Educational Issues

Hi Everyone!

Today, I'm discussing educational issues that may have a profound impact on students and teachers in the classroom.  So hop on over to The Burrow and check it out.

This topic was so interesting, especially from the many perspective of our followers at the Burrow.  It sparked a rebuttal from my good friend Rayna.  Here it is.

Take care,
Chary

Conversations With a Six Year Old- Zoo Flowers

"Oh Mommy, those are pretty flowers! What are they doing in a zoo?"

"Well, the zoo owners wanted to make everything really pretty so that people will want to visit the animals."

"That's silly. People will visit the zoo no matter what. Everybody loves animals."

"Well, I think these flowers are a way of making everyone feel welcome."

"Hhmm. Well, the animals make me feel welcome. I don't like the bugs in the flowers. Like bees. They can chase you and sting you and then you cry and cry."

Who can argue with the logic of a six year old?

Thanksgiving

 From my home to yours- Happy Thanksgiving!!!!!!!

T’was the night of Thanksgiving,

But I just couldn’t sleep.

I tried counting backwards,

I tried counting sheep.

The leftovers beckoned,

The dark meat and white.

But I fought the temptation,

With all of my might.

Tossing and turning,

with anticipation.

The thought of a snack

became infatuation.

So I raced to the kitchen,

Flung open the door,

And gazed at the fridge,

Full of goodies galore.

I gobbled up turkey,

And buttered potatoes,

Pickles and carrots,

Beans and tomatoes.

I felt myself swelling,

So plump and so round.

‘til all of a sudden,

I rose off the ground.

I crashed through the ceiling,

Floating into the sky,

With a mouthful of pudding,

And a handful of pie.

But I managed to yell

As I soared past the trees

Happy eating to all,

Pass the cranberries, please!!

May your stuffing be tasty

May your turkey be plump.

May your potatoes and gravy

Have nary a lump.

May your yams be delicious,

May your pies take the prize

And May your Thanksgiving dinner

Stay off of your thighs!

by Lauren

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Orange Mushroom

"What's this Mommy?"

"Well, that's a mushroom. Not sure which kind but it looks beautiful."

"Can we eat it? It looks like really yummy candy."

"No, sweetie. We can't eat bright orange mushrooms. Matter of fact, most mushrooms are poisonous. Don't ever eat any mushrooms that are growing outside. Okay?"

"So, all mushrooms outside will kill me."

"Yup. Our bodies can't handle them. Promise not to eat any. I see that little glint in your eye. You cannot eat them, even when I'm not with you."

"Yes, Mommy. Can we get something to eat? The mushroom made me really hungry."



Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

To see more, visit the Burrow's Prismatic Feature.

Amethyst

"Adolpha, fetch me my amethyst jewelry and goblet. I have the Women's Circle this evening," commanded noble Lady Callista, wife of the notable politician Marcus Gallerius.

"At once my lady," Adolpha replies. It is customary for women of the patrician class to wear amethyst jewels and drink from same-stone goblets as it wards off any drunkenness or seduction. Unfortunately for the Callista, every social affair ends in an inebriated, lustful scandal.

"My lady, here are the items requested," Adolpha states with disgust.

"You are dismissed," replies Callista curtly.

Adolpha secretly smiles, looking forward to her evening with her lady's husband.




Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

To see more, visit the Burrow's Prismatic Feature.  I am also at The Burrow blog today.  Pop on over for some coffee, tea and recommended reading.

Yellow Maple

Like a leaf on the wind, you came into my life unexpectedly. So brief was our encounter, that any outsider would think it almost inconsequential. Your spirit remains with me even now, when I look at the trees or a meandering, muddy running stream. You were always bright and happy, helping anyone who needed it; the embodiment of kindness.

But like the yellow autumn leaves turning brown during a sudden winter frost, you withered and died, leaving me empty. I never did tell you that like beautiful fall foliage, you brought light where there was an ever-present darkness. Thank you.

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

To see more, visit the Burrow's Prismatic Feature.

Red Peppers

Your flesh is radiant in the mid-afternoon sun. Your lips are so vibrant, they remind me of a sweet red pepper ripened to perfection. I miss having you here beside me. I know that I messed up. Things have become so odd between us these last few years and I strayed. I’m sorry that I put you through so much. It was selfish but I needed something more.

If only I had tried to be around a little. If only I had not been lead astray. If only she had not reminded me of what we once had. If only . . .



Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

To see more, visit the Burrow's Prismatic Feature.

Ithaca Vineyard

As I walk through the vineyard, I can't help but be reminded of your green smoldering eyes caressing my body. Your touch is so exquisitely delicate and full of infinite passion. I daydream of the next time your arms are around me, crushing me in a warm embrace.

I hear voices in the distance; the moans increase to a crescendo.

"Marta . . ."

"John . . ."

Recognizing your voice, I quietly walk down the path and peer through the vines. Yours eyes meet mine; her eyes also.

I whisper . . . "How could you?"

I run through the green haze and collapse in despair.

To see more, visit the Burrow's Prismatic Feature.

I'm at The Burrow Today

 I am over at The Burrow.  The Who am I? Fridays gives the reader a little glimpse into The Burrower's lives.  The picture above and below give you an idea of my little story.  Happy reading!  Here is my Bronx Tale.

Images courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

My Blue Lagoon

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons, Blue Lagoon



Warm, invigorating waters caress me like a balmy autumn night. Rivulets of liquid beads glisten in the soft moonlight. Rocks loom in the distance like large silent soldiers. The horizontal crag is the only element separating blue Earth from blue sky.


Wading through the mist, I sense you just outside my consciousness. The remote roar of sea crashing against land in this eternal dance is captivating and deafening all at once.


In a frantic desperation, I quickly peruse the panoramic landscape, seeking your lovingly blue gaze. Land and sea may separate us, but for this one night, love is eternal.


To see more, visit for the Burrow's Prismatic Feature.

Bronx Stories: Tio Jorge

Tio Jorge (Uncle George). What can I say? He is that uncle in everyone's family who is unmarried with no children. He is that uncle with the stinky feet and you don't want to sit next to at family functions. He is the one who ends up watching the kids when there is no one else to babysit. He is the one who always lives with a sibling because he can't hold down an apartment. He was also the one who I watched cartoons with in the morning. He was also the one who walked me to school when I was younger as my mother was still adapting to her new medications.

Unfortunately, he was the one who drank too much and dabbled in too many drugs. Tio Jorge became involved in shooting up heroine and smoking crack. His heart was weak from all of the substance abuse and it was decided that he would need open heart surgery. He died on the operating table. My mother cried as she buried her baby brother. I cried as I selfishly mourned the fact that I would not be having a sweet sixteen. All the money that should have gone to ballgowns, limos and catering halls, went instead to two funerals (one here in NYC and the burial in Puerto Rico) plus airfare for every adult in the family. I was angry for a long time as I had worked so hard to be the good daughter and earn that sweet sixteen. Now I see how selfish I was and am ashamed of how much I let it get to me. I should have mourned my uncle who was actually not such a bad guy with the exception of the drugs and alcohol. I regret so much but how else was I to feel. I was cheated by death.

For several weeks we prayed saying the "Hail Mary" and "The Our Father" in Spanish in commemoration of my uncle's death and for safe passage of his soul to heaven. It was really difficult for me as I only speak conversational Spanish and not very well as it is entwined with street slang. We stood in a circle, with candles lit in the background, holding hands, chanting the prayer over and over and over again. It felt like we had been chanting this prayer for hours but in fact it was approximately thirty minutes. My father had stumbled over his words. My mother drew her arm back in a wide arc and slapped my father in the back of his head. It was so forceful that his glasses flew off of his face. My father simply picked up his glasses from the floor and began chanting again. Needless to say, whenever I was unsure of the correct words in Spanish, I remained silent and edged away from my grieving mother.

I wish I could tell Tio Jorge that I'm sorry and I miss watching cartoons with him in the afternoons. 

Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tizian_009.jpg