(Almost) Wordless Wednesday

Here I sit

On this beautiful summer day

Marveling at the peacefulness,

the quiet

A little over a week ago

On a beautiful summer day

Slamming lockers

Laughing

Shouting

Marveling at the noise

#Write2Connect

Here I sit, wrapped in my cuddly blanket, coffee in hand, Chloe beside me, thinking about writing, thinking about all the ways it appears in my life. It's the National Day on Writing (school edition) and it seems only natural that I write.

I write about my writing periodically.

I've written about what I write and why I write  and again, what I write.

I've written when I don't have anything to write about.

I've written about tough stuff.

At times I've written about the ugly times in a writing class, but usually I write about the fun stuff.

I reflect on what writer's need and more specifically, what boy writer's need.

And sometimes, I let Chloe write.

But as I said in a previous post, "And, now, I'm back. Writing for me. Writing because I can't imagine not writing. Writing about life so the world (well, mostly the grandkids) knows I was here. Writing so others know I cared."  

What has kept me writing this blog is the connections I have made. Wonderful readers who take the time to comment, who take the time to share with me. It's amazing the friends I have throughout the world just because of this little blog. And some, even drive hours to come and visit me (and my classroom). What could have been weird and awkward, wasn't. It felt like meeting with a long lost friend because we knew each other through our blogs.

I don't only connect through the blog. My Facebook feed is slowly turning into more than a game space. Connections I have made through my blog have become friends. Many groups and teachers have pages now where ideas are shared freely. Twitter and several Twitter chats also connect me to other teachers and their amazing ideas. 

In fact, it was through Twitter connections that a new writing project for my students came to be. We are now sharing our blogs with some high school students from two other high schools in other parts of the state. So far, we've read and commented on each others, but I think all the teachers involved have more in mind as we head through the school year. My freshmen also commented on the blogs of some third graders in our district one Monday, just for fun. 

Today, I will plead with my Creative Writing students to tweet out links to their digital storytelling projects. As I watched their videos last night, I laughed and cried and gasped aloud at the amazing things they shared. Some were so personal, I hurt for them. But I also cheered at their amazing spirits and their courage to continue on another day. Some shared stories of family members who impact their daily lives. Love came through those stories. They need to know their stories matter and those stories need to be shared. 

So we will talk about connecting with the world.

Because that's what writing can do. 

The Sounds of Silence

Join me slicing at Two Writing Teachers

Quiet conversations:

"Did you hear about those women who were rescued? I can't believe someone would do that. Keep them prisoner for so long."

"Hey, Mark, my battery lasted six years longer than it was supposed to.

"When we jumped it, we had to leave it on a long time."

"Mrs. Day, what about the mini-assignments? We never did those, and they are on our portfolio sheet."

"Now that, that took a long time."

Kids typing, birds chirping, noses sniffling.

These are the quiet sounds I am listening to this morning. So unusual for this class, which is normally loud and crazy and a great way to start the day.

I miss the energy they exude....

But they are being "productive."

Successes

I've done three things a bit differently this semester. In January, I began giving my freshmen 10 minutes

every day

to read the book of their choice.  I wasn't sure how it would go. 

They hate to read.

And then, at the beginning of fourth quarter, I added a blogging challenge. I post on Sunday. Their post is due the next Sunday.

                                                                 They hate to write.

And then, I began instituting Genius Time every Friday (except for this Friday. I have to be gone. We've had a week. I was gone two days last week. We just needed to do the mainstream on Friday).

They hate to think.

You want to know something? 

I was wrong. 

They proved me wrong.

They read every day.

and they don't hate it.

(Well, not most of them)

In fact, they have read more than I thought possible. Someone asks me every day for a new book recommendation. I'm running out of ideas for some of them. And I once thought they'd never find books on their own. But you know what?  Not only are some finding them on their own, but they recommend to others. And although they don't like every book I recommend or they pick out, they give them a fair chance and have a good reason to abandon the book. I'm OK with this. Life's too short to read bad books. My students are becoming discriminating. I count this as a success.

They write every week (most of them)

and they are getting pretty good.

When we first started blogging, the posts weren't all that good. They did the minimum and that was about it. Their thinking was shallow. I thought about quitting. But I didn't. And I'm glad. I've had some say, "This post was pretty fun." There are posts that are so thoughtful I have to read them again. Some are writing twice as much as they did when I started.  I count this as a success. 

They have passions.

They are figuring out how to make movies, learning about what a grandfather endured during WWII and  concentration camps and POW's, figuring out how to write songs and what their dreams mean. Today when I told them I would be gone tomorrow and gave them the itinerary for the day, I heard this, "It's Friday. Why aren't we doing Genius Time?" I explained. They understood. But I better not take it away next week. I count this as a success.

But here's the thing. 

Would the state, would the testing count these as successes? I don't know. I have't seen test scores for my students yet. I'm not sure I want to see them. But maybe I do. An email from our principal said, "Preliminary analysis of the results are favorable for the high school. Some of the data is shockingly positive." I don't know if that means my kids, but I know the results in my classroom are positive. 

And I count that as a success.

Today It Happened

Back in mid-October I (and Linda, from TeacherDance) received an email from our friend , Christy (Rush-Levine). Ruth (as in Ayres) was going to visit and observe in her classroom. She was a little nervous about Ruth coming to her room. I could sympathize, I mean, after all, it was RUTH!

Here's what Christy said to me, "  I mean, it's Ruth we're talking about here.  She gets things right.  What if Friday turns out to be one of those days--you know, the kind where you feel like you are playing whack-a-mole more than you are teaching?  What if where I am in implementing a workshop approach is "so two years ago" in Ruth's world?  These are the thoughts that keep me up at night.  Well, those and what do I wear?"  (Yes, Christy, I still have the emails)

After the visit, another email. This one full of excitement about the visit and the things she took away from it. Ruth posted about the experience also. I was so jealous of the experience they had together. They are both teachers and writers that I admire and to think of the two of them together in the same room. Wow. I could only imagine the smart conversations taking place.

And, oh yeah, there was also this part of the email,  "The past two days were absolutely incredible.  Ruth posted about the power of observation as professional development; it is so true.  Even as the person being observed, I was pushed to grow as I explained my practices and listened to their responses.  

My first thought as soon as they left was, "I need to find a way to visit Deb's classroom."  I am not sure a visit to see Linda is in my budget, but that was my second thought.  I am serious.  Can we work something out Deb?  How far away from Chicago are you?  Could I make that drive in a day?  I would plan to stay in a hotel overnight, of course, but are you close enough to make it work?  Would I be allowed to come observe?"

Of course, I said yes.

But, I didn't think it would really happen. 

And then in March, there was another email. Christy had spring break in April. Could she come then?

Of course I said yes.

But, I didn't think it would really happen.

Emails went back and forth. Details worked out.

She was coming to visit!

But, I didn't think it would really happen.

But today

It did. 

I'll have more to write tomorrow about this incredible visit. I've got lots to think about and reflect on. The power of observation....

Don't Be Boring...

I love my drama class.

Most of them are my "Speech kids"...those kids who work with me from November through March to go to contest.  But there are also about five who just took Drama because they needed an English credit. They are, however, very talented and fit right in with my kids.

The assignment I give the first day of school is called "Don't Be Boring".  Students can do anything they want in one to three minutes. They just can't be boring.  It's purpose is to get them to perform right away. There's nothing worse than waiting for days before you have to perform in front of the class, even if you know them well.

This class showed some talent--I had a student play the ukelele and sing a Jason Mraz song. One sang, another played her clarinet, several told stories.

And when we were done, they wanted to do it again.

They seemed to have a new found respect for the others in the class--especially those they didn't know well.

"I just learn so much about people with this," said one of my senior contest speech students.

So, we planned another one for last Friday.  A couple were gone, and we ran out of time for a couple of others, so we finished up on Monday.

Again, I was blown away by some of the talent in my classroom. This time we had an acting piece, someone played piano on computer and we went to the band room for a percussion piece. There were also two dance numbers and several oral interpretation pieces

When the last person performed today, the same contest speech senior said, "Why aren't these people out for speech?"

"Yea," said another. "These are better than most of the things we saw at districts. And they didn't have much practice time."

Why indeed.

There are several things I love about this. But the main one is that my very talented contest speech students recognize talent when they see it. And instead of viewing this talent as competition, they look at great additions to our team. And they encourage and recruit those people to join us.

And the next "Don't Be Boring" Day is scheduled for September 21.  I can't wait to see what they come up with next.

She Sits Alone

I watch her during the night. Sitting there in a dress that is very much her, yet somehow, strangely wrong. A little too short. A little too tight in the wrong places. A little too much.  It must be hard, sitting there alone on the bleachers while most of those around her dance as if their lives depended on it. She tries to look like she is having a good time, but knowing her, she has put a happy face on her anger and despondency.

For half the night, I thought she came by herself.  Some do. But she wouldn't--not without her posse. So she must have a date somewhere.  Ahhh, there he is. Sitting at a table in the cafeteria with his buddies. He's a quiet kid. Very unlike her. How did they become prom dates? He,  a fringe of the popular crowd. She, one of the wild ones.  His friends are all here, hanging out together while their girlfriends dance.  She isn't friends with the girls. Doesn't think much of them, I know.

So she sits alone on the bleachers....

Later I see her in the senior hallway, phone plugged in to the lone outlet. She stands, texting the friends that stayed away. Those who make fun of the prom goers, even as they realize, they would be out of place in this secret garden of high school drama.

A cynical laugh as we talk, "It's awkward, you know."  An old boyfriend is there with his new girl.
"He keeps trying to talk to me, but..."  She lets the sentence hang there, much like she has been left to hang.

"Well, at least you found a plug in."

That laugh again.

She finds me later, in the gym.

"I feel sorry for him," and she points to a young man I don't know, sitting alone on the bleachers.

"Who is he?"

"E's ex. They broke up like a couple of weeks ago. But they had his prom last weekend and hers this weekend, so they decided to still go together.  But she just left him sitting there. I feel sorry for him.  I think I'll go talk to him."

She skips over to the bleachers, trying, I know, to look like the giddy high school girl she is not.

I see her as the dance is ending. "I think I'm going home. A is tired and so am I. Think I'll just go home and crash."

"Good plan," I say.

And put an end to this night of sitting alone on the bleachers, I think.

Failure

Failure is a funny thing.
If we don't do something quite right, we failed.
If we don't connect with each and every student, we failed.
If, heaven forbid, a student has more issues than we can deal with, we fail.

We tend to focus on the one
Forgetting about the many.
We want a magic potion to fix what needs fixing.
We want the giant S we wear under our clothing to mean something.

What we really need to do is
Be kind to ourselves.
We need to realize
Even the wisest people on the planet
have failed.
And sometimes, a student has to have the desire
To succeed.

Where the Love of Reading Goes to Die

High School.

Ask a high school kid if they like to read. They will look at you like you are nuts. Like to read? No one wants to admit to that.  I've written about this before but after Ruth's post last week, I want to add a few more thoughts.

I blithely posted on Ruth site that high school is where the love of reading goes to die, but that's not the entire truth.  It's a slow lingering death. It starts earlier than high school.

I talk to my high school kids (I know, what a concept). They are extraordinarily honest about teachers and classes and how they think things should be taught. We talk about reading.

They hate being told what to read and they hate analyzing everything to death.
They hate answering comprehension questions about every short story and novel they read.
They hate discussing in lit circles.
They understand the need to do some of these things with some things they read. They just don't want to do it for everything.

Sometimes, they tell me, they just want to read.

• They want time to read the Hunger Games before the movie comes out.
• They want time to read The Fault in Our Stars because everyone on Twitter is talking about how great it is.
• They want time to read a book slowly and savor it. Not hurry up and finish so they can take the test.
• They want time to read a book overnight because it is so good they can't put it down.

And why don't high school teachers give them time?

• Some because they are trying to desperately get through an amazing amount of material because their class is a prerequisite for the next class. It seems frivolous to give a day "just to read".
• Some because they are told what to teach and when to teach it. They don't want to be seen as a "troublemaker" and break the rules.
• Some because state testing is cause for concern and they have to address those areas that students are low in.
• Some because they have 160 students to see in a day and finding the right book for each and every one of them seems an impossible task.
• Ditto on the reading conferences, book talks, etc.

I know this is pretty simplistic. I also know there are teachers at every level who

• don't read 
• who use the same materials over and over again because they don't want to have to bother to create something new
• who haven't read a YA novel since The Outsiders
• who think that YA literature is a vast wasteland with no redeeming value

I know how hard it is to give them time. But given the chance, we read.

When Did That Happen?

Pop

Pop Pop Pop

Pop Pop Pop Pop 

Pop Pop Pop Pop Pop

Pop Pop Pop Pop Pop Pop 

Pop Pop Pop Pop Pop Pop Pop

The

Leaves

On 

My 

Tree

Popped

Out

Today!

I'm a spring checker.  Constantly on the look out for the signs that winter is over and spring has truly arrived.  I peek under leaf cover for signs of my honeysuckle coming up.  My little patch of violets are blooming. The peonies are peeking through and the Black-eyed Susans are four inches high!

So how did I miss the leaves on the maple tree?  Really. I know they weren't there yesterday!

11/22/63

I'm reading Stephen King's newest book 11/22/63--I've been reading it for several weeks and love it.  But this is a dense read. You know what I mean? It takes lots of stamina, lots of thinking, lots of connecting.

When movies are made of King's stories, he often appears in small, inconsequential parts. Little cameos.  I love to watch for him and see where he pops up. His books are often similar--especially this one. He throws in references and characters and settings from his other books.  Those references don't take away any enjoyment or understanding for those new to his books, but to those of us who've read them all, reading his books is like a treasure hunt. You must find the Easter eggs.

King creates his characters slowly and with care--even minor characters who would normally be overlooked and ignored. He creates worlds that require readers to suspend their disbelief and live vicariously through characters. He creates unbelievable situations and makes them so realistic, readers have to stop and remind themselves that's its all make believe.

11/22/63 is King at his finest.

Amazon.com review
On November 22, 1963, three shots rang out in Dallas, President Kennedy died, and the world changed. What if you could change it back? Stephen King’s heart-stoppingly dramatic new novel is about a man who travels back in time to prevent the JFK assassination—a thousand page tour de force.

Following his massively successful novel Under the Dome, King sweeps readers back in time to another moment—a real life moment—when everything went wrong: the JFK assassination. And he introduces readers to a character who has the power to change the course of history.

Jake Epping is a thirty-five-year-old high school English teacher in Lisbon Falls, Maine, who makes extra money teaching adults in the GED program. He receives an essay from one of the students—a gruesome, harrowing first person story about the night 50 years ago when Harry Dunning’s father came home and killed his mother, his sister, and his brother with a hammer. Harry escaped with a smashed leg, as evidenced by his crooked walk.

Not much later, Jake’s friend Al, who runs the local diner, divulges a secret: his storeroom is a portal to 1958. He enlists Jake on an insane—and insanely possible—mission to try to prevent the Kennedy assassination. So begins Jake’s new life as George Amberson and his new world of Elvis and JFK, of big American cars and sock hops, of a troubled loner named Lee Harvey Oswald and a beautiful high school librarian named Sadie Dunhill, who becomes the love of Jake’s life—a life that transgresses all the normal rules of time.

A tribute to a simpler era and a devastating exercise in escalating suspense, 11/22/63 is Stephen King at his epic best.

My Favorites: 2011

Want to read some other great slices?  Check out TwoWritingTeachers!

The end of 2011 is also bringing to an end my first year blogging.  Although I didn't start Coffee With Chloe until March, I started a different blog elsewhere in January.  Last night I deleted that blog.  It just didn't fit with my blogging life.

As I read through many of my posts, I sometimes wondered how I had the nerve to publish some of them.  They certainly weren't very good. Others I read almost as if I was reading them for the first time--I almost didn't remember writing them.

And then there were the old friends.  The ones I loved as I was writing them. And, I think that love shows in the writing of them.  I always preach to kids to write what they love--I guess that goes for me too!

So, here they are, from the early ones to the latest ones. My favorites posts of this past year. Not necessarily the most popular--but the posts that I loved writing.

1. Puppy Kisses  The first, the scariest.  I introduced Chloe and myself to a whole new world.  I'll never forget clicking "publish" for the first time and then figuring out how to link this post to the TWT site.  It amazes me I was that brave!
2. Look Gramma, It's a Princess  I write many posts about the grandkids.  This story is a particular favorite. I still remember that day vividly.  I don't know that I did it justice with my words, but for me it was important to record the memory.
3. Dance With the Red Dog  Another Chloe post.  I like this one because it gives readers a glimpse into my mornings.  This is a dance I perform daily.
4. Goat Dog  I wrote a lot about Chloe at the beginning of this blog.  She is a constant source of inspiration.  
5. Lake of the Spirit  "The Lake" is another favorite topic of mine.  This piece shares why. Also, it's the first time Alan Wright commented on a post of mine. I admire his blog so much so this seemed like a milestone!
6. Today I Walk  Funny. This wasn't on my list last night, but as I saw the title this morning and I reread it, it made the list.  I miss my dad a lot.  And our school memory walk is something I am proud of since I was on the original committee that started it.  This piece still makes me cry.
7. Just Read I am passionate about my teaching, my students and reading and writing.  This piece did create great conversation and introduced me to The Book Whisperer.
8. Flying Books  A moment in my classroom that made a difference to a few kids.  At the end of the semester, a couple of them came and asked me if they could still check out books from my room even if they didn't have me for class next semester.  Now that's success.
9. Let It Be Me  More than my teaching, I am passionate about my students.  There are always a few I would take home with me if I could.  This piece and the poem Throw Away Kids are about two of my students this year.  Unfortunately, the young lady in this piece has dropped out of school (well, technically, she's being home-schooled). I'm happy to say, the young man from Throw Away Kids and Just Gone is back and with me.    
10. Time  This post ran through my head so many days that it almost wrote itself.  

So, from Chloe and I, our favorite posts.  Thanks for stopping by!

Living and Learning With Passion

Last week was Demonstration Speech week in my speech classes. I think it's my second favorite speech that students give. With this speech I learn my students' passions.  I learn what gets them excited about life.  Students who may struggle with other speeches shine when they give this one because this is where they live and love. This is something they enjoy.

I took pictures for the yearbook of students presenting their speeches, and wish I had them with me to include. You see, the speeches don't just take place in my classroom. The kids present everywhere. We were in the gym (lots of volleyball speeches), the parking lot (I think I could change my own tire after that one), on the track (learned to throw a shot put and do the long jump), and the back lawn behind the building (I can throw a pretty good spiral now).

Passion.

And then Friday night at the lake, we had a little jam session in the store at the resort:

Here are guys, doing what they love. It might not be their job, but they kept their passion in their life. Some plays gigs on weekends, but they all play for themselves and for the joy it brings to their life.

Passion.

Today, I traveled with four like-minded teacher friends three hours from our hometown to visit another high school. We're observing a new way to teach kids. We'll be observing in classrooms of what I am sure are other like-minded teachers.  We have one thing in common--finding new and better ways to reach students.  We are passionate about our teaching and becoming better at  it.

Passion.

What's yours?

Random Acts

Two random acts prompt this post--one positive, one negative.  Both have me thinking about how my actions affect others. My mind is a jumble of thoughts and ideas about this, so I hope this post makes sense.

Random Act #1
The volleyball team and their supporters proudly wore their new t-shirts yesterday. They were cute. A team builder phrase on front. Unfortunately, one with a double meaning. My second thought when I saw them was, "Oh, this could be trouble."

And it was.

As I walked through the office, a young man wearing the shirt was standing there waiting to see our new principal to see if the shirt was school appropriate.  Why only this young man?  He's a former SSB!  He's made bad choices in the past, but this year seems to be trying to correct himself. But where are the 20 others wearing this shirt? Nowhere to be seen. No one sent them to the office...

Unfair to pick on one. Totally. Unfair.

And demoralizing to the young man. I'm sure he thinks, "What's the point?"

We need to think about how our actions and words affect a person before we single them out.

(on the bright side, the team stuck up for this young man. Good girls!)

Random Act #2
Through Slice of Life I found a great post about a random act of kindness. A barista at Starbucks offered to make her a new cup of coffee after she spilled hers on the way out the door (You really need to read the post!). The Barista said to her, "I want to make your day better."

How awesome would this be if we all thought that in dealing with the people around us.

I wish I was that kind of person. Sometimes I am. But many times I am not.  I had a chance after school yesterday to make someone's day better and instead opted for for making them do something they should do, but if I had done it, it would have made their day better. I wish I felt bad about it, but I don't.   Sometimes people need to do things for themselves.  But it would have been easier for me to do it and it would have made their day nicer....

So here's to thinking about how we affect others and making their day better.

Slacker

Not the boy in the blog, but this is what he looks like

Usually in the hall he looks full of energy. He greets most people with high fives or the boy shove that is so popular. I get a "Hey, Mrs. Day." as he strolls into my room. There, he slumps in his desk in the front of the room (his choice) and waits for me to start class. Sometimes I swear his eyes glaze over as I speak. He will participate some days and when he does, he obviously knows what is going on. Some would say he should know what's going on--he's been through this part of speech before.

Head on his desk, eyes semi-closed. It's time to work on an assignment and his book isn't even open. 

I've know this young man since he was a seventh grader, back when I taught junior high. Always a slacker, this is the third time he has been enrolled in speech. Oh, he's never failed it. He just never completes the semester. He moved one year and dropped out the next. So here he sits in my class. A senior, who must pass speech in order to graduate. How will that ever happen?  Many would give up on him now. It's his problem if he doesn't pass.

But

Here's what I learned from a speech last week.  He's working a forty hour week at a local factory. Goes in at 4:00pm and most nights gets off at 2:30am. He does his homework (when he does it) when he gets home because he can't go to sleep right away. He goes to bed about 4:00am. School starts at 8:15am. He usually gets up at 7:30am, quickly showers and dresses and races to school from a small town about eight miles away. No breakfast. 

That's why his eyes glaze over and he wants to sleep in class. 

We talked about him at lunch the other day. One teacher didn't think it was legal for him to work those hours, even if he is 18, since he is still in school. We could probably call and report him to the factory or report the factory, but that won't help anything.  

I think he needs the job and the money. I don't believe there is much support from home. 

But, he also needs to graduate.

So, I've done the best I could. The guidance counselor and I decided that moving him to another class and moving his study hall to first hour might help. With a study hall first hour he could get homework done then. And if he would fall asleep, at least it's study hall and not a class.

They didn't teach me about this in methods class....

Update
I wrote this piece this morning before school. I've since learned that the GO talked to him yesterday and the young man refused to change classes. He thinks it is better to have a morning class because it gets him moving for the day.  Of course, he didn't show up for class this morning...

The Outlaws

Last night I went to a free concert in Arnold's Park with my husband and a friend.  They are both music lover's (not that I don't like music, but not like these guys!) and my husband, especially, had been looking forward to hearing the opening band, The Outlaws.  I had never heard of them. Evidently they were around back in the 70's.  It also happened to be the Polaris Victory Rally.

 A motorcycle rally.
Motorcycles--something I will never understand.

But it was a great night for people watching. I didn't take my writer's notebook with me, but I sure filled it in with details when I got home!

Anyway, this poem comes from that experience.

The Outlaws

Graying,
Long-Haired hippies.
Faces lined with the
Evidence of hard living.
Trying to recapture
What it was like to be
Seventeen again.
Or twenty-one.
Or young.
Dancing in place
To music that resonates with them.
They feel it
Loud and pounding,
Vibrating the ground,
Crashing right to their soul.

And for an hour they are
Young again
With plans to take on the world.

Like all of us.

Do they still have those dreams?
Do they still have those ideals?
Do they still have the reckless abandon
That stereotyped them?

Or
Are they part of the mainstream
In their everyday life?
Regretting choices not made.

Graying,
Long-Haired hippies
Trying to recapture
Their Youth.

Saturday Morning Parade

It's Saturday morning at the lake--check out day for those who rent cabins. As I sit here reading and writing this post, the parade of cars and boats has been constant.

They look tired, these vacationers. They cram a lot of fun into seven days. Late nights, early mornings, hot weather, swimming boating, trips to Arnold's Park.  Lots of vacation in seven days.  And (to me), they also look sad as they see me sitting under my umbrella with a mug of coffee in my hand. Oh, if we only had a trailer like that I hear them think as they pass by.

In a couple of hours, there will be a parade of a different kind. The new renters. Full of excitement, they will unload what they believe they will need for a week of fun in the sun. Much too much stuff, but for now, it seems essential. The floaties will appear on the beach. Towels will be flung over the deck railings, wood piled beside the fire pit, coolers close at hand. And they will cram a summer's worth of fun into seven days.

And then, they will leave.

Chloe and her new haircut!

Chloe watches the vacationers intently as they leave today. She knows she's a lucky dog. We'll be here for a couple of weeks. And even when we leave, we'll be back in a week. They will have to wait another year.

The Lady in Pink

photo © 2009 Manu | more info (via: Wylio)
She has been in my head for two days--ever since I saw her across the restaurant. At first, from the back, I thought she was a teenager, but when she sat at the table next to us, I saw she was much older. Probably in her late 70's, although she could have been younger. Her face was so kindly, it was hard to determine her age.

I think it was the way she had her hair pulled back that gave the impression of a teenager. There was a little pink scarf wrapped around the bun she had put up on the back of her head. A slight woman, she pulled off the head to toe pink outfit very well. One of friends thought she looked very Southern, and I'd have to agree, although we never heard her speak. She was very proper looking in her pink flower-print skirt that flared out as it hit just below her knees.  A pink knit top with a coordinating pink sweater buttoned over her shoulders, gave her an old time librarian look.

But the best part for us were her shoes--canvas slip-ons. Pink, of course, with white polka dots. They seemed to give her such a playful, carefree appearance.
I watched her eat--cutting her muffin and fruit very daintily, very precisely. She chewed each bite before she spoke.  Elbows off the table. Politely listened to her companion who was dressed in jeans and a dark shirt, as if to give the stage totally to her--the Lady in Pink. She was a lesson in old time manners. A throwback to days gone by....