KNOW THY IMPACT? YES, IN THE SMALL THINGS THAT LIFT US UP!

Know thy Impact. That's our adopted theme for the new school year, where I teach.  Our focus is on data. and making sound decisions around instructional practices based on data we regularly review and discuss in our professional learning communities. While, I'm not always entirely enthused about the amount of data that's been made available to me about my students, I give the leadership in my building credit for not telling us exactly what data we must discuss or how we must discuss it, but instead giving us room to make those important decisions ourselves.

Frankly, that's made the journey easier and honestly, I feel like my co- teacher and I have had some great discussions about teaching and learning using data to help us become more focused on work students really need to be engaged in to improve their reading and writing. We are making better progress mastering standards. Data has been a helpful guide. In fact, 83% of our 157 students showed solid growth on our first unit of study, working to master standards 1, 2, and 4 I'm proud of that. I'm proud of them!

But I wonder, does data have to deeply govern ALL of the decisions we make about teaching and learning? Are there times when growth can be witnessed outside the numbers? And can we still be allowed to make great choices about what kinds of things we know deep in our teaching hearts will impact students without using data to prove it? Where is the balance? 

Recently, We've been gifted with an excellent opportunity to bring in an incredible professional author and story teller for a day of learning that we are confident will have great impact on our students as they work on saying out loud what they are learning about the past and how it impacts their future. Research suggests when students can teach someone else they are getting closer to mastery, so per our own goals for helping students read and write better- we are also committed to helping students learn to say it out loud and teach each other through the lens of story telling.

You should have seen many of them perform their stories last week about progressive personalities, first for themselves and later at our Night at the Museum event... we were so proud! It's worthy work and we believe it's making a big impact as students research and write and learn to say what they have learned. But we can't prove it. And because we can't prove it we're having a hard time getting the kind of support required for the day of learning that we want to provide for our students with this high quality professional.

So, we're  being encouraged and allowed to pursue the event- but in a way that we fear diminish the contributions offered to a true professional. That won't stop us, and we'll be wise about trying to find a way to quantify his impact so that we leave the door open to future collaborations. We know we must persevere in the work because of the impact we have already seen- the confidence and skill students develop as they learn to share their learning out loud for others.

 Our students deserve these kind of experiences whenever we can provide them. And as teachers we shouldn't have to prove impact in ALL things with numbers. It kind of sucks the joy out of this part of the journey- ya know? When we should be celebrating, we are left wrestling with ways to make great work and experiences happen... so we become conditioned to wrestle- because we know we must to make impact happen.

As a big Cubs fan, this has been a special kind of year! As a baseball lover I'm aware of a statistic used in baseball these days used to measure the impact a given baseball player has on his team's success called W.A.R. or wins above replacement. If a player is a 5 W.A.R. player it means he will help his team win five more games during that given season. I worry that education is heading that way as well- in order to get support for events and experiences that we know will impact students will we first have to prove that they are worth the resources using data as our evidence? Seems so.

And that's left us in a quandary... and feeling down and unsupported. But we keep trudging forward working to make it happen against the grain of expectations and quantification because our teacher hearts demand it. It's what we stronghold... a certain stubbornness.

In the meantime we are reminded that impact can be measured in other ways too. Small and powerful things that lift us up. We've witnessed students take great risks to perform a bit of a story in front of supportive peers. We've watched parents interact with young story tellers and seen the joy and pride in their eyes. as students memorize a piece they've written and work on using gestures as they make eye contact and get beyond the traditional "just read it off the page", pride and confidence grow in them and our teacher hearts swell as we watch this growth take place. It's these little things that are of great worth to us- and to our students. They lift us up! And we celebrate them... excited for where we know they will they take students as they journey to master more than just standards.

There is impact here- and we don't need numbers to prove it!

PUSHING PERSEVERANCE and STAMINA

Perseverance and stamina. These are two words I way overthink at school. And I fear wrongly. For years I've complained and wondered why students really struggle to "stick with" certain tasks- especially reading tasks and work that challenges them. Now that my students all work out of chrome books everyday, the "problem" is something I think about even more. But my thinking is starting to change.

I've been wondering, where did I learn perseverance? I've been thinking about that a lot. I don't know why I never thought to do this before- but I didn't... but now that I have, the memories have really helped me think differently about things.

The more I think about it, the more I'm sure I learned about perseverance and stamina in seventh grade. I spent seventh and eighth grades at a boarding school away from home. Part of our daily activities involved starting each day with a run. We had to run at least one mile but were given the opportunity to run three. If we could run three miles up to the truck stop, Pastor Ken would buy us breakfast. That was a treat.

So I learned to run- not all three miles at once, but each time I set out I would get a little further than I did the time before. Learning to run is psychological. The more I reflect on it, the more I can remember conversations I had with myself between school and the truck stop. I can literally remember learning to push myself. And I can remember the first time I made all three miles without stopping. I'm not sure I was ever more proud of myself than I was then. I can still taste the chocolate milk celebration. Those were good days.

So where do students learn to push themselves? Do they learn to push themselves? As teachers are we more responsible for the pushing? What motivated me to push myself? breakfast?? or was it something bigger? What might motivate my students to push themselves? Is pushing even appropriate? Is this process as psychological for them as running was for me? Do they talk to themselves? Teach themselves? How do they learn to be perseverant?

so many questions.... deep in my heart I know how I really feel about this... the answer is a resounding YES! I really believe I should push them. Gently. But, yes, as a teacher there are real times when pushing is good for my students. So I do. And I hope the process is somewhat psychological or metacognitive- because then it will stick. I hope they are talking to themselves just like I did out on the road between school and the truck stop.

So I push and I watch. And they dig in... they work- hard! And I get excited! The results are good. In the end I make them talk to themselves, by writing about the process of going through all that hard work. There has to be value in that. There certainly was for me.

This week we'll celebrate those good results. We'll celebrate the way my students have responded to the prodding.

What a privilege to watch them work hard on these writing tasks. They weren't easy and they were time consuming. The work caused them to really dig for the right text to support their well constructed claims. I got to see them work at being thoughtful about word choice and providing citations. And for them most part, even though it took lots of time, they pushed themselves. And I got to watch it happen.

Time to celebrate. (and reflect on process)

As I reflect on these last few days, I think some of what we saw happened because we decided not to accept the final, finished work, until we went over it with them and asked them prodding questions that allowed them to see how they could improve the work before turning it in. But they had to choose to work at making the improvements. They had to choose to push themselves and they did.

That is definitely worth celebrating! It was truly an honor to see them work so hard and I'm sure I witnessed growth over the three days it took to construct those responses. They weren't easy tasks- but the students persevered. I am so proud!

As a teacher I think I'm pretty good at pushing. And I guess I always have been, but hadn't really realized it until this week. Ironically as much as I've really been thinking about perseverance and stamina I remembered an old drawing a student of almost twenty years ago did of me that hangs above my work bench in the garage- he labeled me a "slave driver"! It's kinda funny- but it is who I have learned to become at times- so I'll own that title and celebrate it, because I think it's worthwhile to be "pushy" sometimes and to stronghold high standards.

This week I have no regrets that we pushed- but I do have a lot of celebrating to do- with my students.

(drawing by Mike Riffel, 1991 or 1992?)

It's "knowing" that matters- the harvest WILL come.

Gifts

Growing up We said a traditional Catholic "Grace Before Meals" daily. I must have uttered the phrase "Bless us O Lord for these thy gifts" hundreds of times always with the understanding we were speaking of the food that was set before us. Today, I'm thinking differently of what is meant by "gifts".

It's been a tough couple of weeks. School's demands are growing. We are being pushed more and more to have conversations about the copious amounts of data we have been collecting and that's been given from the vast amount of tests we continue to give. As a teacher, I feel like I'm spending more time on data and less time on planning... and while I know I've got to find a way to make these things work together as part of my system, I'm not there yet. I'm struggling to see how to marry them. That makes my work less joy- filled and more stressful.

At home, we've been struggling to keep the grass cut and the dishes washed and the laundry washed and folded. There just hasn't been much time for slowing and playing; things we believe in and value.

As I sit here on a Monday morning we've just completed a weekend of celebrating weddings and funerals. I'm feeling a bit drained. Some time for pausing and reflecting is in order. So I stopped. I took a day and decided to pause. I needed some time for catching up and to write.

Beginning and Ends

I'm feeling like I see alot of beginnings and ends lately. I've just witnessed the beginning of life for a beautiful and happy couple. I've seen beginning steps toward more mature decisions and better choices by my students. There have been some ends as well. The loss of my wife's beloved grandmother, the loss of time for detailed planning as I have always known it, and the loss of time for family.

Beginnings and ends have been ever present and more obvious in recent days and thoughts. I'm not sure how to necessarily handle them all as they seem to come and go so quickly and there are only so many hours in a day. So I hang on. And I decided to continue to look for the good and celebrate the positive- no matter what. My wife's cousin chose to take the occasion to remind us in her beautiful eulogy for their grandmother that children, through their young eyes see life for its good, before the eyes of the adult world catch up and confuse what and how we see things. I need to see things through younger eyes again. So I begin looking.

And I find reminders of these good things when I take the time to look. In a blessing before meals "gifts" in my minds eye have gone from the food we were fortunate to receive to the people we are surrounded by. I'm so fortunate during trying times to be surrounded by people that help me stand strong and bring a smile to my face as I struggle some. They are my gifts. I guess I may have spent too much time with bowed head as I uttered those words, failing to look up and see what was right in front of me; the gift of family and friends I was sharing the meal with with in addition to the nutrition I was getting.

Looking up, mid way through last week, I ran into Marge Piercy's "The Seven of Pentacles". And while I didn't have time to enter the entire poem into my journal. I tucked away a few lines that touched me and promised myself I'd get the rest when I had a quality moment for doing so. Her verse (shared below) reminds me of the beginnings and ends I'm witnessing.They remind me that real work; honest attention to detail, and following my heart's passion and recognition of the "gifts" I've received are all worth it. Especially because the fruits come with their internal clock. The long season does yield a harvest worth celebrating. It doesn't matter when the gifts arrive, it's knowing that they will always be present that matters.

So I'll stay the course. I'll celebrate both beginnings and ends. I'll recognize the gifts. and I'll take the harvest whenever it comes. It's always going to be be a part of my stronghold.

"The Seven of Pentacles"

by Marge Piercy

Under a sky the color of pea soup

she is looking at her work growing away there

actively, thickly like grapevines or pole beans

as things grow in the real world, slowly enough.

If you tend them properly, if you mulch, if you water,

if you provide birds that eat insects a home and winter food,

if the sun shines and you pick off caterpillars,

if the praying mantis comes and the lady bugs and the bees,

then the plants flourish, but at their own internal clock.

Connections are made slowly, sometimes they grow underground.

You cannot tell always by looking what is happening.

More than half a tree is spread out in the soil under your feet.

Penetrate quietly as the earthworm that blows no trumpet.

Fight persistently as the creeper that brings down the tree.

Spread like the squash plant that overruns the garden.

Gnaw in the dark and use the sun to make sugar.

Weave real connections, create real nodes, build real houses.

Live a life you can endure: make love that is loving.

Keep tangling and interweaving and taking more in,

a thicket and bramble wilderness to the outside but to us

interconnected with rabbit runs and burrows and lairs.

Live as if you liked yourself, and it may happen:
reach out, keep reaching out, keep bringing in.
This is how we are going to live for a long time: not always,
for every gardener knows that after the digging, after
     the planting,

after the long season of tending and growth, the harvest comes.

Seeing Stars

We are stars wrapped in skin
The light you are seeking has always been within-

I recently read this meme somewhere and liked it enough that I jotted it down and it eventually made its way into my journal. But the truth is I am seeing stars. and lots of them. There's plenty of light worth reflecting on and writing about.

Like young Le Roy Brown who recently introduced himself to me before auditioning for our Fall production of Sherlock Holmes- a self assured and confident sixth grade boy who broadly smiling, declared "I'm Le Roy Brown, and you are never going to forget me!". A real dancer, this one... true joy resonates from him- and I'm sure he's going to be right. He's cast in the show and already making his presence well- known in wonderful memorable ways.

Or Daniella- one of our "difficult" students from last year's graduating class who dropped by last Thursday's Open House long enough to let us know she was really doing well in HS, and now could see why we were so hard on her last year-  not letting her quit or give up; so confident now she clearly understood and was grateful and let us know with hugs and praise that I could wear for a year- the kind of gift that honors a teacher's efforts, especially on the most challenging of students. We're all so pleased for and proud of Daniella.

I'm seeing stars! Bright shining stars!

Mary Oliver will soon publish another brilliant volume of essays and poems that I'm sure I'm going to love. Last week I read a preview- she writes in Upstream,

"One tree is like another tree, but not too much. One tulip is like another tulip, but not all together. More or less, like people- a general outline, the stunning individual strokes."

Beautiful. and timely. For it's becoming that time of year when the stunning individual strokes begin to manifest themselves in my classroom.

I'm seeing a multitude of individual stars select great words for claim sentences about immigrants as they see bias represented in a drawing from over 100 years ago that they have zoomed in on and sucked the details out of. Technology brings the drawing to life for them in ways that we haven't been privileged to use in years past and the results are astounding.

"According to the artist, Immigrants were not treated good. According to Roosevelt ,immigrants were ignorant and illiterate."

"According to the artist, immigrants passing through Ellis island should be treated different and looked down upon. According to Roosevelt, immigrants don't belong in America and should not be treated fairly."

They're comprehending message and using clever words to sound out as stunning individuals- far beyond what I'm used to or ready for this early in the school year. They actively seek synonyms and choose to express their claims with clear strong words. It's unexpected and delightful these stunning individual strokes.

I'm delighting in stars!

I'm still singing Hallelujah! and learning to make a habit of pausing long enough to notice and delight. These children who were supposed to be so tough and so challenging are giving us plenty to sing about and recognize as awesome first steps toward a year that now seems sure to be filled with so much light.

We just have to choose to look for the light and to see the stars. For stars are a constant even on cloudy nights. They are never so far away that we can not find them if we just choose to look. This is a different kind of astronomy. and I'm enjoying the looking and watching and waiting for the splendor it continues to reveal.

Taking the Walk and Heralding Hallelujahs!

I recently was handed a unique book from author  Maira Kalman, called And the Pursuit of Happiness. Unlike anything I have ever seen the text of this "book" was thrown amongst bold hand drawn- hand painted pictures, cleverly juxtaposed in a way that looked more like my journals than "a book". And I was immediately sucked in.

Admittedly, after a few days, I haven't gotten very far. I'm not just sucked in, but stuck as well. Chapter one appears to a celebration of President Obama's second inauguration- but from an intensely unique point of view. It seems to take the author through a unique journey to joy on a very special day for them. The word Hallelujah is clearly the centerpiece of the celebration. It is prominently displayed on several pages and is used in a variety of contexts to describe the author's emotion on this her day of joy... and I'm fixated on it. Just riveted.

I turn the pages over and over, reading and re- reading. I imitate some of its ideals in my own journal. on multiple pages. and I begin to think.... I mean deeply think. Why am I so attracted to this word? And why now? (Admittedly, I'm kind of a believer in words and stories finding people when they most need them...but I'm truly puzzled by the hold this word has on me) So, why has Hallelujah found me? Why am I so instantly smitten?

Thoughtful curiosity took me to dictionary.com. Hallelujah is defined as a shout of joy, praise, or gratitude. Ok. Digging deeper, as I sometimes enjoy doing, I began looking for quotes that might help me better understand my fixation with this word. (I've even been singing Handel's Hallelujah Chorus in my classroom in the morning- so weird!)

Poking around, I find American author William Kennedy's simple quip, "There is only a short walk from Hallelujah to hoot." It too resonates. The more I think about it, the more I feel I got it...  that's it! The words offer me answer to my question.

For all the anxiety attached to starting a new school year; all the planning, and praying, and worry, none of my fears have really manifested themselves much. Instead, I feel like I've taken Kennedy's short walk. And I wasn't ready for it. But it's an unexpectedly powerful trip. Rather than picking up pieces and rearranging all that I was sure was going to go wrong in a year of many new mandates and firsts, I'm signing and dancing and celebrating all that seems to be going so well. And I think I wasn't ready for this... it's weird, but I like it. :)

So I decided to sit here on a Friday night and embrace it. Let's celebrate!

Let's celebrate great professional development opportunities that arrived just before the beginning of the year and giving great/ perfect food for thought as he year began. Let's celebrate wonderful co- teachers and colleagues who hold me accountable and affirm so much of the work we collectively do to make our floor the best in the building. Let's celebrate great conversations with students as they embrace our crazy routines and unique stories. They've been remarkably "ready" and well prepared. Let's celebrate new initiatives from central office that appear to fit in well with our thinking about teaching literacy without interrupting the flow of our own authentic style of instruction. Let's celebrate my son's great start to second grade and my wife's new found helpfulness in student services in her building. So much is going so well. I could get used to this.

While I'm sure I won't feel like shouting and singing every day of the school year, I'm going to hold on to and stronghold Hallelujah! as long as I can... hoping that it's pleasant beginnings and the musings in my journal will be remain retrievable reminders of what can be as things go right. I gotta believe their presence can be powerful enough to carry me through inevitable rougher days, should they ever materialize.

I'm hoping others out there have found Kennedy's delightful walk to start a new year too. I'm hoping you are experiencing bold, new,unexpected joys too! Hoot! Hoot!and Halelujah!

Strongholding story(telling)

"Yet the knowledge of history is always in a state of becoming and is entirely dependent upon the uncovering and interpretation of the materials that make it up.

There is no history waiting for us like some giant and architecturally perfect edifice that we will at long last discover in the tangled growth of an intellectual forest.


History does not exist for us until and unless we dig it up, interpret it, and put it together. Then the past comes alive or more accurately it is revealed for what it has always been- a part of the present."
                                                                      -Frederick Jackson Turner III, Forward, I Have Spoken


We’re close now. The beginning of the new school year is just a couple of days away. And as usual, I’m not ready. I’ve put in some extra time creating ideas for engaging lessons, gone to some training over the summer, reflected, and had some good conversations with colleagues, but I still don’t feel ready. I have a classroom to finish reconstructing, seating charts to create, and on and on. Getting ready for a new year is never a simple process. But, I’ll get it done. When the students arrive, I’ll be prepared- mostly.

One of my annual “rituals” prior to the start of a new school year involves setting goals for myself. Generally, at the beginning of a new semester I like to adopt a word or phrase with enhanced meaning for me as I start thinking about the task at hand. As this fall comes around the corner I’ve been reflecting on the word “commit”. It’s resonating with me for a variety of reasons.

With all of the new computer programs and processes I’m being asked to consider using as part of my instruction in the Fall I’m kind of stubbornly thinking about work- the tried and trues- that I’m “committed” to not losing. I’m a bit terrified with everything "new", that there is a certain amount of loss that can occur, unless we remain focussed on work that we know still has impact on students. I want to make sure I do that.

As a teacher of history, one of the non- negotiables I’m afraid could get lost is the idea that learning about history should feel like learning about story. Rudyard Kipling once said "If history were told in the form of story it would never be lost." When we teach history by telling our story as a people and how that connects to the present., students make deeper connections to their work as historians. 

 My good friend, professional storyteller Brian “Fox Ellis, once wrote “Time is a circle, not a line, the present, past and future overlap… “All of this to say: Who we are is a collage of family stories and cultural cosmology, who we are, are the stories we tell.” Fox and I agree that storytelling is an integral part of how we carry forward the most meaningful parts of our lives from past to present. In an article he wrote for Northlands’ Storytelling Magazine, Fox says “I was also awestruck by the ways these old stories were relevant to current issues.”

Because I've seen tremendous growth in students who understanding that story is such an integral part of learning about history, I’m committed to continuing to tell great stories and teach my students to learn this skill too. Storytelling has strong connections to the other skills I want students to master as well. It invites students to question and use curiosity as tools that lead to great research and writing.In his article, Fox describes this process- “In researching and writing “Black Hawk’s Band” (a story he tells to help us understand the complexities of indian removal in our native state, Illinois) I kept asking myself, what can we learn from Black Hawk that will give future generations both strength and inspiration? What can learn from our story that inspires us to make the world a better place? How can our stories help us to be better humans?” These are exactly the kinds of questions I want my students to struggle with and search for answers to. This is the type of process that will help them understand themselves in the light of events they study from the past. When they learn to see history as story; our story as Americans becomes more meaningful to them and connects more certainly to their own experience in the present.

If I want them to see time as a circle, story matters. Connecting past to present matters. So, I’ve got to be committed to teaching and learning  history this way. I deeply believe the greatest of historians find their greatest success because they think this way about bring our past to life as part of our current reality. So part of my commitment to students, and what I’ll continue to stronghold is the valueof story in the history classroom. When describing his work as historian and storyteller, Fox says “The goal is to challenge myself, the performers, and the audience to see our lives reflected anew in this bright light from history.” My goal for 2016 is the same.

My students will continue to read and write. We’ll work together to perfect these skills as well. By the end of the year, they’ll be better at interpreting and finding main ideas and using them to write claims, so that they too can carry forward the story of America and say with confidence how it impacts their present generation and personal choices. They will know and understand that they are a great part of the story of this great nation. As historians and storytellers, they will be able to connect the past to the present and bring history to life.

Mending with Mischief

By mid July, I'm missing community. While summer months are filled with time spent filled with family on adventures, I admit that half way through it my mind turns from relaxation and rejuvenation to preparation. Yes, I'm still doing a lot of pleasure reading and sitting on the deck enjoying nature in my back yard, but almost simultaneously my thoughts begin to turn to next year in my classroom. I guess that's normal, right?

As I turn, I've begun dialoguing with colleagues over coffee and lunch and a bit through social media. I've started to peruse educational journals and begun creating calendars as I decide which new risks I'll take because I think they will impact next year's kids. Additionally I'm considering how I will incorporate all the new must do's dreamed up my district's leadership. It takes a lot of good conversation and thought to blend all of this into an authentic learning system that helps students grow academically as well as civically. This, of course, is my charge as a Social Studies teacher of reading and writing and thinking. It's complex.

As the years press on I become more and more aware of the impact good community has on good teaching as we struggle to navigate complexity. One of my favorite authors, Quaker- spiritualist, Parker Palmer says about community, "that it is not a goal to be achieved, but a gift to be received... (but) learning how to relax and receive a gift requires hard work" He further identifies community as "an outward and visible sign of an inward and invisible grace; the flowing of personal identity and integrity into the world of relationships." That's a lot to think about too, but it resonates with me as this June turns to this July and I start preparing for the year ahead.

You see, as education becomes more and more complex, I admit that the older I get the harder it is for me to always receive the gift of community. The more we are asked to do that often conflicts with my personal strongholds, the easier it is for me to slip into what my colleagues call "splendid isolation". (I don't always agree with the districts leaders and dreamers.)Yet,as much as I feel good about work I alone create for my students to engage in, I know in my heart collaboration and community have a distinct ability to make that work even better. That being said, I resist. As much as I value the conversation and being around like- minded teachers, I often still refuse to embrace change with anything but skepticism. Change is hard work.

I find that so much change has begun to feel like such a challenge to my personal identity and integrity. So instead of embracing it I build walls to isolate myself from it. I build walls to insulate myself from anything that is awkward. And I 've gotten comfortable building walls- except that for the first time since my return to the classroom, changes I've successfully resistance is no longer an option. It's time for me accept that I'm going to have to work differently this year.

Getting to acceptance and feeling better about how to navigate change is a process for me. Getting this point involves a lot of talk with trusted colleagues and reading. I love to read and think and poetry regularly speaks to me as I struggle. For whatever reason, I found myself re-reading some old favorites this summer.
I found my way back to Robert Frost, Mending Wall. In this poem, Frost paints a picture of the process he describes as the annual spring work of rebuilding stone walls that separate neighbors in New England. In the poem he suggests "good fences make good neighbors".

Yet there are some lines in the poem that has me pausing and reflecting differently this July. Maybe I missed it before, or perhaps it has just begun to take on a different significance. Frost says-

"Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder,
If I could put a notion in his head,
Why do they make good neighbors?...
What was I walling in or walling out?...




What am I walling in? walling out? and more importantly... how do I find the courage to stop putting stones on walls just because it makes it easier to resist? If I'm going to receive the gifts given in community and collaboration which I say I value, I'm going to have to more actively remove walls than languish behind them. Ughhh. I like my work and my splendid isolation, so this won't be easy. How do I make it work for me, then? How do I get my self to the gift?

I keep thinking about how or why Frost came to choose the word mischief to describe Spring and newness and wondering. I like mischief. Mischief makes risk taking fun. It brings a wry smile to my face and makes me think about laughing. I definitely like laughing. My heart knows it can definitely embrace mischief- so perhaps its the key to breaking away from the comfort of splendid isolation and back into community. 

Dictionary.com defines mischief as "conduct or activity that playfully causes petty annoyance." I think I'm at my best when my work is playful, so that's good. I don't however want to be annoying, but I do like the idea of being a bit edgy. I think edgy is engaging. So by mischief, I'm considering ways to be playfully edgy as I find ways to incorporate all the demands required of modern teachers.

I think it might be fun to unlock doors with that kind of mischief. So perhaps that's the gift? If conversation and collaboration keeps me focused on being playfully edgy, I'm in.

I'm starting to see change in the light of what this kind of mischief brings, for me and my students. Setting goals around it as I begin my July preparations has changed my outlook significantly.

And I'm proud to announce, lunch collaborations and coffee conversations have already yielded fruit. My co- teacher and I have discussed attacking new frameworks and expectations using a single central text to get at required content. My PLC partner and I have discussed ways to keep using compelling questions and themes at the heart of our work. Some of this would be new for us, yet at the same time allow us time to stronghold much of what we have created over four years as part of our learning system. It also leaves time for the development of new assessments and incorporation of new programming purchased by the district. It's balance.

Instead of feeling anxious, this "mischief" has me feeling energetic and enthusiastic. That's a gift. Now we just have to find the right playfully edgy text and design some great engagements to surround it with. I'm excited about this.

I'm grateful for the gift of good conversation and good colleagues who share my vision for strongholding what I value and believe in, while at the same time challenge me and keep me from settling for "splendid isolation". As July begins I'm feeling more committed than ever to working hard at being a bigger part of community. I'm giving myself that gift this year. (And I'm feeling pretty optimistic in looking at community as a gift to receive my students will benefit too.)

I hope your July planning is helping you find focus too.