BOOK TOSS

One of my chores today was to scan our family’s shelves for books that can be discarded or donated to the local elementary schools for their libraries and classrooms.

The best time to do this is while my two sons are at school because they want to keep all of their books – read and unread.

I sympathize. I have stacks of hardbacks that I have enjoyed as an adult and want to keep and paperbacks that I want to read and haven’t had time.

Weeding through my sons’ books is much easier than weeding through mine. At least, that’s what I thought.

Scanning the goofy titles and covers of books that have never been opened and most likely never will at our house, I tossed them easily into the give-away pile.

Others were classics. Should I pass Hugh Lofting’s “Dr. Dolittle” on to someone else? What about L. Frank Baum’s “The Wizard of Oz”? The kids were lukewarm on those stories, and we can easily check them out at the library. They went into the donation pile.

The books I struggled with were children’s books that my sons have definitely outgrown such as Dr. Seuss’ “The Cat in the Hat” rhymes, Gertrude Chandler Warner’s collection of “The Boxcar Children,” and Jonathan London’s adventures of “Froggy.” They were favorites at our house, read over and over. What about series of books including “The Hatchet” by Gary Paulsen, “Captain Underpants” by Dav Pilkey and “The Magic School Bus” by Joanna Cole? Although they were once favorites, the kids haven’t read them in years.

I opened a Ready Freddy book by Abby Klein, and on the inside cover my oldest son had printed as a kindergartener, “I see a red cat,” a reminder of the days when he was learning to read and write. I saved that book.

The final category included books that my sons have no attachment to now that they are older, but the stories bring back memories for me.

One such book is “Airline Pilots” by O.B. Gregory. I read that book to my oldest son every night for months at bedtime before he could read. Each evening I hoped he would choose another story. But his little fingers continued to reach for that hardcover book about aviation. I had the book memorized we read it so often. He is long finished with the book and would probably say “toss,” but my memories kept it in the “keep” pile.

I saved way more books than I decided to give away. Still, I put a stack of about 30 books to donate on the dining room table.

When the kids got home from school, they were curious.

“What’s this?” my oldest asked.

“Books to donate to the schools,” I answered.

A little later I passed the table again. The pile had dwindled down to three lone books. The rest had been put back on our home shelves.

-- cawk

CURSIVE WRITING

My son received mail from his grandmother the other day. She writes in cursive.

I can remember a time when I would have to sit down next to him on the sofa and read such a letter to him as he looked over my shoulder and asked, “What’s that word?”

But thanks to the local schools, my son can read cursive writing.

Other kids may not be so lucky.

What I’m reading online – which is not in cursive – is that many schools in 44 states across the nation have stopped teaching this “archaic” and “unnecessary” form of writing.

Apparently, it’s up to the local school districts to decide in New Jersey whether cursive writing is taught. Thankfully, my son’s school district sees its advantages.

I agree that learning to type in today’s world of technology is a mandatory skill that each student should learn. And it’s a skill that requires the use of both hands, not just two thumbs.

But cursive writing is important, too.

It’s a sign of maturity to be able to read and write in cursive.

When I was growing up, I wanted a library card.

“That’s a big responsibility,” my mother said.

“When can I get one?” I asked.

“When you can write your name in cursive,” she said. “That’s the rule.”

As kids, we were judged on our penmanship. Handwriting was an indicator of who we were as individuals – neat or sloppy. And we could identify each other by our handwriting. We knew who wrote with tiny letters and who wrote big. We all wanted a name that would take our pencils in loops beneath the faint lines of our notebook paper.

We admired the way the best writers in our class made the graceful curves of their capital letters. We worked hard to perfect our own writing. On our report cards, penmanship was listed as a primary subject along with language arts, math and science.

Granted, times have changed. But the value of cursive writing remains.

Signatures are written in cursive. The U.S. Constitution was written in cursive. Thank-you notes should be written in cursive.

Cursive has its advantages.

Practicing letters over and over helps students develop their motor skills and teaches them the importance of accuracy, patience and concentration.

Cursive writing is more formal and exudes a message of importance.

It’s faster than printing when taking notes in class or business meetings.

As a society, do we want a president who cannot read a post card from his grandmother because it is written in cursive writing? Do we want engineers, doctors, lawyers and scientists who can only print their knowledge?

If some schools teach the curriculum and others do not, cursive writing is going to separate the educated and the uneducated.

I asked my son, a fifth grader, if he thought cursive writing is important. He often has to print his spelling words and then write them in cursive. He got 5 points off recently because of a faulty letter.

“Yes, it’s important,” he said defiantly. “Do you think I can get a job if I don’t know how to read and write in cursive?”

I’m thankful my son can put this basic skill on his resume. Many kids in 44 states cannot. My son has an awesome signature, too -- and a library card.

-- cawk

BABY MISTAKES

One thing I like about writing is my ability to erase words that don’t fit.

I can type, “Lucy detected a faint smell when she entered the room.”

If a rotten potato is in the kitchen, I can erase the word “smell” and type, “Lucy detected a faint odor when she entered the room.”

Or if roses are on the counter, I can erase the word “odor” and type, “Lucy detected a faint fragrance when she entered the room.”

Eventually, I find the right word without having to correct myself in public.

If that were only possible in daily conversations!

This week, I sat in the middle school guidance counselor’s office with my son to register him for high school. When the counselor joined us, she didn’t recognize me.

“We have met before,” I told her during the introduction. “Our babies played baseball on the same team last year.”

As soon as the word “babies” flew out of my mouth, I wanted to backspace and change the noun to “children,” “boys,” “sons” – any term but “babies.”

The word does not come close to describing the young men we watched defend bases and score runs on the baseball diamond last spring.

But the conversation couldn’t be rewritten.

The word hung in the air like an unpleasant scent as my “baby” signed up for classes in economics, physics, literature and foreign language.

When we left the guidance office, my son said, “Babies? Really, Mom?”

As I watched him head down the school hallway back to class, the word choice still stung.

My son’s voice has changed. He’s taller than me. He wears a size 13 shoe. He’s “a teen,” “a young man,” “a strong athlete.”

All this is true. But he’s still my baby.

-- cawk

WRITING SEASONS

I’ve noticed that my writing habits change with the seasons.

During the winter, my subjects are close by. Because of the frigid temperatures and inclement weather, I don’t venture out much, so I write about what I experience at home; what I see from my window; or what I consider to be mundane, like washing dishes or watering indoor plants. I spend a lot of time reading about writing and listening to stories about authors and poets on the radio.

As the days start to grow longer and my daffodils begin to push up, my writing also springs forward. I choose brighter subjects and write more in color than in black-and-white. My themes generate more hope; my characters act more silly than staunch; and my settings venture beyond the most familiar.

During the summer, I relax as I write. I take my time with few deadlines. I sit outside by the beach or in my backyard or at the park. I’m comfortable in the sunshine. I sip on lemonade or enjoy a water ice. I walk and think. I play tennis and think. I ride my bicycle and think. Writing seems easy and fun. I get lots of ideas.

But as autumn approaches, I’m ready to fall into a routine once again. I want to connect my scraps of writing into something more solid. I want to improve my skills with workshops and classes. I once again vow to dedicate more time to my craft.

My habits may shift with the seasons, but my desire to write continues its cycle.

-- cawk

CHAPTER CHALLENGE

My son’s elementary school has begun a new program called the 100 Chapter Challenge.

Each student is encouraged to read 100 chapters of fiction or nonfiction between now and May 24. I figure that is about a chapter a day, with lots of cushion.

My son should have no problem meeting the goal. He takes a book to read almost everywhere he goes.

He reads in the car. He reads waiting for the school bus. He reads on vacation. I pry books from his hands because he falls asleep reading in bed.

I’m constantly reminding him that we don’t read books at the dinner table. We don’t read books during his brother’s band concerts. We don’t read books at someone else’s house when we are invited to a party.

I can’t leave the house without my keys and purse; he can’t leave without his book and baseball cap.

He is an avid reader, constantly discovering truths about his surroundings and the world through the words on a page.

As I looked at the empty grid his teacher sent home to tally chapters during this event, I realized how little I read literature anymore.

I used to be more like my son. I got ready for school with a blow dryer in one hand and a paperback in the other. I could spend a whole afternoon sitting outside sipping on lemonade and reading fiction. Each night, I faithfully read a chapter or more before turning off my bedroom lights.

I miss the solid feeling of holding a book, the joy of reading a surprise ending and the pleasure of getting to know characters in classical works. I want to travel through the pages of a novel. I want to cry, laugh and take risks just by turning a page. I want to satisfy my curiosity and judge people’s actions without shame.

As an adult, I’ve become a snippet reader – clicking on pieces of news on the internet and flipping through simple magazines. Surrounded by responsibilities, I feel guilty if I sit down for a moment during the daytime hours, and even guiltier if I sit down to read a best-selling novel.

But reading is as essential to my quality of life as vitamins and exercise. Taking in a good book relaxes me, entertains me, educates me, and stretches my mind and creativity. Indulging in a well-written story is so much better than watchingTV.

So I’m turning off the evening sitcoms, printing out an extra grid and joining the 100 Chapter Challenge with my son. I can’t wait to see how our story ends.

-- cawk

 

Possessions-with short glossary

Possessions

If one writes poems today
Heedless of how the wind blew
Come tomorrow     What may
So  Who? You or me? Will pay.

To live or exist without possessions

Could be compared to freedom
As in nothing else to lose
Do you'all wish to be them.

Whacky though this may seem, or is that seam

When you are fourteen stories high
Would you choose to step off the beam?
Or simply grab what good can buy.

Often then the best went askew

Before anyone thought it through
Has the indictment been proven?
We all weren't groovin' .

Notwithstanding,   you may sing and dance

If its past, then went the chance
Drummend out by its own beat
Now that's quite a feat.

In all this parlance, as expressed herein

Not a play on words today
Have we been reminded
We are proven simply human.

Choices we have to make

To not allow the good to be the enemy of the best
To live within the rules and not jest
Recognize my Higher Power and not bake.

Since I live not as an island nor glum

My time on earth not a pun
As I live and pray under the sun
Exchange words, work, aide, smiles with aplomb.
© John Witkowski 1/1/13

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Aplomb- poise  balance

Seam- where edges come together- where two are joined and become one; a joint- a play on              words   what would a seem seam be? a fake. a fantasy. not be realy real!
Heedless- careless attention; reckless lack of attention; not paying attention
Them- the possessions / or the possessors? the haves as vs the have nots. or more more.
Beam- as of a skelton of a building; a girder a steel beam of a building during construction
Wisdom- ability to discern differences
Bake- as in an oven;; or hell
Glum-sullen; gloomy
Pun- humorous; as in a joke; or funny use of a word
Parlance- talking back and forth; words; language, communication

HOMEWORK

I’m being homeschooled by my fifth grader.

He doesn’t realize he’s my teacher. But each morning I check his homework, and he gives me a lesson on the basics of grammar and writing.

Most of the worksheets I check are review for me. This quarter, they were lessons on subjects and predicates, proper nouns, subject and verb agreement, verbs with direct objects and using correct verb tenses. These are principles I use each day in my writing but haven’t thought about in years.

I look forward to spending this time together. We discuss why his answers are right or wrong. He explains each lesson, and I give him feedback on the papers he writes. Sometimes I try the writing assignment myself while he is at school and ask him for a critique when he gets home.

His passion for the subject of English is not as strong as mine. But he likes being the teacher, and I like getting an education.

--cawk