Last night we went into St. Petersburg to hear a chamber concert at our wunderful local theater only a two minute walk from our apartment. Six musicians from our orchestra were to play strings and bassoon, mostly twentieth century compositions and a new world premiere presentation by the bassoonist.
As we approached the theater we were bumping up behind several old ladies, bent over in their sensible outfits and shoes, also on their way to the concert. In that warm evening I could smell that peculiar musty odor of the aged, a combination of old clothes, mothballs, and desperation. As we milled about in the lobby waiting in the 'will call' line to get our tickets, I saw a sea of white heads, but a few young people as well.
Our seats were in the very front of the theater, almost at the center. I could anticipate looking up the pants' legs of the performers. I sat next to a very old woman who wore an enormous hat, sneakers, and a flowery dress. We chatted some, as seat mates do. She seemed quite normal to me but when the concert began she was wild! She loved it! She waved her arms and clapped excessively after every piece. Hey, this wasn't my mother, so I was not in the least bothered or embarrassed.
One of the last pieces was presented by the cellist, a composition by James Stephenson. This was a piece inspired by "The Harris Burdick Stories". My ears pricked up. This book by Chris Van Arlsburg has been my favorite for years. As the story goes, a mysterious author brings a set of drawings with captions to an editor. The author says he'll be back the next day with the stories that accompany the pictures. But he never does! So the pictures are a mystery.
Over the years when I have been a teacher of writing we have used this book of illustrations as jumping off point for some great creative writing. I would copy the illustrations on good paper and let the kids choose which one they wanted to write about. The Harris Burdick pictures produced some of the best writing I have ever seen from ten and eleven year olds. Even years later I can remember some of the stories those children wrote. For some strange reason these illustrations truly made the students stretch. I can still remember the plots devised by Laura, Alex, Cody,Katie, Naren, Arielle, and so many others. I always wanted to see what could be done with this amazing text by musicians or dancers.
James Stephenson did not disappoint me. He chose the illustration, 'Another time, another place', a picture I know by heart. He really got it- the children working a hand cart on the railroad tracks and headed toward what seemed to me to be Mt. St. Michel. I wish he could have come to our classroom to expand those young minds.
Earlier in the day I had been doing my gig as a volunteer at Lacoochee elementary, the poorest school in Pasco County. No fifth graders there were engaged in the delicious possibilities of a really juicy writing assignment. You can only write the FCAT way, in five steps.
CareyAnne, my group teacher was going to spend the day in teacher meetings, and to my dismay, she had a substitute, Ms. C, with whom I had worked before. CareyAnne told her just to let Miss Molly do her thing, but also here are a few things you should also do. Ms.C had her coffee cup on hand and it was clear she wanted to be the "disciplinarian" for the day. O.K. by me. All kids were there, as it was Tuesday. Lorenzo was more than usually odoriferous as he gave me a fierce hug.
Today, our food activity was pasta. I had put a kettle of water on to boil on the hot plate, Andy provided homemade red sauce , and cheese to grate. I had ten different kinds of pasta (including squid ink angel hair) for the kids to look at and handle. BUT FIRST, we had to do the pledge and sing a dispirited version of the national anthem (which can only be sung by mice at the top register).
Also, I had brought in the fired clay items from the week before. Today they were to glaze them. Ms. C. felt responsible to her "lesson plan" and duly trotted out a science lesson. This entire thing was a worksheet about stars. She read the introduction in the most amazingly sing-song voice I have ever heard. "Stars. Are. In. The. Sky." You get the idea. My eyes rolled back and I saw a number of kids looking at me, getting it. The worksheet gave the kids a totally wrong idea about astronomy. Very bad science. But never mind, the kids were paying no attention to it anyway. Hey, it didn't take more than ten minutes so we were on to doing the glazing and the pasta.
I wanted the kids to spend some time comparing the weight of things- pasta, beans, corn, rice, so I arranged a station with the scales. There are sixteen kids doing cooking and clay glazing and I am dancing as fast as I can. I ask Ms. C. to take on the weighing station. She says she can't do this because she doesn't know how. With sixteen kids knocking on my hip, a pot of boiling pasta, Marisol and Kelbie grating cheese, glazes needing attention, I give her a three second tutorial, and we go on from there.
The glazed pieces are wonderful, everyone LOVED the pasta. Some stuff got weighed and there was no homicide. After lunch we even had enough time to read a book. The kids were looking forward to going outside for a fifteen minute recess. These good and patient children! I am sorry to say that I think none of these kids will have the exquisite opportunity to think of the Harris Burdick stories, let alone write about them. Neither their parents nor their teachers have ever heard of Harris Burdick/ Chris Van Alsburg. And so, I keep on reading to these kids.
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