Buddies and Mummies....

This year my 6th grade class has teamed up with the 1st grade class in our school to be Reading Buddies. Every Friday we meet together to read and learn. Today was the last Friday of the first quarter and also the last Friday we meet before Halloween, so we had a little celebration. After the 6th graders and their 1st grade partners were finished with their reading they all came back into my classroom to have a little fun creating their mummies before we had a treat and watched poor Charlie Brown and Linus waiting for the Great Pumpkin.  There were lots of smiles and laughs and I'd have to say the 1st and 6th grade mummies turned out pretty well.

Turning pages...

As I was pondering what to write in this post I was reminded of a news story I'd heard about Borders bookstores closing. One of the reasons given was because they didn't "keep up with the times" by catering to the online crowd. It saddened me in a way.

Now, I will admit that I have bought my share of e-books. I can take 1 book, 10 books, or 50 books along in my purse on my iPod or iPad and read anywhere. It's convenient and easy.

Still, there's something about holding a book in your hands. Turning pages. The feel and weight of the paper in your hands. The crisp smell of a new book, or the slightly musty smell of an old classic.

I was reminded of the movie "You've Got Mail." How "The Shop Around the Corner" ultimately falls victim to Fox Books. One clinging to the past, the other storming into the future.

Myself, I'd like to believe there's a happy medium out there between new technology and old, between the ease and convenience of an online bookstore and the comfort and feeing of greeting an old friend when I browse through the pages of a book in a cozy bookstore, hidden in an old building or the middle of a mall.

What do you think? 

The power of words ...

                                                                                THE READING MOTHER

Strickland Gillilan

I HAD A MOTHER who read to me 

Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea, 

Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth, 

"Blackbirds" stowed in the hold beneath

I had a Mother who read me lays 

Of ancient and gallant and golden days; 

Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe, 

Which every boy has a right to know.

I had a Mother who read me tales 

Of Celert the hound of the hills of Wales, 

True to his trust till his tragic death, 

Faithfulness blent with his final breath.

I had a Mother who read me the things 

That wholesome life to the boy heart brings- 

Stories that stir with an upward touch, 

Oh, that each mother of boys were such.

You may have tangible wealth untold; 

Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold. 

Richer than I you can never be --

I had a Mother who read to me.

I "borrowed" this picture from my sister-in-law's blog, because it captures such a perfect moment. (Thanks, Jenny!)

I love this poem because it is so true.

I was fortunate to have not just a "reading mother" but a "reading father," too. Some of my fondest memories can be tied to books. Listening as my parents introduced me to:
 "The Little House on the Prairie" books,
"The Chronicles of Narnia,"
"Charlie, and the Chocolate Factory,"
 "The Door in the Wall"
 (and so many more)
  filled my mind with a thirst for knowledge and my heart with a love for the written word.

I also had more than one "reading teacher"- not in the traditional sense of the phrase, though I had many of those throughout my schooling - but teachers who were truly passionate about words. And not just in books - poetry or prose; short or long - it didn't seem to matter. They devoured the phrases set before them and created a similar hunger in me.

I hope that in some small way, I am creating a similar desire in those I teach.