It's 28 degrees in Stony Brook and blisteringly clear. I'd like adventure and laughter in cold air and swaying legs, but Transiberian Orchestra puts me in the right spirits.
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Besides the portfolio and final grades, I've finished teaching for the semester. I survived. So did they. I stuttered plenty, had the overhead fail on observation day, encountered much silence any time grammar or story discussion (or, God forbid, poetry!) came up. But then there was "write a 160-character text message about what really happened," freewrite on food, Nutella ads, "Tsunami Tsurfers," Donnie Darko, six-word memoirs, Donald the WRT 101 student, the definition of "facetious," freetext, class walks, map your place, and, of course, El Nino.
And hopefully this leads to other blackboards, other faux finals on the board, other laughs. And maybe a bit of learning.
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The other night, I watched my hair fall softly in the mirror. The natural waves from a father with thick hair and years of tight ponytails. Dark hair on top, lighter hair to the finish. I have thought often of dying it all back to dark, or straightening it, or asking Lauren to trim the bangs that can almost be tucked behind my ears--
No. Tonight, it falls just right.
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