Mack Ames Books and Maine Moose Patrol

For just a moment, I am going to give a little shout-out to Joe Bunting at https://thewritepractice.com/.

I have enjoyed visiting this website for material for some of my classes, as well as for ideas for my own writing.

Yesterday was our 21st wedding anniversary. Four months ago, I wasn’t sure we were going to have our 21st anniversary, but God pulled Laurel through, and we made it. That’s what he does; he pulls us through, and we make it.

Because Laurel had a medical appointment in the middle of the day, I used some of my Family Medical Leave time to stay home for the day and drive her to it. The respite from my normal responsibilities was greatly needed and appreciated.

We went to Umami Noodle Bar in downtown Bangor for lunch before her doctor’s appointment. What a delicious meal that was! We want to go back soon. We had to park on Franklin Street and walk a little ways to get there, but the sun was shining and the air was warm, so it was a treat to be together like that.

At the doctor’s office, Laurel learned that when OT and PT sign off that she is “good to go,” she’ll be cleared to resume driving; she’s eager for that. My car is in the shop, hopefully getting repaired so that when she can resume driving I’ll have a car to use and she’ll have her van back.

We had a couple of propane companies send representatives to the house at different times yesterday to assess our home for possible switchover from oil heat/water to propane heat/water system. We’re facing the needs for updating of our heating system and a new roof this spring/summer, as well as getting my Honda Civic back on the road, so we’re looking for the best deal that we can find.

A church friend provided a midweek meal of grilled chicken strips, potatoes, green beans, and peach cobbler, so that was our anniversary supper. It was fabulous! Following that, we enjoyed our son’s Little League game in the damp and chill, before heading home to our warm house.

I was amazed to end the day more refreshed in spirit than I’ve felt in a very long time. That feeling has continued well into today, and I’m eager for the long holiday weekend to have time away from work again. My work remains rewarding–don’t get me wrong! But the strain of the last four months wore me down, and it took my wife’s doctor’s appointment to give me a day off to get some respite. However it had to happen, I got it, and I’m thankful to God for it.

Thank you, Lord, for 21 years with Laurel as my wife. Here’s to 21 more (or more)!

I have dealt with depression in my life for many years. I am generally an upbeat person, with an outgoing nature, but about every 12-16 weeks or so, I find myself struggling emotionally and mentally, which leads to physical struggles. I’m struggling right now to get out of bed in the morning. This has been going on for about three weeks, I think. Two weeks, anyway. I described it to a friend today who has experienced depression, too.

“Just the idea of making my lunch and taking out the trash on Tuesday were major obstacles to getting out of bed yesterday,” I told him.

“Yup,” he said. “That’s depression!”

He affirmed what I knew to be true. As we talked further, he added this: “Depression comes from within, but so does success. Whatever you choose to motivate yourself, you’re going to have to find something that you can use to create success for yourself each day. Then success will build on success. Maybe making your lunch the night before will do that for you!”

He and another supportive colleague said similar things they’ve learned from experience. Set a small goal or schedule something for each day. When you’ve accomplished it, you know you’ve achieved something, however small it may be, and success feeds (or builds) on success. That is how you will work your way through this bout of depression that is holding you down.

Friends, there are many more steps than this, of course, but to a man (or woman) that is depressed and overwhelmed, multiple steps are not what I need! For the moment, I need simplicity, and my friends offered simplicity. They did not unhelpfully suggest that I get better med dosages–that’s an ignorant suggestion, at best. Instead, they listened compassionately, and offered help from experience.

It’s been three months since my wife almost died of complications from flu pneumonia. February 3 we watched our beloved New England Patriots win a defensive showdown in Super Bowl 53 for their sixth championship, and less than a week later, she was on life support.

The tale of her illness and remarkable recovery has been told and retold multiple times. There’s a hymn with the phrases, “Here I raise my Ebenezer (which means roughly, ‘stone of remembrance’), hither by Thy help I’m come. And I hope, by Thy good pleasure, safely to arrive at home.” Retelling of my wife’s recovery is our Ebenezer, because it is solely by the grace and mercy of Almighty God that Laurel is with us. He healed her lungs and kidneys; He brought her home to us, and we rejoice in His provision for our family.

Her recovery continues apace, with physical and occupational therapy at our home. When she was still hospitalized, though, I went to see her one day and shared with her a matter that had been on my heart for quite some time: “I think it’s time for us to get a dog.”

She was pleased to hear me say that, because she was going to tell me the same thing, and I was the one member of the family that hadn’t agreed with the idea up to that point in time. Laurel was the only member of the family that had had dogs before. Michael, our 11-year old, loves all animals (and kids), but he’s allergic to cats. Christian, our 13-year old, loves the idea of having a dog, but has been leery of jumpy dogs in the past, and we needed just the right kind of animal for our small house and busy road to make our plan work.

Meet Thumper. He’s a mixture of American Eskimo, Pomeranian, and Pekingese. He’s about a year old, and he weighs about 15 pounds. He’s calm, but likes to run a little. He likes cuddling with each family member. And as of May 8, 2019, he’s ours. Welcome to the family, Thumper. I think our time with you will benefit all of us.

The following quotation-marked paragraphs are cut and pasted from http://www.mathinenglish.com. This was written primarily with ESL students in mind, but I believe that Adult Ed learners (the setting in which I teach) can profit tremendously from this kind of understanding from their teachers, whether those learners are ESL or not. I have removed some of the ESL-specific language from the paragraphs below in order to clarify the message as being pertinent to all learners that struggle with math and the vocabulary required to learn it, so while there are deletions, there are no other alterations to this article.

“Math word problems are what math is all about: the ability to solve problems. Word problems describe real-life math applications and make math meaningful. It seems, unfortunately, that many students struggle with these word problems. Why is this? Is it because of the underlying math concepts or are reading skills the obstacle?”

“Math word problems require both math skills and academic reading skills. Many students have difficulties in ‘reading for understanding’ and will, consequently, struggle in solving math word problems.”

“Without word problems, math will only be numbers and operations and most students will never understand why they are studying it. Math needs to be meaningful and students need to know how they can use it in their daily life’s environment.”

“What can teachers do in this catch 22 situation in which both math and English skills are required? First of all we need to look very critically at our math content and especially our math books. Most word problems can be simplified in terms of vocabulary. Teachers can easily re-write problems and use situations and words that the students are familiar with.”

“Furthermore, teachers can (need to):

-use cooperative learning strategies

-have students write their own word problems (as a check for understanding)

-use video material, presentations, theatre play

-create material in which students have to fill in the gaps.”

“Especially this last point is very effective. Teachers can make work sheets with word problems and have students fill in the names, nouns or numbers. Many students (try to) solve word problems by guessing the operations. By leaving information out of a word problems students will be tuned in and actively trying to solve the problem.“

“On MathinEnglish we offer many worksheets based on these principles. We keep the language and grammar simple, use simple situations, use words that (ESL) students know and use the fill-in-the-gap structure. We also promote that after studying a set of word problems, students create their own problems. By doing this teachers can check for understanding.”

I’m hesitant to share this one, but…

My beloved mother was a prude. There’s really no other way to say it. No minced oaths were allowed aloud in her presence, nor any talk that merely hinted at being corrupt. I cannot recall ever having my mouth washed out with soap, but her withering gaze was as effective as a Dove bar for the words “fart,” “suck,” “heck,” or “darn.” My older brother once expressed his awe at how long she’d had to wait between rest stops. He’d foolishly blurted out, “Wow, what a bladder!” I don’t know what his punishment was, but his epic blunder was fodder for sibling teasing for quite some time afterward. 

Mum did not allow for “oh my goodness” or “oh my,” even. I found that out when I was in high school. Our typical mornings found us running late, and I drove her to where she taught before taking myself to the opposite end of town for my classes. True to form, the second-hand car we were driving one particular day gave us a hassle before we even left the house. 

The driver’s door wouldn’t latch, so I grabbed a length of baling twine from the barn, looped it around the inside handle, and asked Mum to hang onto it while I drove. She graded papers and made lesson plans as we made the 15-mile drive to town. All was well until we came to the intersection of Griffin Road and Ohio Street, where the road dips, and on the right turn, Mum lost her grip on the twine, allowing my door to swing wide open. 

There was no danger to me nor to anyone else, and I laughed as I tried to regain control of the wayward door while guiding the 1972 Saab up Ohio Street. Meanwhile, all Mum could say was, “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” I only laughed harder at my prudish mother’s refusal to say anything more severe than that. I swerved to the left, which brought the door back to me, and she grabbed the twine from my hand, white-knuckling her grip from there to her school. 

For the next few days that the Saab door refused to latch, we figured out that if she buckled the twine in with her seatbelt, we wouldn’t have to worry about the Griffin-to-Ohio turn anymore, and she wouldn’t be the butt—I mean, backside—of my amusement. 

Charlene kept looking over her shoulder, expecting him to show up again. She wanted to run, but the pain in her legs prevented that. Besides, it was too dark to see well, and the terrain was unfamiliar to her. No, she realized, walking was the best she could hope for, but maybe she’d get away this time. 

How many times was it now? Three? Six? She’d lost track. Time and days blended together, as did her escape attempts. She never got far, before he was there, grabbing at her, forcing her back into a chair or strapping her to a bed. All she wanted was to go home, but he would not let her. Home to her parents. Home to her brothers and sisters. Why wouldn’t the man let her go?

The blasted pain in her legs; where did it come from? She cursed her legs as she stopped for a break. Oh, they ached! Why did they hurt so much? She looked down, and in the pale moonlight she could just make out the tattered dressings that clung to her shins and calves. She searched her memory for any clue as to what had happened, but there was nothing there, just smoke. Smoke? 

She shook off her thoughts and got moving again. The man was nowhere to be seen, and she was sure she’d gotten away scot-free this time. As Charlene made her way toward the side gate, her mind drifted back to the smoke in her memory, and to her family. Why haven’t they been to see me? And why do I keep seeing smoke in my memories? How long have I been imprisoned by this man? Her thoughts jumbled as she missed the irony that she was in a place her family could’ve visited and that she knew where the side gate was. 

In the distance, Charlene saw a faint light flickering. Tired of stumbling through darkness, she focused her efforts on the light and made her way to it. As she drew nearer, she realized it was a bonfire, and that it was not a faint flame at all. The brilliance of it terrified her, and she began to scream for help. Within moments, the man arrived with the wheelchair, and was taking Charlene back to the sanitarium.

As they entered the building, he turned to the duty nurse and said, “I had a feeling I’d find her there. The light always draws her. Poor dear, she still thinks her family’s alive. I wonder if she’ll ever put the pieces together and understand that the fire that burned her legs took her home and their lives. Then again, maybe it’s best if she doesn’t remember.” 

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Challenge to the Reader: Write a paragraph (or more) explaining how you think the fire started that burned Charlene and her home. Post your explanation in the comments below.

Robby leaned against a sapling, gasping for air. The little tree bent, then broke, and he fell to the ground, cursing. Pain searedhis abdomen. He lifted his shirt to see a scrape across his right side where the shattered sapling had rubbed against him. At least it wasn’t bleeding. A moment’s rest more, and he was on his feet again, running as fast as he could, his thoughts whirlingwith fear and anguish.

All he’d wanted was a couple of peppermints from his friend; why couldn’t Jamie share? He always shared with Jamie. His lunch, his answers for their homework, a spare coat in chilly weather. And did Jamie ever say thank you or share with him? No. Peppermints were Robby’s favorite candy, and Jamie knew it. He had a whole bag of them, and he wouldn’t even give Robby two. He just tauntedRobby and called him a loser. 

He offered to let Jamie use his prized possession—the wristwatch his grandfather had given him—if he could have even one peppermint candy. Jamie said yes, and when Robby gave him the watch, Jamie just crushed it with a rock and that’s when Robby lost it. He gave Jamie a push, and then another one. Jamie laughed at him, called him a loser again, and shoved him back. When Robby fell down, Jamie turned and walked away. He didn’t see Robby getting up again and running at him. When Robby hit him, the boys were near the ravine. Jamie stumbled and fell out of sight with a scream. Robby was so shocked at what he’d done that he turned and ran for home. 

Several hours later, there was a knock at the door of Robby’s house. His mother answered and then called her son to join her immediately. A police officer stood before him, wanting to know if he’d been to the ravine today, wanting to know if he knew a boy named Jamie, wanting to know if he knew anything about what happened to him. 

“What’s this all about, Matt?” Steve growled, his face red with anger. “How could you do this? After all these years! You’ve been lying to me! I thought we were friends, and now this? You disgust me!” Steve stopped pacing back and forth in front of the lockers and sat down on a bench, burying his face in his hands. 

“Steve, man, I’m sorry,” Matt began, but Steve interrupted him.

“Sorry? Sorry?! Sorry doesn’t cut it, Matt! Geez! I can’t believe you!”

“Oh, get off your high horse, Steve!” Matt had lost his patience. “You had to know something was different about me. We’ve known each other for what, 15, 16 years, and you’ve never seen signs of it before? And you never questioned me till now? NO. You just went along with it like it was no big deal. Save me your precious fake anger. What’s the problem, anyway? Just because I feel differently from you doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, does it? C’mon, Steve!”

“All right, all right,” Steve conceded. “Maybe I’m overreacting a little. I guess that deep down, you’re still the same guy you’ve always been, but I, I just never expected to learn this about you, Matt. Sure, I’ve seen the signs, but I didn’t want to believe that it was true, so I’ve always pushed them out of my mind. Still, why now? Why announce now how you really are?”

“Steve, we’re best friends, aren’t we?” When his friend nodded, Matt continued, “And best friends should be able to trust each other with their deepest secrets, right? To know the worst and best about each other still support each other, right?” Steve agreed again, so Matt said, “Well, I’m coming cleannow because I haven’t been honest with you. I was afraid you wouldn’t want to be my friend if you knew the truth about me.”

“Gosh, Matt, I’m angry because you’ve been lying to me, but it’s not the end of the world! I mean, seriously, just because you’ve come out of the closet as a Yankees fan after pretending to be a Red Sox fan all these years isn’t going to end our friendship!”

In recent weeks, I have been writing very short stories for my English classes (adult ed). By very short stories, I mean 250-300 words in length. Stories that will fit on one sheet of paper, followed by text-based questions and critical-thought questions, to help my ABE (Adult Basic Education) readers develop stronger reading comprehension skills, as well as using context clues, predictions, and such, in pursuit of overall English Language Arts improvement. I also use writings from various websites, always using proper citation for other authors’ works.

Sometimes I use prompts that I’ve given to students in the past, and other times I have ideas that I want to use for an essay-length tale, but whatever the topic, I try to make it interesting and appropriate for the setting–i.e., incarcerated adults. I’ve received countless suggestions that I use this textbook or that workbook containing short stories with questions at the end of them, but what I’ve discovered in my years of teaching Adult Education in the correctional setting is that most of my students do not possess enough working short-term memory to read a traditional-length short story and answer questions about it. If the story is longer than one 81/2″ x 11″ page, they will struggle mightily to retain the gist of the tale long enough to answer questions about it.

Now, you might protest and say that it’s my job to take them beyond single-page stories, and I might agree with you. But I have to start somewhere, don’t I? In this limited setting, then, I start where I can do the most good. As my students improve, I can lengthen the stories to a page and a half, or two pages. But the point is not the length of story, my friends. The point is the Lexile difficulty of the story. The more advanced I make the vocabulary of the story, the greater the progress that my students can make, even if the story is very short.

So I will continue with my VERY short stories and follow up questions. I intend to post some of the stories here, and I might even include the questions. How thrilling for you. Really.