Thank you Bridget for this wonderful George Bernard Shaw quote!
This post first appeared on April 20 2014
Mount Holyoke College in Western Massachusetts hosts children’s book authors, and recently Patricia MacLachlan was a speaker. Remember Sarah, Plain and Tall? It was the first book that made me cry as an adult. Mandatory reading for my children when they were in third grade.
Sarah, Plain and Tall also won the coveted Newbery Award. That’s the brass ring, the Holy Grail in children’s literature. My copy is very worn and well-loved. Patricia smiled when she saw the book and said, “This is one of the first copies.” It seemed to bring back memories for her.
When I arrived at the speaking event, I was surprised. The room was old and lovely- fireplace, sofas, big casement windows. It was filled with students from the children’s literature course… and me!
“Please, come up front. I’d be happy to answer any questions before we begin”, she said. “I don’t see well with my macular degeneration, so please come closer.”
The students didn’t move. I did! I walked up and introduced myself, with my books in hand, including The Poet’s Dog, her most recent book. It is outstanding! My husband the book lover and voracious reader claims, “This is the best piece of literature I have ever read.” He is right. The opening sentences in the book reads, “Dogs speak words. But only poets and children hear.” The story is told through the dog. I wrote a blog post on this book alone last October.
“It should have won the Newbery” I said, holding up my book to the author. And I meant it. Patricia smiled and said, “Thank you. Please call me Patty.” Wow!
We chatted a bit and I looked at the big coffee table in front of her, filled with the books she had written. There were plenty, including a picture book that I know well, The Iridescence of Birds. It’s the story of Henri Matisse as a little boy, and how he found color in his dreary French town, and was both encouraged and influenced by his mother.
I had forgotten that Patricia MacLachlan wrote the book. I was sorry I hadn’t brought it along for her to sign. The conversation went something like this:
Me: “I have that book, too. It’s wonderful. I’m sorry I didn’t bring it along.”
Patty: “Actually, this is my favorite book. I loved writing it.”
Me: “I read this all the time in my preschool class, especially when I introduce artists and their art. I’m sure you know that Matisse’s grandson lives in my town of Groton.”
Long Pause…
Patty: “No, I didn’t know. I should probably send him a copy of the book. What do you think?”
What? This world famous author is asking me if I think she should send Matisse a copy of her book about his grandfather?
Me: “Of course you should. He would love the book.”
Patricia MacLachlan gave me her email address, and the next day I looked up Paul Matisse’s address and sent it to her. After a few emails back and forth, she mailed him the book along with a note that read:
“I am typing this letter to you because I can’t read my own writing. The redeeming quality of being this blind is that when I look into the mirror I look beautiful like an impressionist painting.”
Beautiful, indeed!
Paul Matisse wrote back to say that he thought it was charming, and he planned to share it with his grandchildren when they visited this summer.
Jennie
I talk about peace often in my classroom. Well, that’s partially true. When children talk about peace, I jump right in. They have a lot to say. We adults should listen more.
Years ago, when I first had the the good sense to listen to children, it struck me to paint a peace dove in our parking lot, right in front of the entrance to school. Janine, an artist and parent of Juliet (Starry Night post) and Audrey, was happy to do the job. Since then, she has returned many times to repaint this simple, beautiful bird. It has become a symbol to welcome all the families and visitors who come into our school. Crossing the threshold of peace.
Peace is really very simple. Children know. When asked, “What is peace?”, they pause, and pull an answer from their soul. I think the soul is a heart that has lived. “My new baby sister, dancing, dinner with my family”… true peace. That’s what children say.
It took me a while in my teaching to let go of the structure of teaching peace. I remember interviewing children when we were sitting under a Peace Portal that we had made in the classroom.
I asked, “How does peace make you feel?”
Colin answered, “It makes me feel hearty.”
“Oh… it makes you feel strong?”
“No, Jennie. It makes me feel heart-y.” Then he patted his heart.
Oh my goodness!
Colin answered with a why-are-you-asking, and a don’t-you-already-know, mindset. He was right; I did know. I was teaching peace as part of my curriculum. I realized that peace is learned by doing. I had to set the stage, be a role model, stop and talk at all the little and big things that happened in the classroom, read plenty of books aloud that open the door for both goodness and evil- oh, the conversations we have are pretty intense; from fairy tales to the more subtle, like Templeton the rat in “Charlotte’s Web”. I made sure children felt comfortable saying what they thought and asking questions.
I was right. It made a difference. Thereafter, peace became something real. Now, peace in my classroom is something children just understand. Talking about it, or making a book, or designing a quilt happens as a reflection of what they already know and feel.
Jennie
Last week I met Eric Carle. Let me say it a little louder, “Last week I met Eric Carle!” The man, a world renowned children’s author and illustrator, is 88 years old. His history is fascinating. So is he.
My author bucket list started to grow when Peter Spier died this year. His Star-Spangled Banner, Circus, and Rain books have been staples in my classroom for decades. I always meant to write and tell him so… His death was my wake-up call.
And then I learned that Eric Carle would be speaking with Annie Lionni, granddaughter of Leo Lionni.
Woah! Leo Lionni, as in Swimmy, the first book I ever read aloud in my classroom. The book that changed my life in teaching.
I think you get the picture.
In order to understand this event, here is the back story, well my back story:
I have been reading Eric Carle’s books to children for over thirty years. The Very Hungry Caterpillar is a classic. So is Brown Bear, Brown Bear. The list of his books I have read aloud is a long one. Then fifteen years ago the Eric Carle Museum opened, a museum dedicated to the art of children’s book illustrators. Oh yes, I have seen their exhibits which have displayed the original art of Madeline and Make Way For Ducklings (just for starters), beloved books I’ve read hundreds of times. There’s a long list of art illustrations displayed at the museum, and it’s a good list.
When visiting the museum, I learned about Eric Carle’s life. He was born in Germany, came to the U.S., and then returned to Germany with his family in the 1930’s. Not a good time in history to be in Germany. He was shown “forbidden art” by his art teacher- the art of Monet, Picasso, Matisse, and Kandinsky. That changed his life in art. It changed my passion in teaching art to children, too.
Then after the war, Eric Carle came to America when he was in his 20’s. That is where the event last week with Annie Lionni begins:
The brown suitcase on stage is what he had when he arrived in New York City, filled with advertising posters he had done for theaters. And so began a conversation of fascinating stories, told with wit and humor, along with Annie Lionni. The audience was captivated hearing this man speak. I was front row center, the 50-yard line, right behind home plate.
When Eric Carle arrived in New York City, he saw a copy of Fortune magazine, was struck by the art on the cover, and noticed the signed name at the bottom: Leo Lionni.
“I went to a pay phone booth and looked up his name in the phone book. I telephoned and Leo actually answered the phone. He said he would be happy to meet me and gave me directions. Can you imagine my luck?”
Leo Lionni gave Eric Carle his first job. It was art for advertising. Children’s books weren’t on the radar for either man until many years later. Time went by, and Eric Carle was in New York and called Leo Lionni to get together. This is the story he told Annie, on stage:
“I called Leo and asked if he could meet me on Tuesday. “No, I cannot on Tuesday”, he said. “How about Wednesday?”, l asked. “No, I cannot”, he said. “Can you meet me on Thursday?”, I asked. Leo replied, “No, I cannot.” I was hurt. I was deeply hurt. I did not understand why. Years later when Leo was close to dying a friend called me and said I should go and see him. I still had so much hurt inside. I did not go and see him. What I did not know at the time back then, was that his son had died. That is my only regret in life, that I did not see Leo again.”
Eric and Annie shared stories about writing and illustrating children’s books.
Every story was delightful and engaging. The audience and Eric Carle and Annie Leonni were one.
Afterwords in the lobby I was asked if I would like to meet Carle (gulp!) I thanked him and told him what a difference he has made in my classroom- in both children’s books and art. I told him that his discovery and love of modern “forbidden” art has inspired me to really teach art to children and learn about artists, like Eric Carle. He smiled and nodded with understanding.
Jennie
Photo: Alyssa Haywoode for Strategies for Children
It’s summer and NAEYC’s publication, Young Child, has a compelling and seasonally appropriate article about the history of outdoor play.
Written by Joe L. Frost, an emeritus professor at the University of Texas at Austin, and John A. Sutterby, a professor at the University of Texas at San Antonio, the article starts with this poetic quote from Frost’s 2012 article “Evolution of American Playgrounds:”
“Good play environments have magical qualities that transcend the here and now, the humdrum, and the typical. They have flow qualities — qualities that take the child to other places and other times. They are permeated with awe and wonder, both in rarity and in imaginative qualities. Bad play environments are stark and immutable, controlled by adults, lacking resiliency and enchantment. Few dreams can be spun there, and few instincts can be played out. The wonders of…
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I was a guest blogger today sharing one of my infamous “Jennie Stories” on Sue Vincent’s Daily Echo blog.
“Oh, Sue. I need to tell you “The Spider Story”, one of the ‘Jennie Stories’ for my preschoolers. All true. That’s why children are glued when I say, “It happened like this.” The spider one beats them all, ” wrote Jennie in a recent comment. As we are all children at heart and still ready for storytime, I asked Jennie to come over and share her Spider Story with us…
Children know when I tell a story, that if it begins with “Once upon a time”, it is pretend. If it begins with “It happened like this”, it is real- something that happened to Jennie. During lunchtime at school, children beg “Can you tell a Jennie story? Please?” Begging is probably an understatement. When I begin, fifteen children are glued. You could hear a pin drop. I have at least fourteen stories I tell, and this one is a favorite.
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Summer evenings on the porch are quiet, except for the occasional sound of a train whistle in the distance. I love that sound. When I was a little girl, a train whistle meant excitement and memories. I was born and raised in Huntington, West Virginia. It’s “the big city”, and the central downtown area was the train station. There is something majestic about a grand, old train station with polished brass and wood. It was history, kept alive.
Trains were prevalent throughout the state. With a countryside of enormous rolling hills and dramatic landscape, it was the trains that people depended on to transport people and goods from the cities like Huntington out to the country. Roads? The interstate didn’t exist, and most roads were more of a roller coaster than a highway. But the trains had been there ‘forever’, it seemed. They could go everywhere. Dependable, and oh so exciting!
My first childhood memory is the sound of a train. I was sleeping in the family log house in Lowell, West Virginia. This was way out in the country.
The Log House 
The house today is known as the Graham House and is on the National Historic Register. But, back then in the 50’s, my family still owned the house. The history is thrilling; it is the oldest two-story log house west of the Appalachian mountains, built in the early 1770’s. My grandmother, Nan, lived in the house until she was married. She told me many times the story of Indian raids. On one occasion the children were in the summer kitchen and ran to the house. The boy did not survive and the girl was kidnapped. It took the father eight years to get his daughter back, trading horses with the Indians. Family stories; so important.
Nan
The sound of the old steam engine train whistling by as I slept at the old log house is one of my fondest memories. That was what I heard every evening as I fell asleep. I loved it, and I loved that old house. Hearing a train again today in the evening on the porch takes me back to those childhood days. I stop to listen, not wanting to miss one whistle. Wonderful memories.
In 1964, I boarded the train in Huntington with Nan and my cousin Laura to return for a long summer visit in Lowell with family, and of course the Log House. We always called it “The Log House.” I remember the excitement of the train ride, and the feeling of going past places and vistas that people never get to see from a car. The first thing I did when we arrived at the Log House was to run upstairs and find my bed; the one I slept in as a child. I remembered. By then, 1964, the house was no longer in the family, so we slept at our cousin’s house next door. And, I still heard that train whistle, even though many years since my childhood had passed.
When I recently visited the house with my husband, my first visit since 1964, I immediately recognized everything. I ran up the stairs and felt along the wall beside my bed, as there had been holes for rifles to go through when fending off an Indian raid. The holes were still there, just as I remembered, and just as Nan had told me.
Is it the sound of the train that makes my memories crystal clear? I think so. On the playground at school the far away sound of a train goes by in the morning. Often I have the children listen carefully, and then I tell them about sleeping in a log house and listening to a train. Stories are the keepers of words and memories.
Jennie
Thank you Charles French for remarkable quotes on reading.
Museums are always a source of wonder and inspiration for me. I introduce art in a big way to my preschool class, so when I’m inspired, they are, too. This week I visited the Currier Museum of Art in Manchester, New Hampshire. A hidden gem.
Now, imagine one of the best art museums, such as the MFA (Museum of Fine Art) in Boston. What if that museum were a little smaller (less overwhelming), yet had it all- from Matisse to Hopper to O’Keefe to Picasso to Sargeant… and more. Oh, and of course if they also had beautiful glasswork, furniture, silver, and the best of modern art as well as 15th century art.
That is the Currier Museum of Art.
Their current exhibit is Monet, four pieces that depict his art from one of his earliest works of Impressionism to one of his later pieces.
There’s nothing better than ‘the real deal’, seeing it live. Words escaped me, and I resorted to behaving like a child who was thunderstruck at meeting Santa Claus, and in a candy store, all at the same time.
It was that good.
In progression of Monet’s Art:
He painted this piece when he was 24 years old. It is beautiful, yet at first glance you might not classify it as Impression. This painting launched his career.
This was the Monet I knew, the one I had seen in so many books. This was the art piece I have shown to my preschoolers. I stared at it in wonder, because I was seeing it live. I got up close to look at the brush strokes. Imagine that, looking at Monet’s brush strokes.
Monet had mastered Impressionism. His comment on this painting was, “This will perhaps make the enemies of blue and pink scream a little because it is just this brilliant, this fantastic light that I’m trying to get.” -Claude Monet- (1884)
This piece was done in 1900, Monet’s later and seasoned years of Impressionism painting. He had achieved what he was looking to accomplish with light. Four paintings over forty years, together by themselves in one space; it is a living biography.
I will need to return to the Currier Museum of Art again and again. I can’t wait to share my enthusiasm with my students when the new school year begins.
“Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder.” -E.B. White-
Jennie
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A Teacher's Reflections 