Pin It On the Board

I have found a new website that I'm terribly excited about and just have to share with you.  I first read about Pinterest in a guest blog post written by one of my sorority sisters. 

Here's how it works... 

In essence, Pinterest is a site to share the fabulous ideas and images that you come across as you browse the internet.  The site allows you to create "boards" or categories for images.  For example, I have a board of flowers I love.  Next, when you find an image you like on the internet and want to add it to your board, with the simple click of a button you can make the picture a "pin" on your board.  Now whenever I go to the site, I can see pictures of all the beautiful flowers I love in one space.

There are two reasons why I'm really excited about Pinterest:
1. I can keep images of all kinds of things that inspire me in one place and in an organized fashion.
2. I can follow people and be followed thus gaining tons of ideas from boards and pins of other Pinterest users.  Love the creative community it creates! 

Get signed up and start pinning.  I can't wait to see your delightful discoveries and fabulous finds!

Backroad Beauty

 

One of my favorite views on the backroads at home.  I don't even know who owns the land, who plants and harvests the crops.  To me, it is simple. It is real.  It is beautiful in each season.

A Glimpse Into My Writer's Notebook

If you've read my blog lately, then you know that I recently attended a writing conference and had the wonderful experience of bringing my memories, imagination, and skills to life in my very own writer's notebook.  I've tossed the idea back and forth of whether or not to post a piece of the writing.  It's a little bit like ripping a piece out of a journal and sharing it with everyone.  Nonetheless, I've decided that I'll post a snippet because, after all, you don't have to like it and you don't have to see value in it if you choose.  Truly, the act of writing this piece brought me such joy and that in itself is enough.

Without further ado, I give you a short (and title-less) work that is dedicated to my brother, my co-explorer of our childhood outdoors.

 

want to tell you a secret.  Thanks, I knew I could trust it with you.  Maybe I should whisper though so it doesn't know I'm betraying it's confidence.  The woods are full of magic.   No, I'm not talking whimsical fairies and conversational sycamore trees.  A forest possesses power and magic in its ability to transform a little boy and girl into travelers of space and time, siblings whose imaginations have been given free range to soar.

Across the backyard of my childhood home laid the beginning of my father's flower fields.  There was no need to crawl through a wardrobe and enter Narnia.  My brother and I reached the borders of our own wonderland on the banks of the gurgling creek just beyond.

I recall sitting in the chilly shade of one portion of the bank with my brother, Clay, carefully examining the color and quality of each rock and stone.  Only certain ones would do for making Indian paint.

Or the occasions when he and I collected sticks, limbs, and rocks to build a fort, wooden bridge, and dam.  The result was a primitive lean-to that only I, the younger and smaller of the pair, could shimmy my upper body into.  The wooden bridge, as strong in our minds as any steel structure, turned out slick from water and likely to sink under our childhood weight.  Yes, even the rock dam was not able to affect the strength of the rippling current that traveled by.  It didn't matter.  We were architects, contractors, builders.  A triumph in our minds.

The woods were a place for attempting to catch crawdads in the murky creek water stirred up by our algae clad sticks that were makeshift fishing nets.  It was the keeper of a cut down pine tree whose thick pine needles were an entry way to a rudimentary playhouse.  The woods contained both a giant hill to stand upon as ruler and an unmarked area of ordinary trees and undergrowth that was especially meaningful to the imaginations of my young brother and me.

But you see, I can't tell you more, for a good part of this childhood magic remained in those woods and along with it many of the beautiful details that elude my memory.  The rest, well that belongs to that little girl and boy, fearless explorers of the outdoors.

Empowered by Knowledge

One of an array of reasons that I am a teacher is because I truly love to learn.  I may be the one delivering information to my students through a variety of lessons, activities, and texts throughout the school year, but it's truly reciprocal.  They take me back to what it's like to be a fifth grader, they help me learn how to be a better educator, and they even reveal to me much about myself.  Humbling, yes.  Also pretty neat when I stop and think about it.

Earlier this week, I began a new journey as a teacher...  I have begun my first course in my Language Education master's degree program.  I'll admit I was a little nervous at first.  It's daunting to think of juggling my teaching career with going to class, thoroughly reading, and writing papers.  I'm continually amazed by teachers who do it all, and they remind me that I can do it too!  I have to say that being back in a classroom as a student for two class sessions now has been exhilarating.  I love discussions and learning about new information and ways of thinking.  I'm especially intrigued by the variety of individuals in this foundations course.  We come from an array of educational areas, and a few of the individuals aren't actually even teachers but work in closely related fields.  It takes me back to my Hanover days to participate in discussions and to be challenged in my thinking as others share their ideas, experiences, and interpretations.

I want to be a lifelong learner, and this is just another step in that path.  It's wonderful to feel so empowered by knowledge. 

In the Kitchen with Cassie

I love food.  Wait, let me try that again.  I LOVE food.  Not in that gross, "I really should put down the bag of potato chips and go for a run" kind of way (ok, I'm guilty of that sometimes just like everyone else), but in an "I appreciate the endless diversity of flavors and possibilities" way.  You fellow food appreciators out there, you get me.  My favorite way to experience new dishes is when someone a lot more expert than me is fixing them, but sometimes you just have to roll up your sleeves and enter the ring yourself.  

Today was one of those days.  I hope I haven't built up your hopes too terribly high.  I didn't make a fancy dish whose elegant French name I would butcher in pronunciation.  No, today's baking adventure was inspired by some leftover blueberries, a little bit of internet searching/blog reading, and my grandma's exquisite homemade pie crust recipe.  Isn't Sunday wonderful in that it lends so much time to slowing down and enjoying a good meal with the important people in your life?  Today, in addition to trying out a couple of recipes for baked chicken and roasted carrots, I tried my hand at making mini blueberry pies.  Oh so cute!  My wonderful (and brave) boyfriend was willing to be the recipient of the meal and my co-taste tester of the baking experiment...

I would like to report that my mini blueberry pies turned out pretty well, but I have some tweaking to do with the filling.  The regular blueberry pie recipe I followed called for the berries, sugar, cinnamon, and corn starch.  Once baked, the blueberries were very juicy, but I was hoping that the corn starch would have led to a little more syrupy juice too.  Any suggestions fellow bakers?  I'm taking advice!

Nonetheless, I was proud of my cute little desserts!  I'm imagining how fantastic some tiny little lemon meringue pies would be.  Oh the possibilities! 

                                     Mini shells made and filled!

                                Tops added and fresh out of the oven.

                      There you have it, mini blueberry pie!

Simply Inspired

Today we wrapped up the third day of the writer's workshop I have been attending (and which I mentioned in my last blog post just a few days ago).  To say that it was impactful doesn't do it justice.  I was simply inspired.  The lessons taught by the talented presenter were so valuable to me, and I can't wait to translate them into my own teaching come August.

Aside from the professional growth I experienced in these sessions, I was also inspired in a whole other way.  As I last wrote, one aspect of the conference was for the attendees to participate in writing time and to each begin constructing a work of our choice.  I began a piece that touches me deeply, that connects me to my childhood and more importantly to my heart.  I can't wait to see where it takes me.

 Another profound thing that I witnessed was the dual nature of the writing experience in relationships with other conference attendees.  On one hand, we each were working on our own unique pieces of choice.  Some were bent over their notebooks frantically scrawling words on the page before they forgot the perfect phrases, yet still others paused to wipe the solitary tears that had slid down their cheeks as their writing had released emotions and memories that still sting.  While allowing us each the chance to reflect and work individually, it also brought us closer together through our sharing and growing (albeit little in such a short time) as writers.

In wrapping up the conference, our presenter Katie Wood Ray asked us to each choose no more than twenty words of our writing to share with the entire group.  While standing in an enormous circle, we passed the microphone from hand to hand and bravely presented our ideas to the other educators.  It was beautiful to hear the intricate crafting that some had labored over, the witty remarks, and the soulful thoughts.  It was humbling to hear the skill of many gifted writers, yet taught me lessons in the value of each unique style.

After these three days, I can only sum up such a great experience by telling you that I am simply inspired. 

Don't worry. Keep writing.

Today I had the pleasure of attending part one of three of a writing conference organized by the Indiana Partnership for Young Writers. When our writing coach asked me earlier in the year if I would be interested in attending to hear an influential and respected speaker, Katie Wood Ray, I jumped at the opportunity. Since I myself enjoy the art of writing so very much, I'm eager to sharpen my skills as a teacher of writing.

One of my favorite activities during today's session was time given by our presenter for all attendees to write in their notebooks. This is something that we ask students to do on a regular basis so of course it makes sense that we too must practice what we ourselves request of our students. As Katie Wood Ray put it while making reference to a rock climbing wall in the gym, we wouldn't try to teach a child how to climb it without trying it ourselves. We must practice what we preach as teachers.



I'll tell you that I was pretty excited about some free writing time. Armed with my new writer's notebook given at registration and a budding idea in my head (and two more writing times in the next conference days...hooray!), I was ready to begin brainstorming and drafting as my idea grew. As she finished giving her instructions, however, a sense of minor panic came over me. You see, our presenter told us that she or one of the other professionals would be meeting with us at some point to confer about our writing as we do with our own students in writer's workshop. It was one thing to write it in my notebook, but it was a whole other realm to think of sharing my diamond in the rough with someone who might criticize, judge, or dislike the piece.

I began realizing, though, how silly it is that so many of us are self-conscious about one form of communication over another. I answer the phone and talk to my friends without a second thought on a daily basis. I send emails to my family, friends, and colleagues. I jot a quick note in a card to someone dear, and I write on my friends facebook walls. Why should I really care whether someone highly values the work in this writer's notebook. After all, I've read books before that I have put down after the first chapter because I wasn't able to get hooked. It didn't necessarily label the author as a bad writer. I suppose it could, but it's probably more likely that it wasn't my style. For me, writing is a way to express myself and share my my ideas. It's a manner through which I can let my thoughts escape and perhaps be an inspiration, entertainment, or food for thought for a reader even if only for a short few moments. Blogging is one mode of writing which I have become very comfortable with, but my heads spins with the numerous genres, topics, and opportunities for writers. What do you like to write about? Why do you write? Where/what do you look to for inspiration? Comment and let me know if you'd like to share with a fellow (yes amateur) writer. Don't worry. Keep writing.