Throwback Thursday

My Reading Program

Jay Simser - 

When I first started teaching (eons ago) I  discovered that the Basal Readers were pretty boring for students.  As I was an avid reader and enjoyed reading a lot these books really turned me off.  With the participation of the Reading consultant I worked to have the students read in books of their choice.  We did a pre and post test with the students and discovered that they grew about two years in reading by allowing them free choice and time to read. 

I realized that these students (for the most part) have basic reading skills.  Some of them, however, did not choose to read. 

I developed a series of questions to use with the students.  These are generic questions and are used either in a conversation about the books the students are choosing or in conjunction with a Reading Journal which I have developed.  They follow:

Why did you choose this book to read?

Would you choose another book by the same author?  Why or why not?

Was this a good title for the book?

Why do you think so?

Give another title that would fit the book.

Which character in the book would you most like to be?  Why?

What would you have done differently from the author if you had been writing the book?  Why would you do it that way?

What is your opinion of this book?  Why do you feel this way about the book?

What do you know about the author of the book?  Do you know of any other books by the same author?

Which character in the book is most like yourself?  Why do you say that?

What obstacles or problems did the main character have to overcome or solve?  How did they go about doing this?

Please describe some of the action or suspense in the book. If you do not feel that it had action or suspense what kept you wanting to continue reading the book?

Tell the story of the book in one or two sentences.

Did you gain or learn anything from reading this book?  Please describe what you gained or learned.

The expectation in my classroom is for students to read one chapter book a week.  I reward students who read 100 books as a “Century Reader” with a certificate and take them out to lunch at a “fine restaurant.”   Several years I had a double century reader (200 books).

Most of the students responded very positively to this program.  One year I had a student who had never read an entire book before coming to me.  He became such a powerful reader that my the end of the year I had to pull him out of a book to get to work on his other schoolwork.

I have found this to be a successful and rewarding program.

One other thing I did was assign a certain genre or type of book for a month and have the students write a book review on it.  i.e.  February - A book by a black author or with a black as the main character;  March - A book by a woman author or with a strong woman as the central character;  April- fantasy

Throwback Thursday

This table is what I call the "Sana (sp) Thyer table.  My grandparents were wonderful people. There was a person who fell on hard times and because she did not have much money they were able help her sell enough of her antiques so she would be able to be in a home where she would have care.

This table was in their home and eventually it came to me. My Uncle Dave Peterson fixed one of the wooden pieces which the dog chewed. There is a crack on the marble top and there is always dust. 

But I do love it.

Throwback Thursday

These two poems are that I found and used with my class.  The first is a poem which I was given to my friend Jerry Marsengill. Jerry could recite it from memory.

"There Is No Indispensable Man"

Saxon N. White Kessinger   ^©1959  

Sometime when you're feeling important;

Sometime when your ego's in bloom

Sometime when you take it for granted

You're the best qualified in the room,

Sometime when you feel that your going

Would leave an unfillable hole,

Just follow these simple instructions

And see how they humble your soul;

Take a bucket and fill it with water,

Put your hand in it up to the wrist,

Pull it out and the hole that's remaining

Is a measure of how you will be missed.

You can splash all you wish when you enter,

You may stir up the water galore,

But stop and you'll find that in no time

It looks quite the same as before.

The moral of this quaint example

Is do just the best that you can,

Be proud of yourself but remember,

There's no indispensable man.

The second is one I found in "The Builders" a Masonic Magazine.  I decided that I would have the students memorize it and for several years the students had to memorize and recite to to the class...individually.  I changed it some - changed the "man" to one so that it better reflect the times. There is one "he" I can't remember the one.  Also when I found the poem it was written by Anonymous

If you think you are beaten, you are;

If you think you dare not, you don't;

If you'd like to win, but think you can't,

It's almost a cinch you won't.

If you think you'll lose, you're lost,

For out in the word we find

Success begins with a fellow' person's will,

It's all in the state of mind.

If you think you're outcasted classed, you are;

You've got to think high to rise.

You've got to be sure of yourself before

You can ever win a prize.

Life's battles don't always go

To the stronger or faster man; one;

But soon or later the man one  who wins

Is the man one who thinks he can. 

Walter D. Wintle

Throwback Thursday

Hugh and Virginia Hossle -  Two wonderful friends.  Hugh was Knight Templar North Central Department Commander.  Virginia had a beautiful singing voice. I
still miss them 

Throwback Thursday

I was looking through Facebook and was reminded about this story which I used to read to my students.  I read it in one setting and I loved reading it.  

I found my blog post of 2008 about it.  I hope you enjoy it.




A Christmas Memory

Imagine a morning in late November. A coming of winter morning more than twenty years ago. Consider the kitchen of a spreading old house in a country town. A great black stove is its main feature; but there is also a big round table and a fireplace with two rocking chairs placed in front of it. Just today the fireplace commenced its seasonal roar.

This is the opening paragraph of A Christmas Memory by Truman Capote. It is my favorite Christmas Story. In fact it is probably my favorite story of all times. I used to read it to my class every year. I read it straight through. I took the time to read it in one sitting rather than break it into two sessions. I love the imagery which Capote uses to paint his pictures in words. I am going to share some of them with you but I encourage you to go here to read the entire thing.

We had a big round table in our house and I have it in the basement here. I think that is one of the things I like about this picture. My great aunts also had a black stove in their kitchen for years and I spent a lot of time with them. No fireplace but the picture still brings back childhood memories to my head.

He paints a wonderful picture of his 'friend" Miss Snook with whom he lives. He says:

on Saturdays I am allowed ten cents to go to the picture show. My friend has never been to a picture show, nor does she intend to: "I'd rather hear you tell the story, Buddy. That way I can imagine it more. Besides, a person my age shouldn't squander their eyes. When the Lord comes, let me see him clear." In addition to never having seen a movie, she has never: eaten in a restaurant, traveled more than five miles from home, received or sent a telegram, read anything except funny papers and the Bible, worn cosmetics, cursed, wished someone harm, told a lie on purpose, let a hungry dog go hungry. Here are a few things she has done, does do: killed with a hoe the biggest rattlesnake ever seen in this county (sixteen rattles), dip snuff (secretly), tame hummingbirds (just try it) till they balance on her finger, tell ghost stories (we both believe in ghosts) so tingling they chill you in July, talk to herself, take walks in the rain, grow the prettiest japonicas in town, know the recipe for every sort of oldtime Indian cure, including a magical wart remover.

The two of them make fruitcakes to send all over the world. They have to get whiskey to dampen the cakes. The get it from Mr. Haha Jones and the trip there was one of my favorites to read. Then this which always was fun to read.

Now a nude December fig branch grates against the window. The kitchen is empty, the cakes are gone; yesterday we carted the last of them to the post office, where the cost of stamps turned our purse inside out. We're broke. That rather depresses me, but my friend insists on celebrating—with two inches of whiskey left in Haha's bottle. Queenie has a spoonful in a bowl of coffee (she likes her coffee chicory-flavored and strong). The rest we divide between a pair of jelly glasses. We're both quite awed at the prospect of drinking straight whiskey; the taste of it brings screwedup expressions and sour shudders. But by and by we begin to sing, the two of us singing different songs simultaneously. I don't know the words to mine, just: Come on along, come on along, to the dark-town strutters' ball.
(It always bothered me to read that part because I took the song as a racist one - I sometimes changed it but mostly didn't)
But I can dance: that's what I mean to be, a tap dancer in the movies. My dancing shadow rollicks on the walls; our voices rock the chinaware; we giggle: as if unseen hands were tickling us. Queenie rolls on her back, her paws plow the air, something like a grin stretches her black lips. Inside myself, I feel warm and sparky as those crumbling logs, carefree as the wind in the chimney. My friend waltzes round the stove, the hem of her poor calico skirt pinched between her fingers as though it were a party dress: Show me the way to go home, she sings, her tennis shoes squeaking on the floor. Show me the way to go home.

Enter: two relatives. Very angry. Potent with eyes that scold, tongues that scald. Listen to what they have to say, the words tumbling together into a wrathful tune: "A child of seven! whiskey on his breath! are you out of your mind? feeding a child of seven! must be loony! road to ruination! remember Cousin Kate? Uncle Charlie? Uncle Charlie's brother-inlaw? shame! scandal! humiliation! kneel, pray, beg the Lord!

They go out to get their Christmas tree:

One of her hat's ragged roses sheds a petal as she lifts her head and inhales the pine-heavy air. "We're almost there; can you smell it, Buddy'" she says, as though we were approaching an ocean.

And, indeed, it is a kind of ocean. Scented acres of holiday trees, prickly-leafed holly. Red berries shiny as Chinese bells: black crows swoop upon them screaming. Having stuffed our burlap sacks with enough greenery and crimson to garland a dozen windows, we set about choosing a tree. "It should be," muses my friend, "twice as tall as a boy. So a boy can't steal the star." The one we pick is twice as tall as me. A brave handsome brute that survives thirty hatchet strokes before it keels with a creaking rending cry. Lugging it like a kill, we commence the long trek out. Every few yards we abandon the struggle, sit down and pant. But we have the strength of triumphant huntsmen; that and the tree's virile, icy perfume revive us, goad us on. Many compliments accompany our sunset return along the red clay road to town; but my friend is sly and noncommittal when passers-by praise the treasure perched in our buggy: what a fine tree, and where did it come from? "Yonderways," she murmurs vaguely. Once a car stops, and the rich mill owner's lazy wife leans out and whines: "Giveya two-bits" cash for that ol tree." Ordinarily my friend is afraid of saying no; but on this occasion she promptly shakes her head: "We wouldn't take a dollar." The mill owner's wife persists. "A dollar, my foot! Fifty cents. That's my last offer. Goodness, woman, you can get another one." In answer, my friend gently reflects: "I doubt it. There's never two of anything."

Then later after making each other presents and Christmas morning they go down to the field to fly the kites they had made for each other. His friend says,

"My, how foolish I am!" my friend cries, suddenly alert, like a woman remembering too late she has biscuits in the oven. "You know what I've always thought?" she asks in a tone of discovery and not smiling at me but a point beyond. "I've always thought a body would have to be sick and dying before they saw the Lord. And I imagined that when he came it would be like looking at the Baptist window: pretty as colored glass with the sun pouring through, such a shine you don't know it's getting dark. And it's been a comfort: to think of that shine taking away all the spooky feeling. But I'11 wager it never happens. I'11 wager at the very end a body realizes the Lord has already shown Himself. That things as they are"—her hand circles in a gesture that gathers clouds and kites and grass and Queenie pawing earth over her bone—"just what they've always seen, was seeing Him. As for me, I could leave the world with today in my eyes."

And then the last two paragraphs:

And there she remains, puttering around the kitchen. Alone with Queenie. Then alone. ("Buddy dear," she writes in her wild hard-to-read script, "yesterday Jim Macy's horse kicked Queenie bad. Be thankful she didn't feel much. I wrapped her in a Fine Linen sheet and rode her in the buggy down to Simpson's pasture where she can be with all her Bones...."). For a few Novembers she continues to bake her fruitcakes single-handed; not as many, but some: and, of course, she always sends me "the best of the batch." Also, in every letter she encloses a dime wadded in toilet paper: "See a picture show and write me the story." But gradually in her letters she tends to confuse me with her other friend, the Buddy who died in the 1880's; more and more, thirteenths are not the only days she stays in bed: a morning arrives in November, a leafless birdless coming of winter morning, when she cannot rouse herself to exclaim: "Oh my, it's fruitcake weather! "

And when that happens, I know it. A message saying so merely confirms a piece of news some secret vein had already received, severing from me an irreplaceable part of myself, letting it loose like a kite on a broken string. That is why, walking across a school campus on this particular December morning, I keep searching the sky. As if I expected to see, rather like hearts, a lost pair of kites hurrying toward heaven.

I have never been able to read those paragraphs without tears welling up in my eyes. It did not bother me to have the kids see that. It is a beautiful, story and I certainly hope that you will take the time to go and read it.
Thank you for stopping by tonight. I appreciate all of my readers.

What is your favorite story for this time of year?

Throwback Thursday

The Tree Lighting. 

It took me about an hour to find this picture.  In 1965 our class went to Washington and New York City.  My pictures have mostly disappeared but I still remember this statue in New York City.

Prometheus

Paul Manship's highly recognizable bronze gilded Prometheus statue, commissioned in 1934, is located at the western end of the sunken plaza.^[285][363] It stands 18 feet (5.5 m) high and weighs 8 short tons (7.1 long tons).The statue depicts the Greek legend of the Titan Prometheus recumbent, bringing fire to mankind. The statue is flanked by two smaller gilded representations of Youth and Maiden, which were relocated to Palazzo d'Italia from 1939 to 1984 because Manship thought the representations did not fit visually. The model for Prometheus was Leonardo (Leon) Nole, and the inscription, a paraphrase from Aeschylus, on the granite wall behind, reads: "Prometheus, teacher in every art, brought the fire that hath proved to mortals a means to mighty 

Throwback Thursday

Throwback Thursday

July 5, 2010 - November 15, 2015

Sadie was a beautiful dog. She and Molly had a lot of fun together.

She was taken too soon.

Molly and I woke up in the morning and she was in a lot of pain and Dr. Branda came and there found a mass.  Rather than put her through a lot of pain we helped her to cross the Rainbow Bridge.

Throwback Thursday,

I love boxes.  Especially those like this which was given to me

This is not a large box but it does hold a couple of mementos and I do enjoy it.

Throwback Thursday

Rabbit  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Rabbit

 I purchased this at Tifereth Israel Synagogue
(924 Polk Blvd
Des Moines, IA 50312)

I was there to listen to a program and eat a traditional Jewish meal.  Afterward I went to look at the gift shop and found this so it became a souvenir of my visit. 

To understand the message of the Ram with his horns caught up in the brambles read this article..   It is worth a read.

The ram is always there, if we will but lift up our eyes.

I don't remember exactly when I got it but it was probably in the 70's

Throwback Thursday

This is a compilation of some memories which I am going to share...First is a photo of a lovely lady who I met through our association of the Order of the Order of the Eastern Star.  Dorothy Barton was a long time member of Polk City Chapter and worked with me in the Eastern Star Home Board.  Dorothy's mother was just installed as Worthy Grand Matron. (State President) I miss Dorothy.  

She and my mother were both Secretaries of their Chapters  There were a lot of memories made in the 50+ years I have belonged.

This next memory is The Suburban Restaurant - My sister is on the left.  Suzy Cox and her family ran the restaurant. It was one of our favorite places to eat.  -- They had the best Pork Tenderloins in the state.

Then the wonderful Bailey (of Bailey' Buddy) sitting on my Lion's Head Chair which had been my Great Grandfather Underwood's.

And then here is another is one of Bailey and Miles who is Jon's Collie and lives in Arizona now.  The two of them were both good friends.

Throwback Thursday

My mother had a lot of family pictures which we decided should be passed to the Ames Historical Society.  Some of my cousins were upset with me for doing this but the pictures are a part of the History of Ames and they are all available to everyone.  I believe you can see that they are in a safer depository than they would have been in any other place.  Actually most of those cousins have not seen me for at least 3 years so I pretty much have written them off.

The Bachelor Maids Club, April 13, 1902. These popular Ames girls are (left to right) front row: "Nettie" (Bauge) Richie, Jess Martin, and Mildred (Graham) Wortman; back row: Ethel (Underwood) Meeker, Inis (Hunter) Grove, Kate (McMichael) Cole, Catherine Cole, Jess (Cole) Augustine, Minnie Perkins, Emma (Selby) Kelner. Many of these young women are remembered today (1994). For example, Inis Grove Park recalls Inis Hunter Grove. (Photo and identification courtesy of Ruth Cole Jackson (my mother))

Three of my great aunts were in this group - Catherine and Jess were members of a merry social club called the Bachelor Maids which started when they were in high school and continued until all were quite advanced in years

Ames Historical Society

The Bachelor Maids Club was a group of popular young women in Ames who enjoyed many get-togethers. From left to right: Mina (Taylor) Osborne; unidentified woman who worked in the Fair Store; Ethel Underwood Meeker; Jess (Cole) Augustine; Kate (McMichael)Cole; Catherine Cole; and Agnes (Allan) Phillips. (Photo and identification, courtesy of Ruth Cole Jackson) 

My first Post...Throwback Thursday

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 12, 2007

OK - I FORGOT TO DO A POST FOR TODAY SO THIS IS MY FIRST POST ----WHAT BETTER THAN MY FIRST FORAY INTO BLOGGING.

Blogging

Ok, I am taking the plunge. I have been reading blogs for quite awhile and have no idea why people do these but I thought that I would start one and see what happens.

I originally planned to go to a Masonic meeting in Des Moines tonight but the threat of ice and snow scared me off. I am a chicken when it comes to driving in this weather.

Don't expect anything too profound with this. I will put an occasional poem on here and sometimes something else.
Here is one of my favorites:
The Crow Convention

The crows have convened across the way.
Big black birds crowousing with each other.

Hanging out with their crownies.
Strutting around
Chris, Charlie, Carlton, Clarence, and Chip.
Yakking, poking, grabbing and crowoperating.

They’re holding a convention to decide who will be crowned
King of the Crows!
They debate, deliberate and finally designate a leader.
But, as with humans, EGO gets in the way and no one is really chosen.

At the end of the day they fly away to their night homes –

Tomorrow they will convene again – unless it is a Sunday
when they will congregate.

February 17, 2000

You can see I wrote this seven years ago. I had fun writing it. I hope you enjoyed reading it.

Throwback Thursday

These were the Officers of Arcadia Lodge #249 when I was Master of the Lodge.

1980

Left to right - First Row

Ed Powers, Mike Smith, Dan Shaffer, Fred Schneider, Adel Throckmorton, Oliver Boyington

Second Row

Red Dale, Steve Westvold, Me (Jay Simser) Hugh Hossle, Sabin Nichols

Throwback Thursday

My grandparents had a wonderful life.  They were wonderful people. They had six daughters.  In this rendition they were celebrating 50 years of marriage.  There only 5 of us still alive. But there are a lot cousins, nieces and nephews.

Throwback Thursday

This is my great aunt.  Miss Erma Simser.  She taught and was a librarian in Whittier, California.
After retiring she traveled many places and she wrote letters to me (and always made sure that I would  correct mine to her for errors in them.)  

Nick and Ora Simser - My great-grandparents in the Simsr line.  The Simser's were United Empire loyalists.  They changed their name from Slimer to Simser and moved from the colonies to Canada. My family returned to the States and Nick went prospecting for gold.  This is a gold nugget which my great-aunt made  into a necklace (and put a small diamond in it).

Eventually he settled in Nevada, Iowa. I believe he was a blacksmith.

Throwback Thursday

I have shared this picture before. I just really like it.

Throwback Thursday

This is a small figurine that I picked up somewhere.  

The occupation of Scribe has always been one that I (as a teacher) find one worthy of emulation.

 It is no exaggeration to say that we owe most of our knowledge of ancient Egypt to the work of her scribes. The ancient Egyptians covered their temples and tombs with hieroglyphs, but they also employed scribes to record everything from the stocks held in the stores for workers, the proceedings in court, magic spells, wills and other legal contracts, medical procedures, tax records and genealogies. Scribes were central to the functioning of centralised administration, the army and the priesthood and in truth very little happened in ancient Egypt which did not involve a scribe in some manner.
It is perhaps no surprise then that one of the most respected titles in ancient Egypt was "sesh" - "scribe". The terms is more properly translated as "to draw" or "to create" rather than simply "to write" or "to read".

The occupation of scribe is also one of the earliest jobs. There are depictions of scribes (identified by the traditional scribal crossed legged pose and their scribal equipment) dating back to as early as the Old Kingdom.

Throwback Thursday,

I was watching a tribute to Betty White on PBS and I remembered this.  It is by Kyle Boyd who was a student in Ames.  His mother worked in my school.  Kyle did this in 2007 and it has been in my home ever since.  I am thinking it may be time to binge some Golden Girls.

Throwback Thursday

I got this on one of our trips to Colorado.  I thought it was good to show the state,