what “High heights” they aspired to, and what “hang-ups and bang-ups” they thought

might leave them in a “lurch.” Each student discussed their dreams, some openly, some

unwillingly. When I calculated they were ready, I asked them the following question: What are

you thinking right now, in September of your senior year?

Myriad responses followed. Some students were thinking about college, others about the

discomfort of new clothes and haircuts. One student pined over a girl he met at camp. Another’s

concern for a sick relative showed on her creased forehead. I asked my students to represent their

thoughts in a poster for display in the classroom. Their hand in decorating the soulless, beige

walls would set the tone for the entire school year.

Any English class should be built on student thinking. The “I Think” poster necessitates

student ownership of the classroom and the work that will occur within it. The posters illustrate

immediately that student thought is the most important element in the learning process. They

offer an initial opportunity for students to relate their lives to what they will learn throughout the

year. Finally, each poster represents a piece of personal landscape in the space of the room, the

collection of which build a community of thought. Students can look to their piece of the wall for

reassurance, courage and strength and their classmate’s posters for inspiration and challenge. “I

Think” posters reinforce the significance of each individual mind and the fact that what comes

from it is important, helpful and necessary to each student in the class.

Richard Mitchell is an English teacher at West Chester East High School. He is a PAWLP and NWP Fellow and co-directs

the Summer Writing Institute at West Chester University. He lives with his wife Maggie, a former music teacher and author of The

Big Stink and Kacey the Paper Cat and their daughter Evelyn Rae, a budding musician and writer herself.

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KINDNESS MATTERS

By Kate Walton

“Kindness Matters” is what I sign on every one of my books. Making kindness

matter to young people has been a deep passion of mine, infiltrating every crevice of my

life. The first time I stepped foot into a classroom back in 1991, I consciously decided to

make kindness the foundation of my teaching practices. I believed it was my job, as the

adult, to discuss and address bullying each time it reared its hideous head. Language arts

afforded me a unique and powerful opportunity to get to the heart of that difficult matter.

Minds are opened when you purposefully craft your language arts lessons to have

an undercurrent of “Kindness Matters.” Allowing students to read and respond to age-

appropriate emotionally charged and honest material provides moments to revolutionize

students’ thinking. I used to call those moments Explicit Conversations. The effects of

bullying (or racism, or intolerance) were openly discussed or written about and shared. I

wanted my students to see each other for the human beings they were, not the labels or

assumptions they were expert at attaching to each other.

Common ground is built, layer by layer. When bullying is openly discussed and

addressed, empathetic thinking blooms. Respect and kindness grow from empathetic

thinking, because when you understand where someone is coming from, it makes it a lot

harder to humiliate them.

Adult involvement is crucial to end bullying. Many young people have no idea

what it looks, sounds, or feels like to be empathetic or kind—often times those behaviors

don’t come naturally. Students must be taught by the adults in their lives. They don’t

know how to “work it out on their own” because they don’t have the tools yet. They need

adults to teach them the tools.

Language Arts affords glorious opportunities to teach those tools. By their very

nature, reading and writing provide a deeper look into the human condition. Language

Arts allows students to see themselves in the printed word, to stretch or change their

thinking, and to connect to each other in profound ways.

Seize the opportunities.

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Ask your students to journal or discuss what they’d like their legacy to be, how

they’d like to be remembered later in life. The jerk? The creep who ruined people’s lives?

The one who ripped other people’s hearts out? Or, the kid who treated everyone with

dignity and respect?

Ask your students to journal or discuss this quotation by American editor and

writer, Thomas Dreier: “The world is a great mirror. It reflects back to you what you

are. If you are loving, if you are friendly, if you are helpful, the world will prove loving

and friendly and helpful to you. The world is what you are.”

Gone are the days where a simple teacher reprimand has the power to stop

bullying. Today’s students need more. Demand more. In this age of information, they

need specifics.

In addition to reading and writing on the issues, explain your clear expectations

and consequences. Share and constantly refer to concrete examples of what it looks and

sounds like to treat other people with basic human dignity:

Looking people in the eyes

Holding the door for people

Smiling

Saying hello or good morning

Offering help

Giving compliments

It’s rather black and white. Bullying in schools will never stop unless the bully is

brought to an understanding of the pain they have caused. They need to know that their

actions are the reason for the pain (or the stomach ache, the headache, the missed school,

the suicide attempt). Bullies, regardless of age, need to realize what their behavior has

caused. Explicit conversations—whether on paper or out loud—in the safety of the

learning community you’ve built, are the ideal venue for bullies to be brought to that

crucial understanding.

Having students leave your classroom believing that Kindness Matters, and

knowing what that looks like in real life, is quite a legacy.

K. M. Walton is the author of Cracked and the upcoming Empty (releasing 1-1-13). As a former middle-school language-arts

teacher and teaching coach, she is passionate about education and ending peer bullying. She gives school presentations on the topic,

“The Power of Human Kindness.” K. M. is a graduate of West Chester University and a PAWLP Fellow. She lives in Pennsylvania

with her family. You can find her online at KMWalton.com and on Twitter at @KMWalton1.

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Lilacs

Rita DiCarne

I didn’t see it coming;

the day had me

agitated.

A routine pass

through the school office

catches me off guard.

Whispers of lilacs,

the delicate scent

of childhood spring times,

summons memories of Philadelphia.

Dad in his suspendered blue jeans

with his trusty gardening shears

is carefully pruning

each fragile branch.

Mom suspends her afternoon

to gently arrange

each pale purple sprig.

All of us circling the table

to inhale the beauty

of these perennials.

The dining room table,

usually a collection of clutter,

is now clear

and dressed in white starched lace.

A crystal vase – imported from Poland

overflows with the lavender bouquet,

bringing the perimeters of our property to its core.

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AFTER THE FIRST ELEGY By Don LaBranche

Angels (they say) don’t know whether it is the living they are moving among, or the dead. --Rilke Every angel is terrifying and we like Magdalene at the tomb before dawn on the third day, tread lightly. But here I think of another Mary visiting the group home where they love her broken son who although he cannot see her, laughs heartily when he hears her voice on music therapy morning, as the horns & tambourines & penny whistles bring to life the old hymns and the singers sway arm in arm in arm, mostly in the same key. After lunch she applies herbs and spices to her son’s tormented skin and not even death can cloud her thoughts nor any doubt concerning whom she moves among.

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Photograph by Meg Griffin

AFTER THE EIGHTH ELEGY By Don LaBranche

A child may wander there for hours, Through the timeless stillness, may get lost in it… --Rilke In the spring of fifth grade roy lugged his diorama—a refrigerator box laid out on the long side—into our Civil War classroom. Regiments of plastic soldiers marched in tight ranks up and over the bloody hills and orchards of Gettysburg shielded from incoming fire by rows of Sherman tanks done up in desert camouflage. He and I lay on the floor for a long time as the battle unfolded then I wondered out loud about tanks on a battlefield in 1863. His eyes glowed with the fierce conviction, the unequivocal response of a scholar-warrior, It doesn’t matter.

Donald LaBranche graduated from West Chester State College and Widener University. He taught physical

education, swimming, third grade, and fifth grade in the Chichester School District. He is a 1993 PAWLP Writing Fellow. In

2002 he participated in a week long internship at the Center for Teaching and Learning, Nanci Atwell's demonstration school

in Maine. He has taught graduate level courses for PAWLP as well as classes in Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror to

fascinating writers in the Young Writer's summer program. His poetry has appeared in numerous publications.

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Photograph by Meg Griffin

Inquiry By Janice Ewing

We lingered with uncertainty

sensing questions

just beyond our reach

Tension grew

as we tried to grasp

nebulous threads

slipping away

like dreams at dawn

Still we waited

questions began

to come into focus

take shape and breathe

like us

alive and hungry for answers.

Janice Ewing is a PAWLP 2004 teacher consultant. For most of her career she was a reading specialist and literacy coach in the

William Penn School District. She is currently an adjunct professor in Cabrini College’s Reading Specialist Certification

Program. She is interested in teacher inquiry and in helping others to find and sustain their writing identities.

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Photograph by Meg Griffin

Good Reads: Fiction

by Linda Walker

The following Good Reads connect nature to the characters and action whether it’s

through the use of place or living things both real and imaginary. The authors use the

senses and details making the reader feel like part of the story.

Wildwood by Colin Meloy

A middle grade fantasy adventure. Prue is a different sort of girl whose younger

brother is abducted by a band of crows. She and her friend Curtis venture deep into

Wildwood, a wilderness filled with secrets and dangers to recover Prue’s captured

brother. The illustrations enhance the text so the reader can visualize the setting and

characters the way the author intended.

Visit http://www.wildwoodchronicles.com for a preview of the book and read about the

author and illustrator.

Breadcrumbs by Anne Ursu

A middle grade fantasy adventure inspired by Hans Christian Anderson’s The

Snow Queen. Hazel and Jack are friends who share a liking of fantasy. Even though they

are in the fourth grade and are boy and girl they are best friends until one day Jack stops

talking to Hazel and disappears into an enchanted forest with a mysterious woman made

of ice. Now Hazel must rescue her friend who may not want to be saved.

Visit http://www.anneursu.com/books/books.html to read about the author and other

books of interest.

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A Nest for Celeste by Henry Cole

A lower grade (3-5) story centered on the adventures of a small mouse, Celeste.

Celeste lives under a plantation home where John James Audubon and his assistant

Joseph come to sketch the birdlife in the area. As the story opens Celeste is bullied by

two rats to bring them food. Celeste makes a narrow escape from the house cat, meets

new friends and makes discoveries. The pencil drawing illustrations help develop the

story.

Visit www.henrycole.com to view more of his contribution to children’s literature

through his art.

The Emerald Atlas by John Stephens

An upper middle grade (5-7) fantasy adventure novel is the first book in a series.

Kate, Michael and Emma are separated from their parents and transported in time to a

place ruled by a fair-haired Countess and her army of Screechers. Three books hold the

secret to unimaginable power. The children are at the center of a journey to retrieve the

emerald atlas, the first book, and find their parents. The book combines the story

elements of the Harry Potter, Narnia and Lord of the Rings books into one good read.

Visit www.emeraldatlas.com to meet the characters, read a chapter and watch a trailer of

The Emerald Atlas.

The Guardians of Ga’Hoole, Book 1 The Capture by Kathryn Lasky

Deep in the forest of Tyto, nestled into the arms of the fir trees, the Barn Owls

dwell. Soren is born into their tranquil kingdom. But evil lurks in the owl world, evil that

threatens to shatter Tyto's peace and change the course of Soren's life forever.

First eggs begin to mysteriously disappear from their nests, then Soren himself is

captured by a part of strange yellow-eyed owls. He finds himself in a dark and forbidding

canyon. It's called an orphanage, the St. Aegolius Academy for Orphaned Owls, but

Soren knows it's something far worse. Within his gizzard, the hope for escape remains

alive, no matter how many rules, punishments, and sleepless days he faces at St. Aggie's.

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He and his best friend, Gylfie, know the only way out of this place is up, so they will

need to do something they have never done before — fly.

Read all 15 books in the series. You’ll find a synopsis of each at:

http://www.scholastic.com/gahoole/books.htm

Secrets at Sea by Richard Peck

Mice are not my favorite critters but I did enjoy the adventures of Helena and her

three siblings. The Cranstons are the human family who want to marry off one of their

daughters by sailing to London. Louisa, Helena’s mouse sister, has formed a close

attachment to Camilla, the human Cranston and announces she would be most tragically

sad to lose her. In order to keep Louisa happy and keep the mouse family together Helena

agrees to stow away and join the Cranstons ocean voyage to London, a not too happy a

prospect since mice do not like water. Ship board adventures keep the book moving at a

lively pace. Sprinkled throughout the book Mr. Peck has included historical and cultural

tidbits of the Victorian era which can lead to interesting discussions of that time period.

The Aviary by Kathleen O’Dell

I’m not one for ghost stories but I do like enchantment. Clara lives with her

mother, Harriet, and Ruby the cook in a decaying mansion. The house is owned by Mrs.

Glendoveer, the wife of a famous deceased magician. When Mrs. Glendoveer dies Clara

becomes part of a mystery involving the name Elliot, a group of enchanted birds locked

up in an aviary in the back yard, a key and a diary. As she attempts to unravel the secrets

of the Glendoveer mansion she stumbles onto mysteries of her own past and enlists a new

found friend to help her solve them.

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Emmy And The Incredible Shrinking Rat by Lynne Jonell

Rats are not an animal that people look upon kindly. In the book Emmy and the

Incredible Shrinking Rat Emmy, the good child never noticed in class, not even by the

teacher, develops an unusual relationship with an opinionated, complaining rat, aka

Raston or Ratty. Emmy’s life is controlled by Miss Barmy, her horrible nanny. Miss

Barmy uses potions to control Emmy’s parents (the Addison’s), children in her class and

anyone or rodent that comes between her and what she wants which is the Addison

fortune. With the help of Ratty and Joe, Emmy’s soccer-loving classmate who shrinks to

the size of an action figure, Emmy sets upon exposing Miss Barmy and her wicked plan.

Amusing dialogue keeps the reader turning pages to discover what challenges Emmy will

face next. Lynne Jonell has developed her characters so well that I found myself offering

help in solving their problems. Many laugh out loud moments make this an engaging

read.

There are two sequels to Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat; Emmy and the

Home for Troubled Girls and Emmy and the Rats in the Belfry. I hope she writes more.

Visit Lynne Jonell’s website at www.lynnejonell.com for more of her books and sections

dedicated to teachers and children.

After reading Emmy and the Incredible Shrinking Rat do visit the ratblog at

www.lynnejonell.com/ratblog/kids.html . It’s fun for children and adults.

Linda Walker was a teacher for 33 years with experience in several grade levels including teaching children with learning

disabilities and the gifted. She is a 2005 Fellow of the National Writing Project. For many summers Linda has facilitated two

specialty courses, Young History Writers and Young Nature Writers, for West Chester University’s Young Writers and Readers

Program. She has been published in Highlights for Children.

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Photography Credits

Cover and table of contents Tulips Tricia Ebarvia

Tricia Ebarvia has been teaching English at Conestoga High School in the Tredyffrin-Easttown School

District since 2001. Over the years, she has taught world, American, and European literature, as well as AP

Language and Composition and AP Literature and Composition. Tricia has taken several PAWLP courses and

completed the PAWLP Reading and Literature Institute in 2008 and the Writing Institute in 2011. In addition to her

love of reading and writing, Tricia also enjoys taking photographs and looking at the ways in which the visual and

written worlds intersect. Tricia co-facilitated the Visualizing Words and Worlds course at the Brandywine with

Teresa Moslak this past summer.

Pier Reflections, Nature’s Pathway, Sunset Calling, Golden Splendor Patty Koller

Patty has taught elementary school for the past 34 years in Ohio and Pennsylvania. She is currently an

instructional support teacher for students in grades K-2 in the Downingtown Area School District. Patty is a

PAWLP Fellow and has facilitated a variety of courses for teachers over the past 20 years. Most recently Patty has

been teaching courses for youth and teachers at Longwood Gardens where she gets to combine her love of teaching

and nature.

Monarch, Sunday China, North Sea Beach, Celtic Cemetery, Time Stands Still, Dragonfly Meg Griffin

Meg has had many careers in her adult life from stockbroker to baker to brain injury nurse. The fates

conspired until she finally found her passion – teaching. A PAWLP Writing Fellow since 2005, Meg teaches fourth

grade in the Central Bucks School District. She regularly presents at local and national conferences, particularly on

technology integration. Meg facilitated Moving Writing into the 21st Century: Integrating Technology and

Language Arts in Bucks County this summer.

Photograph by Meg Griffin

Submission Guidelines

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PAWLPJOURNAL@wcupa.edu.Manuscripts should be double-spaced throughout (including

quotations, endnotes, and works cited), with standard margins. Word 2000 or later is preferred.

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spaced, typed pages in length (approximately 2500-3500 words). Feature articles can be on

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Provide a statement guaranteeing that the manuscript or photo has not been published or

submitted elsewhere present or future in any format.

Lessons: 300 – 750 words. Short, practical lesson plans to bring writing and reading into the

classroom; cross-curricular ideas are encouraged.

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reading, YA Literature, Children’s Literature, other books pertinent to education.

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style.

List your name, address, school affiliation, the year that you became a PAWLP Fellow,

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210 East Rosedale is refereed, and manuscripts will be read by two or more reviewers. We will

attempt to reach a decision on each article within four months.

Prospective contributors should obtain a copy of the Guidelines for Gender-Fair use of

Language.

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