aardent lore

Third week into my summer break and I’m all ready behind in my goals. First there are all the household chores and DIY jobs that don’t get done while school’s in session. In addition, there’s the time I want to spend with my children and grandchildren, and with my significant other. Then there are new hobbies, like sewing, that I’ve taken up. I’ve got a reading list that’s about a mile long. Finally, of course, there is putting into use all these technology tools I’ve been learning about.

Most of my computer time has been spent learning Moodle, adding modules, and creating what ever lessons I can of an English course, even through I still haven’t been told exactly what I’ll be teaching next year. I’ve also started cataloging my personal and classroom libraries on Shelfari and adding a widgets to my blog. (Hat tip to a whole new dianne for leading me to Shelfari.) I still have nearly 500 books to add. My list of “what I need to accomplish before school starts” is looking a bit daunting.

As a result, blogging time is severely limited. And, because I find myself getting very distracted, twittering has been off limits.

I’ve got an appointment with my APC on Monday, and he assures me that he will have a definite answer to my “What am I teaching?” question. That will, at least, give me some direction to take with Moodle.

Bottom line, I need more time.

I’ve used Garageband to produce voice audio files, but never to create music.  I found an article in April’s issue of MacLife that looked promising.  So, I gave it a whirl.  Going through the step-by-step reminded me that I know very little about creating music.  But, after playing around with Garageband I also realized that even someone like me can produce sounds that at least resemble music.  This little project also gave me a chance to practice using podPress.

 

 Playing Around [0:42m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Granted, this needs a lot of work, but it’s the first thing I’ve written for myself in many, many years

It’s hurricane season in sunny Florida. For the harried tourists that means afternoon showers that turn hot and humid days into inhumanly hot and humid days. For me, a near enough native permanently transplanted here in the early 70s when my father decided he’d spent enough time being a gunnery sergeant and instead wanted to try being a teacher, and who’s ancestors migrated to Clearwater from Niagara Falls and Buffalo to escape the crippling effects of too much snow shoveling, hurricane season means racing the rain.
I raced today.
The rain caught me as I picked up Kat, my granddaughter who, like her Meemaw, knows how to race the rain. I taught her. I taught her how to dance in the rain, and to gather rain lilies, and to propagate puddles by pouncing precisely in their middle, and I taught her a hundred other life lessons that little girls need to know in order to learn to laugh, and love, and live.
I knew before I got into my car that the rain was on its way, begging a race. The still air becomes heavy and thick, and it smells like water that stands too long in a puddle. Breathing in the fat, musty atmosphere, I pointed my rusty Kia towards the nearest Starbucks, determined to get an hours worth of reading in before taxiing Kat home from day camp.
Cozy beneath the shade of an umbrella, I dove into Seeing Red and gulped my whipped cream free, double venti moca frappachino. A moment of indulgence to savor, and savor I did, until a faint breeze began to tussle my hair and I saw the shadow of my umbrella climb over the end of my table. Rain was coming.
Looking into the breeze, I knew I’d find it. Across the street, the first wisps of steam began to rise off the asphalt. The patrons at the next table scrambled to collect their newspapers and plastic cups, nodding politely as they rushed past me and into the coffee shop. A warning droplet smacked me in the forearm, announcing the rain’s intention to cross the street. Time for me to go.
I needed to get to Kat before the rain did.
The angle and speed of the rain told me that this would be a close race. I planned my route and estimated the time it would take; I could make it, I mused, as long as the traffic lights were friendly.
Cutting over to Fifth Avenue, memories of racing the rain sprinkled across my thoughts.

I’m standing on the shore of Clearwater beach beside my little brothers; we are dressed in identical sailor suits. With tiny plastic shovels, we are digging a hole in the sand so deep that we expect it will take us to China, but the water keeps bubbling up from beneath and we think we might drown if we tried to get to China this way. My youngest brother suggests that maybe Mommy can drive us to China, instead.Our interest in the China tunnel fades as we look across to find that the gulf is alive with plopping sounds that beat against the surf. Above our heads great dark clouds begin to blossom, and the ocean before us seems determined to become one with the sky; millions and millions of droplets dance over the waves and head for shore. Behind us the voice of our aunt raises an alarm, “Run. Get to the car before the rain gets you.”
We run as fast as tiny legs can take us. We run and we laugh. The rain is faster than tiny feet and catches us before we reach the parking lot. At first dainty droplets tap us lightly on our heads and shoulders, but then the droplets grow enormous and pelt us from every direction. We lift our faces to the heavens and twirl around in delightful defiance of the dark, dense clouds gathering overhead.
Memories washed over me until, splat, hefty raindrops cover my windshield and force me to turn on the wipers and pay closer attention to my driving. I’d been caught. No other choice but to turn into the camp parking lot and shuffle Kat quickly into the Kia. Of course, Kat and I were determined not to let the rain win. We raced off toward home, intent on engaging the rain in another race. We pulled out of the downpour about five minutes from my daughter’s house.
On the porch, Kat and I sat watching the rain approach. Well, I sat. Kat practiced her twirls in delightful anticipation of the coming deluge.

Will Richardson’s wordle looked so cool, I had to try it out for myself.

So, this is a lame example of a VoiceThread, but I wanted to practice embedding media. This web-based resource is one of my favorite finds. I was able to share this with a dozen or so teachers at the farewell CTIP meeting in May. My intention is to share VoiceThread with my students next year. Unless, that is, my efforts are thwarted, once again, by an inaccessible computer lab and a continuously closed media center.

Wordpress problems are solved, no thanks to my ex-host.  Moved to HostGator. Took less than an hour to transfer everything.  Cool.  Also got started with Moodle and TikiWiki.  Tried out Twitter, and got a friendly welcome from cburell.  Dude, are you always online.

I accomplished stuff.  That always makes for a happy day.

I’m attempting to manually upgrade Wordpress. I am afraid. I am very afraid. I think-hope I’ve taken all steps necessary to secure the site…if not…I bid you all farewell…temporarily at least.

I haven’t done this kind of thing for a year now. This is not like riding a bike.

My head hurts.

UPDATE: There are five files in Wordpress 2.5.1 that I’m unable to upload to my server. I spent most of the yesterday trying to get these files uploaded and the problem even stumped my server’s support team. How the files are named is causing all the trouble. There are too many (.)s in the file names. I’m in wait mode now to see if the support team can come up with a solution.

UPDATE 2: My host, Dot5Hosting, has not come through to fix this issue as of yet. I spent an hour explaining the situation to tech support via live chat, only to be told that an expert would have to look into the problem. Apparently, the issue was not clearly defined for the expert, because I received a “resolved” message stating that the expert was able to upload a file to my site, so there was no issue. I responded to the “resolved” message by explaining the situation all over again. I also went to the Wordpress forum for help; maybe they can at least tell me how to tell my host to fix this. Again, I’m in wait mode. I detest wait mode. It gets me cranky.

The concept of grading student work is one with which I continue to struggle. I’ve been reproached, by parents, students and administrators, for not having enough graded assignments during a grading period. How exactly am I supposed to define “enough”. My students claim they deserve a grade for everything they do. Parents, the ones who actually look at my grade book, generally expect daily grade posts. I’ve had administrators suggest that I post at least one test grade and one assignment grade per week. My question is always: Why should I assign a grade to student work when what most of my students need is relevant feedback that leads to a higher level of understanding and mastery of the concept being learned? I’m waiting for an answer I can swallow without choking.

Clay Burell’s post brought the grading enigma back to the forefront of my post-school year reflective mind. I’m still ingesting the post. He’s given me much to feed upon.

I’m not happy with how I served up grades this year. My attempts to make my grades meaningful ended in failure; I accomplished nothing more than to feed the machine. Mind now, no one complained about or questioned my grading system. That knowledge does nothing to placate my discontent.

I imagine that there are teachers who have solved this conundrum.

Alas, my thoughts are beginning to dissolve into random chaos. A clear signal that I need to stop thinking on this until my thoughts regain some sense of order.

For a year now I’ve spent my early morning hours as a lerker. My iMac rises at 4 a.m., and I log on to Bloglines to check my feeds. They are waiting there for me. The big boys of edublogs: Stephen Downes, Scott McLeod, Karl Fisch, Will Richardson, Doug Noon, David Warlick, Ewan McIntosh, Clay Burell, and TMAO. I read. I watch. I listen. I don’t participate. I don’t contribute. Up until now, I’ve been content to lerk.

For a year now these giants of the genre have filled my head with wonders great and terrible. I found Richardson, first. Bought his book. Read it twice. Set up a Bloglines account and started subscribing. Burell and TMAO, though my last subscriptions, are my favorite reads. They are were I am. In the classroom. Or, at least they were until here and here. Downs is the hardest to digest. He’s overwhelming and often way over my head. But he leads me to some of the best web tools, so I keep reading.

For a year now these rulers of the realm have given me the feeling that I am inadequate. Unprepared. Incapable of contributing anything meaningful to their discussions. I’m used to leading discussions. I cut my teeth on bulletin boards and forums before blogs were born. So, I slipped into the role of lerker. Lerk and learn.

Now, it’s time to try out what I’ve learned. No more lerking ’round. Time to find my voice.

I’ve tried this before. Twice. Third time, so it is said, is a charm.

What kept me from making the most of my blog?

Lack of direction.

Lack of time.

I think, now that I’ve had a chance to read blogs written by “professionals”, I’ve got it now. My direction, at least. Time is another matter. There is just never enough of it. It’s summer, so I’m in commitment mode. Always good intentions. Then classes begin. I forget. Lose sight of my original direction. Get tired.

Maybe this time will be different. Maybe.