100 word challenge week 64

This week Julia's challenge is to create a recipe fit for a witch.

Now, I thought about this when I read it and decided to try to  do something different to what I expect the others to do, for after all witches do not have to be bad do they?

This time of the year, with Haloween looming (and I hope the forecast is correct so that the trick or treaters stay home) it is all too easy to slip into bad witch territory.

So, here is mine- hope you like it. If it seems somewhat confusing see the note at the end :)

Comments good or bad welcomed. 

(By the way, have I ever mentioned that I own not one, but two little black cats? ) 

                                      >^..^<         >^..^<       

Recipe

A breath of air,

From a mother’s kiss silver dust,

From a butterfly’s wing a newborn babe,

Suckling from the breast an orb spider

Weaving her intricate web.

Sparkling dewdrops,

From snowdrop’s petals a fizz,

From a sherbert dip a tender kiss,

From a lover to his sweetheart a glorious tune,

From a skylark  warmth.

From the midday sun a flicker,

From  a fire gentle purring,

From a sleeping cat bubbles rise,

From a freshwater brook hope springs ,

From an eternal optimist.

Lastly I will stir it once, twice, thrice.

My recipe for a future not yet told.

If this all seems somewhat random, I used the poem , "I saw a peacock with a fiery tail" as my inspiration; it is a poem I have often used in class with children to stimulate creativity. http://www.potw.org/archive/potw193.html

I adore poetry and love teaching it to children ; if I was in charge of the curriculum I would have far more emphasis on it because it is such a rich and varied genre of writing. But I'm not , so I just do it as much as I can.  And I wouldn't be without this book http://www.amazon.co.uk/Rhyme-Not-Teaching-Children-Poetry/dp/0340611480/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1351617050&sr=1-1 

I have been in the classroom for more than 20 years now and have not found a better poetry book than this.

Read the rest of this week's at http://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=169496&type=basic 

100 words ...returning...

I haven't done one of these for ages. Have been exceptionally busy since term started. (Goodness, how I hate that excuse! But I really have!) 

I have been working with my (92 year old) Grandfather to help him write his memoirs. Each week I visit him (he's in a nursing home) and download the next lot from the dictaphone. I then type it up before visiting him the following week and sorting out parts which I couldn't quite make out.

So far we have covered his war years and his working life as well as what he could remember from his childhood. It has been absolutely fascinating.

As we draw near present time I will have to embark on the editing process; so far I have been pretty much typing up verbatim. The aim is to eventually make it into an e-book for all the family to read and maybe to get a copy professionally bound for him (Thanks to the lovely SJ for that suggestion)

I am going to go through his photos and scan those in to be inserted at appropriate places and have also been adding links to elaborate on various things that he has mentioned.

Oh yes, been teaching my (enormous) mixed age class of 35 year 4 and 5's too!

And been starting to look through my nanowrimo I did in June to edit that.

Parents evenings are looming and I STILL haven't got the decorating done. 

But I am NOT bored which is always a good thing (in fact I don't think I can remember the last time i was bored to be honest. Sometime before becoming a parent perhaps?)

Anyway enough of that. I will endeavour to do some more of these as it is a great way to practise my writing. Still no luck with any competitions...

Here is this week's piece.

Link to Julia's place is http://jfb57.wordpress.com/tag/100wcgu/

Find the others at http://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=168507&type=basic

Mists of time

As the steam rose from her mug, June stared through the once clean windows . The pain would pass, they told her, we’ll keep in touch.

That had been in Spring.

Words spoken after her darling Doug had finally lost his battle.

Summer had been and gone, the pain remained sharp as ever.  Promised visits not made. “Call soon. Must dash. X ” the text had read.

 Autumn brought its muted hues, lace cobwebs jewelled with crane flies. A golden anniversary remembered alone.

A buzz from a drawer: “Plane booked. All 2gether 4 Christmas x”

And winter will bring them home.  

Thank you for reading. I will be on half term next week so will visit the rest then. I am hoping to put some sections of my nanowrimo on here; comments, as always, welcomed.

Endeavours

This is a piece I recently submitted to a writing website for publication. It was written in response to a photograph of a girl with a reflection behind her of wings. I would very much appreciate comments (good or bad!)

Angel

Nobody believed me; they just laughed or chose to ignore. “Poor little thing.” I could hear their hushed voices, “She’ll grow out of it, you’ll see.”

“It’s just a phase.”

I don’t remember the exact moment it started but to me it seemed the most natural thing in the world. For the first time since she’d died the world had started to make sense once more. They said it was my reaction to losing her- those whisper-voiced people who mistakenly thought I was unaware of their conversations. I heard each and every word.

It was the way they looked at me, or if I’m more precise, didn’t look at me that particularly grated. Never quite making eye contact, over earnest smiles that stopped at too thin lips, the talking about me as if I wasn’t there. Or worse was too young (or stupid) to understand. They knew it was true but because they couldn’t explain or understand it they chose to hide behind their hands and write me off as precocious, attention seeking. A problem.

So, they’d point and laugh when they thought I wasn’t looking, “That’s the one, you know, she’s a bit different.”

“Never the same since her mother died.”

“Over active imagination. Lives in a fantasy.”

They are all wrong. I can feel myself growing stronger each day. Last night I managed my first flight. Mother held me tightly the whole time but I could feel the strength in my wings, almost ready to fly solo and join her at last. Then they would see I hadn’t been lying. 

The doctors said it was a tumour just like the one that took her. That was the reason for my mood swings, my “imagination”. Tablets would help they said, but I knew they wouldn’t. I let them believe I was taking them- I had them well hidden along with the long since shed downy feathers. Now I have white ones - golden fringed- the exact shade of my hair when the sunlight catches it.  They light up my darkened room when spread. Mother doesn’t need to hold me tonight. I am ready for the journey.

I wanted to leave a feather for my father. Try as I might it wouldn’t come with pulling so I had to resort to the nail scissors. Strangely it came away, before the first cut had been made, to be instantly replaced by another. It faded a little as I placed it on my pillow. I knew that Father believed me deep down, but would never admit to that in front of the others. As a respectable doctor he had to keep up appearances. I would be sorry to leave him, but since she’d died he’d been increasingly distant, the pain etched more deeply across his face each time he looked at me. The feather would keep us close. If he let himself believe he would be able to see us both in more than dreams.

They would all know that I had been telling the truth once I’m gone. Perhaps I should stay a little longer but the need to spread my wings is too great. She is calling me.

 Can you hear her?

I feel her reaching out. Maybe I will come back one day...

100 words week 57

I haven’t taken part in the 100wcgu since July as I have been concentrating on a variety of mini writing projects as well as recharging ready for the new school year.  Now that the new term is underway I will endeavour to take part as often as possible in an effort to improve my writing skills. This week's prompt is:

...returning to the routine...

Details found at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/09/10/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week-57/

I have (so far) been unsuccessful with my submissions to various websites and competitions but will keep trying!

As always, constructive criticism is welcomed J

September

The alarm snaps me out of my dreams and the incessant bass of the music drums out the final vestiges of sleep. I reach for the snooze button, glowering at the illuminated numbers. I haven’t seen this time since the last day of term. I reluctantly leave the music playing, swing my legs over the side of the bed and half stagger to the bathroom, eyes beginning to focus. Not until the water is pulsing over my body do my eyes open fully. Stretching, I dry off and sing along. A new term and class awaits; retuning to the routine isn’t so bad.

Read the others at    http://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=162399&type=basic&AspxAutoDetectCookieSupport=1

100 word challenge week 51

I haven't had much time these last few weeks with the end of term craziness that all teachers will be familiar with. 

And now summer has finally arrived and I am sitting in the garden, shaded by the parasol with the hum of bees in the fuchsia beside me, two contented cats sprawled out on the patio, a cloudless blue sky, a gentle breeze and a glass of Pimms  water (it's only just after four in the afternoon; far too early for that just yet!) by my side. 

I have just about managed to resist rereading my campnanowrimo piece just yet- leaving it for a while longer before some major editing and maybe then I will share some here as I would love some feedback.

I am very lucky to be heading off to the Dordogne at the end of the week- surrounded by vineyards and no wifi to be found. I have a notebook ready for writing in while I am away in between the pile of books I plan to read...

This week's prompt from Julia was …. the line was drawn …. 

all details at http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/07/23/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week51/

Here is my contribution. Thanks for reading. Comments, as always, welcomed :)

You said what?

He stopped as though someone had pressed pause. His fork hovered between plate and mouth, spaghetti strands unwinding in slow motion before rejoining the others.

“You’re what?” he spluttered.

“You heard. I’m leaving.”

“You can’t. You’re nothing without me.” he placed his fork on the table adjusting it until it was at precisely 90 degrees to the table’s edge.

“It’s over.” she pushed the piece of paper across the table. He picked it up to see the line was drawn through their surname.

As she walked towards the door she ran her hand along the
 row of perfectly aligned pictures leaving each one askew.




Read the others at http://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=155445&type=basic

Challenges of the job...

As the end of the summer approaches and the final words are added to the end of year reports it is time to look back at the year and start to think ahead to the next.

This has been the first year since qualifying (back in '91- last century !) that I have shared a class as a part time teacher. I teach 3 days each week (Wed-Fri) and I can honestly say that making the decision to go part time was definitely one of the best decisions I have ever made. It has renewed my enthusiasm for the job no end as well as giving me time to pursue my own interests and passions, some of which have enhanced my teaching , others have just made me a happier person! (and as a result a happier teacher!)

This year I have taught a mixed year 4 /5 class and will be doing the same next year. All the year 4's will stay with us to be joined by the rest of the year 4s along with some year 3's taking us to 35 in total (ratio 2:1 year 5:4)

Inevitably there have been questions raised by parents about this; it will be a challenging year. But every single class is challenging!
I read a blog the other day about class sizes http://www.manchestersalon.org.uk/does-class-size-matter.html and also http://drwilda.wordpress.com/2012/01/30/battle-of-the-studies-does-class-size-matter/
There seems to be little evidence one way or the other.
I have taught a class of 18 year 3's and found it frustrating to have that number of children because discussions and group work lacked the spark you have with a larger class. That said, the idea of marking all those books , writing all the reports and seeing all the parents will have its challenges! Peer marking and teaching the children how to work with high levels of independence will feature strongly I have no doubt!

Those children who will be remaining in our class for the next academic year start off at an advantage I feel as they already know the routines of the class and will be able to help the others settle in and find their feet. Children who will be moving onto a new class having spent their Y4 and 5 in our class have all made significant progress this year (3 sub levels for 6 out of the seven in reading  all bar one with SpLD two sub levels in maths and writing ) with the greatest progress being in their confidence and willingness to have a go.

I think that it is a privilege to be able to "keep" some children for more than one year- I once followed a whole class through from year 4 to 5 and it was definitely one of the most successful experiences I have had so far.

I'd be very interested in any responses re. children staying in classes.

100 words week 48

This week the prompt is

'I blamed it on the dog'


http://jfb57.wordpress.com/2012/07/02/100-word-challenge-for-grown-ups-week-48/

Having pretty much finished my end of year reports (yeah) and my 50K (whoopee) thought I'd do this week's.
Check out the rest at http://www.linkytools.com/wordpress_list.aspx?id=152359&type=basic


Anniversary

“I’ll be home by seven!” You’d promised. You were gone before I’d made it out of bed. Yawning,  I went downstairs to make myself a cup of tea, hoping that you might have left me at least a clue that you’d remembered.

Nothing.

Not strictly true; one dirty mug on the table.

I waited in all day just in case.

Nothing.

Seven o’clock came and went. The lovingly prepared meal scraped into the bin, the wine drunk.

Eight O’clock...

Nine O’clock...

Half past nine, “Sorry I’m late. What’s for tea?”

I blamed it on the dog as I headed for the stairs and ripped the card in two.