Not So Small Talk

"How did you decide you wanted to teach art?" I asked a young woman at Emily's retirement party.

"That's a complicated story!" she laughed.

"I don't mean to be nosy," I told her. "Skip that question if you like!"

"I'll give you the quick version," she answered amiably. "I studied video game design in college with a minor in Japanese. After graduation, I moved to Japan to pursue a career in games, but my entry was teaching English. I decided I liked teaching better than game design, and here I am!"

I nodded appreciatively. 

"How about you?" she asked. "Are you from this area?"

"That's a complicated story!" I laughed.

Duty Calls

I was standing in the library of my old school this morning, waiting for the next round of testees, when my phone chimed with a text notification. The screen displayed the former assistant principal's name and a message asking whether I was free to talk briefly. I was, and as I waited for her call, I looked around the room. It was practically unchanged in the decade since she retired, and I thought of all the meetings we had sat in there over the twenty years we worked together. My phone buzzed, and I smiled to hear her voice. 

The business at hand today was not educational in the least; she needed a sub for her summer bowling league and wondered if I could do it. "Yes, ma'am," I said, since after all, she was the boss.

Testy Testers

"I don't even want to take this test again!" an 8th grader scoffed as I escorted her from the retake session to the restroom.

"Why didn't you tell your parents that?" I asked neutrally. "They had to give their permission for you to do the retake."

"My parents gave permission for this?" she responded, appalled.

Soon enough, it was her turn in the restroom, and then we returned to the library. Not 10 minutes later, she raised her hand to indicate she was finished. She did not pass.

But that was part of the pattern today. A little over half of the students who were eligible for an expedited retake, based on how close they were to passing on the first go-round, passed on the second try. It was pretty clear as they worked which of them were engaged and hopeful, and which were not.

Perhaps we should make it part of the process to ask the students, in addition to their parents and teachers, if they want another chance. Otherwise, really? What's the point?

The Library of Things

A couple of months ago, I discovered "The Library of Things" on my local library's website. In addition to an alluring name, the collection's premise was also enchanting, featuring sub-collections with dolls, memory kits, nature backpacks, puzzles, games, and tools. Of course, I wanted to browse! 

Even though I didn't need a darning egg, a white noise machine, trekking poles, or a stud finder, it was comforting to know they were available if I ever did, and I also found a telescope and a metal detector, two big-ticket items I have always coveted. Oh, there was a waitlist, of course, but I added them both to my holds and promptly forgot.

Until this morning, when I received a notification that the telescope was ready for pickup. At first, I planned to walk down to the library to get my prize, but I thought better of it, uncertain about the telescope's size and weight. I was glad I drove, too, when the librarian dragged out a huge nylon bag from behind the desk when I inquired about my hold, and soon I slung the three-foot duffle over one shoulder, lugged it to the car, and headed home to set it up.

As of now, I have a nice viewing platform on the upper deck, and I am just waiting for darkness to fall. Coincidentally? This morning, we booked a house in Virginia Beach for three days, the week after school gets out. Unfortunately, my telescope is due a couple of days before that, but I'm hoping for a renewal. That or the metal detector.

Maybe both!

Silly Americans

"Have you ever taken your children to the aquarium in Atlanta?" I asked my hairstylist this morning. We were talking about her plans to visit her sister down there this summer.

"No," she replied. "Is it nice?"

"It's amazing!" I told her. "My niece and nephew are 18 and 20 now, but they have loved it all their lives."

She nodded. "We'll have to try it."

"In fact," I continued, "my nephew actually swam with the whale sharks in the big tank last month."

"Wow!" she said. "I would be much too afraid to do that!"

"He said he was afraid," I laughed, "but glad he did it."

"I'm African," she shook her head, "I would never."

I tilted my head and considered her reply. Yorda grew up in Ethiopia during a time of famine and civil war, and she often expresses her gratitude for the relative stability she has found here in the U.S. I guess maybe it is a privilege of Western society to take unnecessary risks for fun, even if they seem harmless. 

Five Little Monkeys

Now that both our cats and our dog are approaching the decade mark, there seems to be a consensus among them that all five of us belong in the same bed every night. Oh, they don't agree on territory, no, no, no; in fact, there is some competition, not always friendly. But at some point, every night, they each spend some time snoozing on the bed.

In general, it doesn't bother me. I'm a sound sleeper who contorts myself in my sleep to give the other four space. You might reasonably wonder, then, how I even know about their nocturnal habits. Well, Lucy grumbles when she is disturbed, and that does occasionally wake me, as does Heidi's yelps whenever Milo walks on her face. And just this morning, I woke up with white cat hair all over the navy tank I was wearing. Clearly, somebody (ahem, Tibby) had been cuddling up to me.

I may have to start keeping a lint roller on my nightstand.

Just a Little Something Sweet

"I don't suppose Z is here today," I said off-handedly as I passed a teacher in the hallway this morning. I had been scouring the school for a handful of elusive, test-avoidant students.

"Actually," she nodded, "he is! He's right over there." She pointed to a classroom down the hall.

I tapped on the door and walked in. "Is Z here?" I asked, and the co-teacher pointed at a young man seated to her right. "May I have him for testing?" I continued.

He was full of woe and sighs as we headed down to the testing office, but I refused to acknowledge his angst, choosing instead to engage in friendly chatter. His disposition did not improve as I set him up with a laptop and headphones and proceeded to read the directions for the test. "I can see your progress on my computer," I told him. "Let me know if you have any questions."

He worked steadily at first, but was quickly fatigued. Fortunately, it was lunch time, so I escorted him to the cafeteria. "You're going to have to have a working lunch," I said, and he nodded gloomily. "You're making good progress, though," I told him. "You're almost halfway."

What I didn't mention was that I was going to have to test him for reading tomorrow, and I was working hard to make this as painless as possible. After his second walk to the water fountain, I suggested we scour the cupboards for a cup so he could bring it back with him. There were no cups among the testing supplies, but there was some candy. 

Do your best on the test, you Smartie, read the package. "You're a smartie," I told him, "I think this must be for you!" 

That got a smile! And as he munched happily on what my brother, sister, and I used to call power pills, I broke the news to him that he would have to come back tomorrow. "Can I have more Smarties then?" he asked.

You betcha.