Slice of Life

Just one of a million things I'd like to try next year. Wouldn't this be a great thing to send on with students every year?

Science Fiction . . . or Fact?

Wow. I've got to try this with my science oriented kids -- Lab Lit: Writing Fiction Based on Real Science.

Thoughts on Freezing to Death...

I had my students read an amazing informative article, "As Freezing Persons Recollect the Snow--First Chill--Then Stupor--Then the Letting Go:  The cold hard facts of freezing to death" by Peter Stark today in preparation for a unit on informative writing. I love the story that frames the information and how he uses the story -- from beginning to end -- to point out how the freezing person (who he appropriately calls "you" throughout -- what a great way to draw the reader into the story) feels and reacts physically and mentally. Then Stark tells us the name of the phenomenon and explains exactly what is going on inside your body that causes the reaction, from pre-shivering muscle tone to paradoxical undressing. He also adds interesting little tidbits of information throughout the paper -- historical tales of freezing people, adaptations of Australian aborigines and Inuit hunters, Nazi Dachau prison experiments, etc. And to make things even more serendipitous, we will be reading "The Man in the Water" as part of our hero unit. Perfection! Anyway, as preparation for reading, I had the students write about experiences they had with the cold. As usual, I wrote along with them. Here are my two efforts:

I know this gets old and you think that everyone says this, but it really was a lot colder 20 – 30 years ago here in Utah when I was a college student here.

I lived down below the BYU campus in some rinky-dink little apartments. Every day I would walk up a long, steep hill to the main campus. I’m a natural early riser, so this would be for eight or even seven o’clock classes. At that time in the morning, the sun hasn’t even come up here in Utah, so everything was bleak and cold and
. . . icy.

I am from Arizona. You know, that warm place down South. I was not used to cold. Snow. Ice. Precipitation of any kind. Walking on snow and ice. Hmmm…

Well, one day I was gingerly making my way up the cold and snowy, icy hill that I traversed on my way to Organic Chemistry, Anatomy, Phrenology, or Psychology, or whatever class it was. I was naturally in a hurry and . . . I slipped. Hard. On the cold, dark ice right on my butt. Now, I had a big black splotch on my behind, but even worse than that, I had injured my tailbone, and when I went to stand up – I couldn’t. I couldn’t move. I could only lay there on the snow and ice and wish to die . . . because at least then I would be warm, because I was probably going to the hot place.

Anyway, I lay there for about ten minutes until some hunky boy rescued me and carried me to the student services office… but that is a tale for another time.

Back in 2012 I was a volunteer for the Winter Olympics. I did one nighttime shift at the Peaks Ice Arena in the back where we checked in and out dignitaries, athletes, VIPs, etc. The problem was this was women’s ice hockey at the Peaks, so we weren’t getting too many of these big shots. What I did get was an eight hour experience of working in a freezer. We were right next to the ice, and it was around 5 degrees in the room that we were in. All night.

The only perk of that experience was checking in a male athlete. I would give them a dish to put their metal objects in while they were scanned. Usually we got keys, wallets, change. That night I got a gold medal. So . . .  I can say I got to hold a 2002 Gold Medal in my hand. The sad thing is that I can’t remember any more whose gold medal it was. Ah well.

Creating my own Mentor Text

Drawing on the superb example of Penny Kittle, here is an alternate point of view piece. (This is the story of my son's piñata breaking injury episode from the point of view of the piñata.)

The Short, Brief Life of a Cub Scout Piñata
(alternate point of view)

by Denée Tyler

-->
My life began simply enough as a pile of paper pulp in a factory somewhere in Mexico. One day the craftsman took the pulp, wet it down, formed it around a mold, covered it with crepe paper, and voila, I came into being, a small blue boy with a strange-looking blue cap and a garish smile. I hung with several hundred of my brothers as I dried and contemplated my purpose in life.

Before I was able to complete my meditations, I was abruptly packed into a close, dark box with others of my kind. There wasn’t enough room to speak and scarcely air to breathe, and we really thought that this was the end.

Just when I had given up all hope, the box was opened, and several pimply young men wearing shirts that said “Macey’s Groceries” pulled all of us out and hung us crookedly from a flimsy string. I had to endure the staring, pointing, and jeering of many until a large, jovial man abruptly pulled me down from my precarious perch and said, “This would be perfect for our Blue and Gold Banquet.” Then, to complete the insult, he summarily stuffed me with tootsie rolls. Of all the candy in the world . . .

The man took me to a place called a “cultural hall.” This was obviously a cruel misuse of the name, as there was no culture in sight. Instead, a rope was tied around my neck, the rope was thrown over a basketball standard, and I was raised and lowered over a group of rather unscrupulous looking eight-, nine-, ten-, and eleven-year-olds in blindfolds. I could only continue to smile my vapid, painted-on smile as these same children proceeded to hit me all about the head and body with a four-foot length of PVC pipe. Oh, the cruelty of man to man!

I endured their blows for at least a half an hour while the parents and leaders of these little heathens stood around the circle and cheered them on. Despite the fact that I was only made of paper, I held firm and determined not to let them break me. Even as a piece of my foot and a part of my sweet, sugary innards fell, I remained strong.

Unfortunately, once the small torturers lost interest, the adults around the circle took over. A brawny man, who professed to be the parent of one of the yapping children, declared that he would finish me off. He took hold of the PVC pipe and gave a mighty swing.

I could feel the force of the blow coming, and although I tried to brace myself, my strength was spent at last. I could only stare and smile in amazement as my neck separated from my head, and my blue-clad body dropped on the savage crowd below. They fell on my sad remains like a flock of ravening vultures, snarling and grabbing with abandon and extreme bad manners.

But what was this? Could it be? As I gasped out my last, I felt the glory of sweet revenge. As the deathblow was struck, the PVC object of my pain broke in two, and the severed end flew forth like the arrow of justice and took out two of my tormentors. One was merely grazed, but the other, one Caleb Tyler, received the force of the pipe full on in the middle of his forehead, causing a huge ruckus, raising an enormous goose egg, and resulting in a trip to the emergency room. And thus, my glorious end is a lesson to all who would meddle with . . . Cub Scout piñatas!

CUWP How-To Examples

Cat Bathing as a Martial Art
Beginner Crochet Block
How to Look like a Real Zombie
How to plan the perfect Twilight trip to Forks, Washington
How to Moonwalk like Michael Jackson