S-M-L Talk

"Are you going anywhere for the holiday next weekend?" the nail technician asked me as she cleaned up my cuticles.

"No," I answered, and then employed my favorite conversational move: "How about you?"

"No," she replied.

"Were you able to take any vacations at all this summer?" I asked, building on my first question to keep the conversation going.

"No," she said, shaking her head again. 

I was just about to give in to the not unpleasant silence when she added, "My kids finally moved to this country," she told me, "and we've been very busy getting them settled."

"That would take a lot of time," I agreed. "Do they have any children who will be in school?"

"Yes," she said. "He starts on Monday."

"In Arlington?" I clarified, because everyone else has started already. "Which school? I used to be a teacher in Arlington."

"Kenmore," she answered. "Eighth grade."

"Did he learn English before they moved?" I asked.

"No," she said. "He has a lot to catch up."

"They're really good at that at Kenmore," I assured her. "They have a lot of students who are learning English. Does he like school?"

"He loves it!" she said proudly.

"Oh, I know that kind of student," I laughed. "I bet he'll do really well."

"I hope so," she smiled, and our conversation flowed effortlessly from there.

What's Flat, Round, and Obsolete?

Besides the penny?

I recently read a recipe for a tuna tostada. Topped with seared, rare tuna, avocados, and a fresh salsa of melon and cucumber, the dish appealed to me as a quick, easy, light, and summery meal. Try as I might, however, I could not find tostada shells for sale at any of my local groceries. 

At first, I was confused because I distinctly recall buying the flat, crunchy shells all the time for all sorts of southwestern-inspired dishes. But then I took a minute to consider the last time I had made or ordered a tostada of any kind, and I realized it had been well over thirty years. 

I knew I could fry my own soft tortillas, or even just break crunchy taco shells, but even so? I mourned the loss of something I didn't even know was gone.

Board of Bulletins

"I swear half the people I went to grad school with only wanted their teaching degree so they could do bulletin boards," a teacher laughed yesterday when she saw us carrying the telltale roll of fadeless paper. "Personally?" I think they're a tedious waste of time."

"They do seem low priority when you have so much other stuff to do," I agreed. "But they are so old-school, literally, that I can't imagine ever getting rid of them."

I thought back to my own years in elementary school and those standard letters and cardboard cut-outs of presidents, Cupid, snowmen, punctuation marks, math operation symbols, shamrocks, etc. And those classic wavy borders! I do admit to a bit of a thrill when I put up the first bulletin board of my own! But the novelty quickly wore off, and by the end of my career, I had resorted to year-long displays with just a few rotating pieces. (Opening the stapler and punching it with the heel of my hand never got old, though.)

Heidi tells a funny story about a student at the special ed school where she first worked who loved to tear down papers as he went by the bulletin board next to his classroom. "Put his work on there!" suggested a behavior specialist, and that did the trick. He never bothered the board again.

I have my own story of bulletin board defiance. Years ago, when we got a new assistant principal, he walked through the hallway at preservice week and ordered all the teams to "freshen up" their bulletin boards. As team leader, this edict rubbed me the wrong way, especially coming without context from someone new to the building, so rather than take any time for the bulletin board, I put in a work order to have it removed from the wall. No board? No problem.

Of course, the guy never noticed, because he had no idea where the bulletin boards were; he was just planning to inspect the walls. A few years later, though, at the beginning of yet another school year, the administration assigned instructional assistants the task of doing the bulletin boards. "We noticed you don't have one in your area," the principal told me with concern, so we're having one installed."

By then, I was no longer team leader, and I had a great idea for our board. It was called "Advice from Dolphin," since we were the Dolphin Team, and was based on the "Advice from Nature" series of posters by Ilan Shamir, combining his poetic guidance with practical suggestions from former students. One of the maxims in his poem is, "Find your life's porpoise."

Evidently? One of mine has to do with bulletin boards.

On Call

I waited three days into the new school year to put in an appearance at my old school. In my defense? I probably could have stayed away a little longer, except my friend and former colleague texted me to request an assist on his bulletin board.

"I thought you'd never ask!" I replied.

That was our story, and we stuck with it today as we strolled through the bustling halls of teachers getting ready for the first day on Monday.

"It's so nice of you to help out!" another friend said as we were catching up.

"It's practically a tradition," I answered. "This is the third year in a row we've done it."

"Wow!" she replied. "That means this is your third year of retirement!" She shook her head in amazement.

"But if you ever just want to see her," the first friend said, "text and say it's your bulletin board."

"That's right!" I laughed. "I'll come right over."

Found in Translation

I recently stumbled across access to some cooking magazines in other languages through my public library account. Not that I'm proficient in any language other than English, but when it comes to cuisine, my knowledge of cooking and basic familiarity with some of the languages I learned and lived with in school are almost enough to decipher the recipes. Some of the techniques and ingredients are uncommon here in the States, and that's really what I love about spending the time it takes to figure out how to prepare the dishes. 

Today, though, it occurred to me that there is an easier way. I was using a search engine on my laptop to translate some of the ingredients in Italy's premier cooking magazine, GialloZafferano (literally Yellow Saffron), when I thought to try the Google Lens translation feature on my phone. All I had to do was hold my phone up to the screen, and the Italian was magically decoded into English. Because recipes are so simple, syntax, which is the trickiest part of an automated translator, is barely a problem. I could even screenshot the translation if I wanted to save the recipe to try later.

It was amazing! And I spent a happy hour or so virtually leafing through a couple of magazines I've never had the pleasure of reading before!

P.S. Baci makes gelato ice cream cones! But they aren't available in our area.

A Wee Touch of the FOMO

I was a little sad when Heidi left for school this morning, and I think it was a combination of missing her and missing having a place to be.

And since I had a temporary gig at my old school last spring, I'm still on the staff email, so I'm right in the loop as teachers return today for preservice week. I confess I opened the agenda for the faculty meeting, looked through the slide deck to see how everybody introduced themselves, and checked the master schedule to see who was teaching what and with whom. 

After two years of retirement, I would have thought I was done with all that. Maybe next year? And I do have bread to knead, floors to vacuum, a garden to weed, a workout to do, and a dog to walk on this lovely day, so who am I to complain?

Baby Sun Signs

It's been day-to-day for our friend who is nearing the end of her pregnancy. She has a C-section scheduled for September 1, but it's likely that Pebbles, as we affectionately call the infant-to-be, will make her appearance before that. Of course, we are excited to welcome a new baby into our friend circle, and we have been getting daily reports on how likely it is that we will meet her sooner rather than later. 

As part of that conversation, I've been contributing astrological information. "If she comes this week," I told her mom as we were floating in the pool the other day, "Pebbles will be a Leo."

"I don't know what that means." My friend shook her head.

"Well..." I started, considering how to put it. "Leos are brave and bold, like a lion. They have big personalities."

She smiled and nodded.

"They can also be willful and stubborn," I added.

"I'm stubborn enough," my friend sighed. "She might just take after me."

"If she's born next week, though," I said, "she'll be a Virgo."

"And that means?" my friend asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Virgos like routine," I told her. "They are generally calm and practical, also observant and helpful."

"I can get behind that!" she laughed. "That would totally work in our family."

And so, when this morning passed with no word of a new baby, Heidi texted. "Congratulations! Pebbles is officially a Virgo!"