Anchors offer security, safety, and control. They keep a boat from floating aimlessly and becoming lost. It’s like a bookmark is to books. Or glue holding a craft together. All these hold something in place.
An anchor chart supports learning in the classroom. It is meant to serve as a reference and move students towards success. In my teaching practice, I had some reading and writing anchor charts that would come out for specific units, whereas others might live in classroom year-round as a permanent anchor. I have been retired for five years now. I no longer have any of my large size anchor charts that I made. Here are some of a friend and former colleague. You can check out more of her work at The Interactive Teacher.
I’ve thought about anchors lately as I continue to go through treatment for metastatic breast cancer. No, I have not made one for cancer. I’m tempted. It would lend itself well to words, visuals, webs, and charts, but I don’t know what point it would serve. I see all of it in my mind; I don’t need an anchor chart.
This is a chart on conversation starters I used. It’s from the Lucy Calkins’ Reading Units of Study.
I could see an anchor chart on conversation stoppers. Here are some examples:
• I’m not going to _________. (discuss that with you, go out for dinner, jeopardize my health)
• Thank you for asking. I don’t feel like talking about it.
• That’s none of your business. Let’s talk about something else.
• I need to ___________ right now. (rest, sit down, catch my breath, nap, hydrate, eat, be alone)
• No. (Covers a wide range of responses.)
• Blank stare. (Also covers a wide range of responses.)
Perhaps a chart of potential treatments or trials I haven’t had yet and pertinent details could be useful. Very useful. The illusion of organization amongst my chaotic cancer life would be welcome. But I don’t want to stare at it 24/7.
Anchor moments were birthed from what I know about anchor charts. These anchor moments would serve as a reference to move me back to hope when I’m feeling depressed, disappointed, or frustrated about how I’m feeling or bad news. A person doesn’t need to have cancer or an illness to benefit from anchor moments. We all have favorite times we remember when we felt happy. In a nutshell, anchor moments equal favorite moments.
Here are a few of my anchor moments:
• Christmas morning as a child with my family
• Rare times when it was just Gram and me
• Bedtime songs that Dad would sing nightly
• Snuggling with my childhood dog
• Standing atop Arthur’s Seat the first time I climbed it and overlooking Edinburgh
• Memories from reading and writing workshop
• Walking in my favorite part of the arboretum no matter the season
• Waking up slowly in that time between sleep and awake feeling well rested
• Laying my head on my pillow at night and counting the day’s blessings
• Lots of Door County vacations with Mom
• Sitting in a lavender field
• Favorite photos of flowers like pink zinnia, champagne rose
• Feeling accomplished running a 5K and reaching my fundraising goal
• Sledding on a beautiful winter day as a 50 year old
• Sedona moments looking up at the red rocks or enjoying Oak Creek
• Making my sister laugh
• Special times with friends
• Enjoying ice cream or a super good chocolate chip cookie
• Time pondering life’s important questions like: What is the best dessert?
My anchor moments take me away, if only briefly. I need to live in the present. There are plenty horrid memories that creep into my now. I can allow myself to bring up happier times. Favorite times remind me of what helps me feel good. They connect me to somewhere safe, happy, and hopeful. Some moments are anchored to my time before cancer. Some are when I have cancer. Cancer is my reality, so I need to identify favorite moments that exist now, too.
Our memories are based on our experiences. I want to have as many fulfilling experiences as I can. These experiences don’t have to be monumental. Sometimes the smaller events carry a bigger meaning than huge ones. My list above goes on and on. I can bring up the anchor moment I need to fit wherever I find myself struggling.
This past weekend I spent time up north in a beautiful area called Door County. It’s located on Wisconsin’s penninsula where Green Bay and Lake Michigan surround it. Most of the towns along the water have marinas filled with speedboats, simple fishing boats, sailboats, and some small yacht vessels. Being on the water is big up there. Looking at the boats anchored on the water reminded me a lot about life. We dock when we need to come ashore. We drop anchor when we want to stop and savor the moment. We sail on when we are ready.
I’d love to hear what you consider anchor moments.