Short Pieces and Essays

Remembering Christmas

November 23, 2020January 14, 2021 wendyckasten

(taken from a letter I wrote to my Grandmother while she was in hospice in 1979)

Dear Grandma,

As I recall, the nights were always bitter cold on our noses and cheeks. I guess I wasn’t really dressed for the New Jersey weather in my Christmas party dress and black patent leather shoes. I don’t know for sure that they were always black patent leather, but that image sticks with me. Hats, mittens, and scarves were tucked around me, probably around Tom, too, as we hopped, danced, and paced up and down the sidewalk on Clinton Avenue in front of our house. Sometimes we were on cement, sometimes on ice and snow. The basic scene was always the same.

In back of us were lights around the door. Dad had made a frame to hold those larger size multi-colored outdoor lights. Bubble lights in a sort of candelabra showed in one window, to one side of the door. A gaudy lighted plastic Santa face graced the window to the other side of the door. Any number of yellow-bulb candelabras filled the rest of the porch windows which faced the street.

In front of us, cars whizzed by on Third Street to our side, and now and then an occasional car wandered up or down Clinton. Mostly, we were anxious, eager, and time seemed endless as we waited and waited for what seemed like forever for the car that brought you and Grandpa (and sometimes other relatives) so that Christmas could begin.

It took both of you forever to get out of the car and into the house. In – past the porch with all the lighted decorations. In – past the foyer door which each year I had painted holiday designs on the glass with my tempera poster paints. Into the foyer where the top of my piano had some sparkly flossy covering with various decorations on it. Mistletoe balls hung in the archway between the foyer and the living room. Wooden, red-painted reindeer pulling Santa’s sleigh ran up the bannister, which on the foyer side, held our Christmas stockings.

Christmas cards would hang everywhere – there were so many. Some would be poised on top of my upright piano. Others – the kind with the top fold – were strung on a string across the archway. Others might be scotch taped to the trim around doors and windows.

Mom on left, Dad on right, other relatives in the middle.

You always took such a long time to get settled. First, you went into the kitchen at the back of the house. There, you deposited a pile of friars made of specalaas. Each set on cardboard, wrapped in foil. When opened, the one for me was a Dutch Boy. The one for Tom, a Dutch girl. Raisins and currents made eyes, buttons, mouths and noses. Careful lines with a sharp knife drew on the costume details – the Dutch caps, necklines, and for the girl cookie, stripes on her skirt. The arms of the cookie were always with hands on hips – the space to define the arm carefully cut out from the body. Once, Tom complained about this, as the cut-out section meant he lost some valuable cookie. The next year, Tom got a big rectangular blob from you with a face. He was more concerned about the cookie amount than your artistry.

Next you deposited multiple loaves of Christmas bread also carefully wrapped in foil. Something in between white bread and fruit cake, your Christmas bread would get served later in the evening, slathered in butter.

Meanwhile, Grandpa wandered into the house with two or more department store shopping bags, laden with gifts. He would put them under the tree, or let Tom and me do it. Then everybody – all the grown-ups that is – would remark on how many presents there were, and then make some ridiculous chatter about how we should just leave them all there until next year. Tom and I were not pleased at such comments. The harder Tom and I tried to get the ball rolling, the more the grown-ups procrastinated with idle and meaningless talk. Someone would say, the later we start, the longer it will last. But the waiting was painful torture for me and Tom.

Of course, we were already scanning the size and shape of packages bearing our name on the cute red tags. We knew right away which ones were heavy, or rattled, or made no sound at all. Boxes that were more cube shaped were more likely to be toys. Flat boxes were more likely to be clothes, which was less exciting. One box always had new pajamas, which we needed anyway. Long narrow boxes could be dolls! That was the moment I waited for. And it there was a new doll, there was also, farther under the tree, a box of hand-made clothes for the doll. Mom would have sewn up a storm making the doll, pants, a jacket, a dress. You had used leftover yarns to knit scarves, sweaters, skirts, and tams for the doll. And it was glorious.

This Christmas has been very nice. My best friend – Martha, with her little girl Laura – and I went to the Christmas Eve service at the Universalist Church in Bangor. This candlelight service in a historic building began with the young minster saying that many of us had come here in search of Christmas. But, he said, you will not find it here, because each of us must find it for ourselves. The children sang a carol. The choir did a The Hallelujah Chorus. A young boy with a delicate golden voice sang “Whose Child is this?”

Everyone moved from pews to a circle around the entire sanctuary for candle lighting, with which everyone sang “Joy to the World” and “Silent Night” by candlelight as we all filed out and headed home in the wintery ice and snow.

Here’s wishing you the very special feeling of Christmas.

love,

wendy

Remote and Distance Learning during Covid-19: Lessons from Australia

August 1, 2020January 14, 2021 wendyckasten

Before there was Zoom, Microsoft teams, Go-to-meeting, Webinars, and all these exciting new tools which enable remote experiences, there was (and is) Australia – a country of large, wide spaces, very long distances between people. Some Australian ranches are larger than some U.S. States. Families live on them, and often, children are raised in these settings. Australia has been practicing distance learning long before Covid-19 came along. While I lived in Australia, I learned much about how they operate. In these models, there are ideas to meet our new demands of teaching children who may not be able to physically come to school.

In earlier times, when these far-away homes had children, instruction was accomplished with two tools – the two way radio, and the mail (and sometimes materials were delivered by airplane). Periodic packets arrived. Some learning was self-directed. Other learning required adult assistance. But a key element was the appointment each child had individually with their teacher – sometimes once every two weeks for about 30 minutes. For ranches (and actually they don’t call them ranches, but you get the idea) without electricity to the outside world, those two way radios were run by someone pedaling them.

Even when I lived in Australia in 1992, distance learning was alive and well. University (called “uni’s in local lingo) researchers were beginning to add some computer instruction in instances where families had desktop computers, and fax machines which enabled assignments and feedback to reach students more quickly than only through mail.

One of my university classes I was assigned to teach was a distance learning class (through the Burwood Campus of Deakin University). An office at the campus was dedicated to assisting with distance learning. I would prepare the packet of instructional materials for teachers seeking an advanced diploma. Those were mailed. My teacher ed students returned assignments by mail, which arrived to the distance learning office, and where I would go and collect them.

Three times during one term, teachers met in person with me for an entire Saturday. For them, it meant a long drive. A location was selected that suited most. Others had to come Friday evening and book a hotel room, and maybe stayed Saturday night as well. Each teacher had to pack all their own food, as there were no food services in even the semi-remote location where Saturday classes were held. These sessions were enjoyable, social, and packed with learning to make the most of the opportunity.

All in all, you could say these “Uni” classes were a hybrid model. They mixed remote and in-person learning.

Not all students in rural Maine have computers and internet. But they probably get mail and have telephones. Maybe even facetime, or skype, or facebook messenger on a family telephone.

Throughout this pandemic, people the world over have had to get creative and resourceful and consider other ways of doing things. That’s been one of the redeeming qualities of an otherwise dismal period of time for businesses and education. It’s becoming increasingly clear that this crisis will not be over until we are all vaccinated against this dangerous organism in our midst. SO we need to continue to innovate to do what we need to do, and to do it safely.

Any educator who wishes to discuss this with me further may leave a comment and I will respond. Perhaps a good conversation can generate idea and solutions.

Wendy C. Kasten, Ph.D.

Professor Emerita

School of Teaching, Learning, and Curriculum Studies – Literacy

Kent State University

wkasten@kent.edu

Belfast

Short Pieces and Essays, Uncategorized

Remembering Tomie de Paola

May 20, 2020January 14, 2021 wendyckasten

March 1982. I was a new grad student in the Ph.D. program at the University of Arizona. I worked for Dr. Yetta M. Goodman, who would also direct my dissertation during these years (81-84). Yetta had, some years prior, initiated the Arizona Young Author’s Conference, in which hundreds of local school children, grades k-8, would come to the Tucson campus, with something they had written in hand, and meet a guest author – in this case, Tomie de Paola. I was in charge of that conference. Yetta assigned me to spend the day with Tomie prior to conference day, and take him out to the Tohono O’Odham (Papago) reservation schools for a visit. It’s a long ride there and back, and so it began a friendship.

Tomie was an entertaining and energetic guest for the Arizona Young Author’s Conference the next day. And when I left for my first professor position in 1984, and was asked by my new Dean at the University of South Florida to begin some young author’s conferences for gulf-area Florida (which became the Suncoast Young Author’s Conference), I booked Tomie as our first guest author (and a few other things over the years). I saw him now and then at events, but then, we discovered this weird sort-of family connection between us.

My uncle Anton was married to my Aunt Mildred (Aunt by marriage). Aunt Mildred was an only child, and so formed a sibling-like bond with a cousin named Kay. Kay and her husband ran an Inn in new England (was it Vermont or NH?), and happened to live next door to (and became best friends with) Flossie – Tomie’s mother!

When Kay and her husband passed away, it was Aunt Mildred who had to travel to New England to clean out Kay’s things and settle their estate. She was helped by Flossie in the process. Aunt Mildred contacted me. “I have all these books I don’t know what to do with. They’re from someone named Tomie DePaola. Do you want any of them? The neighbor says he’s quite well known.”

I replied YES I would take any or all of them, as we were friends, and I taught children’s literature, and who wouldn’t want more books by Tomie? The real gem that arrived in the package is pictured below. It was Tomie’s thesis at Pratt. He chuckled when I told him I had it. He said that was fine, he didn’t need it (there were multiple copies). Here it is.

Tomie dePaola’s Master’s thesis and dedication page.

I’ll miss him in the world. No more Strega Nona books. No more new editions of Nana Upstairs, Nana Downstairs. No more Christmas cards. Here is the last one!