What the Flower?

Ideas for bringing peace into the classroom:
This, quoted from the National Peace Institute course, "Teachers Without Borders":

"What the flower? One teacher spoke of how, in her work with high school students, their use of profanity, (the f-bomb) was getting on her nerves. She asked them if they would substitute the f-bomb with the word flower. Thus, instead of saying "What the f.....?!" They would say "What the flower?

She said that, much to her surprise, they really took to this practice. Not only did it solve the issue of profanity, but it also made them smile every time they said it, and it brought more joy into the classroom."

Small, simple, inexpensive ways to change the paradigm. I  think this is flowering cool!

Louis

Louis I Miss You

My grandfather, Louis, he's been gone
38 years ago this month
Tall and quiet, his angular face lined and serious
I still wonder if
he would be less serious
had his life been different.

Last time I saw him he bought me pancakes,
at his regular breakfast place.
"A short stack," always the same order.

Later, saying goodbye
Grama told him,
"Louie, give her some dollars."
(She called him Louie and gave him orders)
He fished in his pockets and
handed me four dollars in earnest
I had to take them, guiltily
Being a grandchild even at 19.
The last gesture I would ever know
from him
it broke my heart
and still does.

His oldest son, my Dad, has survived to live much longer
At the dinner table I say,
"Tell me about Grandad"
"He went around to the bars
In Milwaukie and as far as Sellwood
Selling his father's cheese. Grandpa made
Cheese in his basement."

I wonder what that cheese tasted like,
and what my Grandad looked like in 1910,
A kid of 12
Driving a horse cart around town
They wrapped cheese in cloth then
I wish I could have been there.
What a trick of fate that life does not let
the children know the elders
except in memory and story

Grandad, this is your story,
Us sitting in the pancake house
I'm telling you about college.
You are telling me about the railroad,
The Southern Pacific, because I asked.
What a fine man you are,
able to drive horse carts and fix
trains.

Passing Sugar Tree Road: A Valentine

I want to live on Sugar Tree Road,
even though it is only a green highway sign passed in a blur
from I-70, Missouri -
Before the thunderstorm that dumps
sudden waters from a featureless sky.

Lincoln campground, Illinois,
we pitch the small tent.
Eat 3 bean salad and deli meatloaf with
wine from styrofoam cups.

 Fireflies zip through the trees between
our campground and the endless cornfields.

How dear the night, your certain breathing,
miles from home in this
wet mid-western air
Lightening flash in rhythm
with the fireflies like a show.

I've never been here, I've always been here,
You are my heart's home.