Not that Funny

It was close to 6:30 when I carried three grocery bags and a basket full of produce from the garden through the parking lot and up the stairs to our unit. A quart container of heirloom beans teetered on top of the yellow squash, okra, peppers, and so, so many tomatoes.

"Don't spill the beans!" I said to myself, and then I laughed.

And then I spilled the beans.

Welcome to Sixth Grade

"How was the open house?" Heidi asked when she picked me up at 5:30 this evening.

"They seemed nervous," I started.

"That's pretty normal, right?" she said.

"I'm talking about the parents!" I told her.

It could well be that more kids means more parents, and more parents means more anxious parents. I think I was pretty reassuring, but even so?

I'm buckling up.

Idiosyncratic

There were a few more meetings today, but fortunately they involved concrete planning for the rest of this week and next, when students will actually be present, first at the open house tomorrow, and then for the opening days of school starting next Tuesday.

My room is coming together, too, although when I left this afternoon it was definitely in that storm before the calm stage, with boxes on the floor and posters and supplies strewn about all seven(!) tables. BUT, the bookshelves were unwrapped, and many items had been restored to their customary place.

In fact, a little glow of satisfaction warmed me in the air-conditioned chill as I considered those placements, well-tweaked after 24 years in the same room. Just then a new teacher came in to return the magnetic tape. She remembered that I had produced it from the bookshelf by my desk. "Does this just go on top?" she asked.

"Oh no," I replied, "it goes right here." And I slid it between the candy can and the metal file sorter next to it. "See how it sticks, because it's magnetic?" I asked.

Her face was polite, but blank, and for a moment I saw the room through her eyes.

"Signs you've worked in a space a little too long," I shrugged, and we laughed. "But now you know where to find it when you need it!" I said.

Heading for Overtime

For those of you keeping score?

This is day 4 back at school,

with zero time
to work in our classrooms,
meet with our interdisciplinary teams,
or plan with our teaching teams,

and 3 days left
until 134 students come my way.

Institutional Friendship

Our professional learning activity today involved the staff taking the role of students, and following a school-day schedule attending "classes" taught by our colleagues. We were assigned to cohorts of about 20-25, and so it happened that I spent most of my day with a teacher who was on my team the first year I started teaching. We have been in the same school ever since, but never again on the same team or in the same department.

Even so, our friendship is very warm, and it often surprises our colleagues who have no knowledge of our connection. That's how it was today. My friend can present as a little flighty at times, and there were a few raised eyebrows and giggles at our table when I teased her about her silly comments.

"Hey! This is your old classroom!" I noted as we moved to our second session, and we laughed because it was, 25 years ago. "Hey! Isn't the next room we go to your old classroom, too?" I said at the end of the session. And we laughed again, because it was, 20 years ago.

"You're just going to have to work another 30 years," I finally told her, "so you can teach in every room in the building!"

Someone Needs a Review

While most of my colleagues probably spent the first weekend of the school year chasing those final days of summer, I have been agonizing over a presentation I agreed to make tomorrow, despite my resolution to keep my life as uncomplicated as possible.

I guess that's what formative assessment is for.

Humility Grows Here

My dream of growing a watermelon was violently derailed yesterday when I stopped by the garden on the way home from school to see how it was doing without me now that I am back to work. There was nothing but a sour smell and a swarm of flies where my two little watermelons had been on Tuesday.

A little ways away I found a couple of broken and empty shells where whatever critter had beaten me to my melons had dragged them. With a sigh, I tossed them in the compost bin and filed the experience under major garden disappointments, right next to the pumpkin tragedy of 2013.

Under the Sun

At the beginning of every new school year there's at least one new initiative, or approach, or gimmick. I'm not sure why that is, other than idealists idealize things, like new years and new opportunities. To be honest, I learned early in my career what a big contrast there is from one year to next, a lesson that came mostly from being shocked by the changes-- in personnel, personalities, and group dynamics, to name the most obvious.

This time is no different, but if I've learned anything in my 25 years of teaching, it's definitely the Buddhist precept of non-attachment. Who knows if that information system, curriculum, teammate, etc. will stick?

Even so, I'm a little intrigued by the "Lead Simply" materials our principal introduced to the leadership team. Sam Parker's framework of Model. Connect. Involve. is actually quite simple (everything is contained in a slim 6'x4' 61 page volume) and aligns well with both my philosophies of leadership and teaching, which in many ways is really a specialized form of leadership.

As part of the initiative, we got Parker's book, and some swag, too: a pen, a notepad, and some sticky-notes. I had the pen, boldly emblazoned with LEAD simply, with me at our big staff meeting yesterday, and I noticed one of my very experienced teammates looking at it. Later on she stopped by my room ro ask a question and noticed the book on my desk.

"I have to ask," she smirked, "is that the instruction manual to your pen?"

Chops

I came home from school this afternoon and cooked. I took what they gave me in my veggie share and what I had on hand, and I put it all together to make corn on the cob, braised cherry tomato sauce, and kimchi pickled cucumbers: something for today, something for tomorrow, and something for the future.

I think that's the kind of year it's going to be. 

The Wai-yai-ting is the Hardest Part

Except that on Sunday night, I know what to expect on Monday morning. It's the uncertainty that gets me out of sorts.

Let's get this party started, SY18-19!

Pre Reqs

In the final days of summer we went to see Spike Lee's new movie Blackkklansman yesterday afternoon and finally scored tickets to the National Museum of African American History and Culture  for today. Both were sobering and thought-provoking reminders of institutional injustice and white privilege, which are essential considerations as we prepare ourselves to step into our classrooms and begin another year of educating the people who might finally rid this country of both, allowing it to fulfill those founding promises of freedom and equality for all.

Escape the Routine

This year our administrative team decided to do something different for the first leadership team meeting. We had a morning session covering some nuts and bolts, and then after lunch we adjourned to a local escape room.

Three randomly assigned teams of educators had 60 minutes to free ourselves from the silly scenarios they had set up there.

We did it!

I think it might be a good year.

August Blessing

We were playing Name that Tune on our most recent road trip when Jason Mraz's latest single, "Have it All," came on. It was upbeat and boppy, with a nice little positive (if somewhat derivative) gist:

May you have auspiciousness and causes of success
May you have the confidence to always do your best
May you take no effort in your being generous...

...And may the best of your todays be the worst of your tomorrows
And may the road less paved be the road that you follow

"That would be a good writing exercise," I said to Heidi, "to have the kids write their own blessings in that style. Maybe I'll do that for the poetry challenge."

Tonight, on the eve of my first school meeting for the new academic year, I remembered how effortlessly I slipped into sixth grade English teacher mode on August something, somewhere on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. After 25 years, I guess that's who I am, and I'm kinda looking forward to getting back to it.

As for the new year? Take it, Jason:

May you be as fascinating as a slap bracelet
May you keep the chaos and the clutter off your desk
May you have unquestionable health and less stress
Having no possessions though immeasurable wealth
May you get a gold star on your next test
May your educated guesses always be correct
And may you win prizes shining like diamonds
May you really own it each moment to the next

Urban Adventure

After the success of yesterday's bikeshare-scooter escapade, I invited Heidi on a similar venture this morning. "Let's just walk down and grab a couple of bikes, then cycle over to Crystal City and grab a couple of scooters and see what's going on," I suggested confidently.

The first foible was at the bike dock: we could only get one of the four bikes that were there out for a ride. Undaunted, we put that one back and headed around the corner a bit to the next closest station. There we pulled the first bike out right away, but we couldn't get another one, this time because one was already checked out on the account. So I rode the bike we had back to the first dock and jiggled the first bike until the green light came on. By then, Heidi had walked over to join me, so we borrowed the bike again and rode east.

You know those darn scooters are never quite where they say they will be, and multiplying that by two was definitely double trouble. Once again, we grabbed one right away, and I scootered up and down and all around, consulting the app on Heidi's phone as I rode (because if you already have one, the app on your device won't show any others), until at last I found one. Unlocking it, we were met with a terrible squeal, but still we agreed to ride it until we could find another, which was difficult, because neither of our devices showed us where they were.

Oh, and before Heidi could borrow one, we had to download the app and create an account, and then we had to enter her drivers license # before we could actually unlock the squealing scooter. Not having the document handy, I slyly made up a number, which actually worked.

Not finding any other scooters, and feeling a bit parched after our outing, we agreed to head over to Whole Foods, where we miraculously found another scooter waiting for us right next to the door. We locked both of ours, and while Heidi stood guard, I ran in for some cold drinks. A few minutes later, I rejoined Heidi who was in conversation with some dude who wanted one of ours. I whipped out my phone and unlocked mine, and Heidi did the same. There is a problem with your license, read the error message, try again later.

Shoulders slumped, we relinquished the Birds and walked off toward the mall. After a little shopping, we found a bike station and pedaled toward home, which was not nearly as much fun as scootering would have been. As we approached the very first bike dock, ready to turn our wheels in and walk home, I blinked and blinked again. The unmistakable silhouette of a scooter leaned casually against the bike rack.

Exercise in the Sharing Economy

It was another hot day here, but after returning home from a mid-afternoon movie, I was restless. 95 degrees had subsided to 88, and the lazy early evening sun was sinking behind haze and boomers that were too far away to rain. I tapped my phone and checked the scooter app. There were a bunch a couple miles away in Crystal City, but at that time of day, traffic would be heavy, and I wasn't looking for a place to drive.

A bike path led directly to the scooters, and I knew there was a bike share station on the way and another one at the end. With that, my plan was clear. Ten minutes later I was on a bike, 15 minutes after that it was parked, and I was walking a couple of blocks back to the scooters I had pedaled past. From there it was all wind in my hair as I rolled back home. 

Sun Drenched

Chapter I:

Oh, Pennsylvania! I don't think I would recognize you without a torrential downpour or two, even when the sun is shining.

Chapter II:

"Do you think visibility is better or worse when it rains so hard it's like you're in a car wash but the sun is shining?" I asked Heidi somewhere along Rt. 322.

Chapter III:

I answered my own question. "I think it's worse."

The Language of the Kitchen

It has been fun spending time with Kyle, and at 18 his interests are maturing a little bit as the reality of self-sufficiency creeps ever closer. As such, he has been more of a presence in the kitchen and at the grill, making observations and asking questions.

"So you're scraping the lime skin onto the raw fish?" he asked rhetorically yesterday.

"I'm adding lime zest to the marinade," I translated, "but basically, yeah."

Then I tapped a bit of the grated zest into his palm. "Smell that, then taste it."

"Wow!" he said. "I can see why you use that."

Entertaining Inquiry

This summer we have relied on Netflix for most of our TV viewing. Between  Chef's Table, Mindhunter, and I am a Killer, the question I ask Heidi when we settle in for the evening is What do you feel like, serial killers or chefs?

My Kind of Day...

...is any day that includes walking waterfront, playing ping pong on the public table there, and renting a giant four-wheeled contraption to pedal it madly up and down the boardwalk.

It could only have been better with scooters.

Homeward Bound

Our route today took us across the northwest corner of New Jersey, through the Poconos, and onto I-81 from Scranton to Syracuse. The landscape was beautiful: rugged and mountainous, and I remembered driving on 81 from Binghamton to Harrisburg on my trips to DC from college.

For the first three years, I didn't have a car, and so when Thanksgiving rolled around I relied on those signs in the student union that had phone numbers on little tear-offs at the bottom to find my transportation south. Of course that usually meant ponying up gas cash up front, jamming a duffle bag in the trunk, and smushing in between strangers in the backseat of somebody's Chevy NOVA. Eight hours later, my aunt would pick me up at some parking lot off of the Baltimore Beltway, and drop me off there the following Sunday afternoon.

It was all more than worth it to me for four days with family. Three weeks later, I would be on my way home for winter break, which was an entirely different sort of trip involving airport limos, helicopters, and a first class ticket on Pan Am from JFK to Dhahran, Saudi Arabia. Longer and certainly more comfortable, the promise of family time sweetened those travels as well.

And the same was true today as I piloted our Subaru from Hightstown to Buffalo-- up and down mountains, through cities and towns, over rivers and around lakes, in sunshine and in rain, on empty roads and stop and go thruways-- our final destination was dinner waiting on a round oak table with five places set, and space for the dog underneath.

Beware of Dog

The parking lot was full when we pulled into a nearby park this afternoon. Several white picnic canopies were arranged over at the edge of the fields, and speakers were pumping out upbeat music from the bandstand. To be honest, the mostly African American crowd was an unusual sight for this semi-rural little hamlet, but the mini-buses labeled "Trenton Pentecostal Church" sort of explained the unexpected diversity, and reminded me that nothing is really very far away from anything in New Jersey, where suburbs melt effortlessly into farms, and almost every east-west road includes a bridge over the turnpike.

A group of five little kids led by a boy of perhaps 10 or 11, stood wide-eyed as we unloaded the dogs for the walk we were there to take. First out was Odie, a springy little miniature schnauzer who bounced to the end of his leash.

"Whoa! A dog!" said one of the children in utter surprise.

"Wait until you see the next one!" Heidi told the little girl.

The group gasped in surprise as Lucy bounded out of the station wagon with her typical tada! flourish.

"Okay," said the leader, stepping in front of his charges and spreading his arms, "which one bites?"

Local History

Today I did what I do when I visit a place that seems interesting: I found a little history book and started reading. Did it help that we're in New Jersey, the state I truly consider to be where I'm from? Maybe, but all those Victorian houses on South Main Street really seemed like there had to have been something going on.

So far I've uncovered that the couple for whom this hamlet is named was lost to history a mere 20 years after carving a town from woods along the former Indian trail that became the main road from New Amsterdam to Trenton. There's also a couple of haunted houses, and the little known fact that the "Etra" in Etra Road and Etra Park is actually an acronym for Edward Taylor Riggs Applegate, one of 19th century Mercer County's most prominent citizens.

All evidence of a good day's work, and who knows what I may discover tomorrow?

Auntie's Taxi Service

After a single day of driving 2 teenaged girls and their friends around to jobs, camps, rehearsals, boyfriend's house, hair appointments, shopping etc. and back, I am exhausted! As a teacher, I am certainly aware of how crazy kids' schedules can be, but I honestly don't know how families manage the complexities. Or rather, I do. Family time is the obvious casualty: there simply isn't time for dinner at the table, homework help, family TV or games, or other activities.

Back when I was a kid, things were a lot different. Were we bored without so many activities on our agendas? Maybe, but we were bored together!

The P is not Silent

We were talking vegan options at dinner tonight with Heidi's friend Betty and her 2 girls, Allyn and Delaney.

"Pea protein is very big these days," Heidi told Betty, who nodded.

As Betty started to tell Heidi that pea protein was in her smoothie powder, I looked across the table at Delaney, who looked horrified. Allyn noticed the expression as well.

"They mean the vegetable," she told her sister. "P-E-A."

"Oh good!" Delaney replied. "I was really worried about where people were getting their protein from these days!"

Inside Recess

When the day is hot and sticky
But you want to have some fun
And bowling is so last week
There’s still some place to run

Indoor mini golf!

Heidi and Annabelle and I went when we were in Atlanta, and at the time I made note of the fact that they had a location not too too far from our house. And so on Josh’s last day with us and in between running errands to prepare for our next road trip to NJ and Buffalo, we made our way to Monster Mini-golf, where all the clubs and balls and bumpers on the greens are fluorescent, and you play under black lights with retro music pounding too loud for you to have a normal conversation, but just the right volume to make you shake your bootie on every green while waiting for your turn to putt. This location also had duck pin bowling, a laser maze, and a neon color challenge that were included, along with 10 dollars worth of arcade games in our flat rate admission. And yes! I put the high score on the basketball game again, proving Atlanta was no fluke! It was cheesy fun at its finest, and gifting our tickets to a family of little boys on the way out the door, I laughed all the way into the muggy afternoon, where, yes, it had thunderstormed again. 

Microburst

Our street is like a river! the text from one of our neighbors read.

We looked around where we were, just 10 miles from home. It was 95 degrees, and the sun was unrelenting.

I know! I got drenched coming in from the car, and that was with a raincoat and umbrella! replied another neighbor.

There were a few clouds in the east, towards the direction of home.

The pavement was dry on the way back. A mile or so from our house we spotted a few small puddles, and the streets grew wetter as we approached home.

Here? The sun was out, but everything sparkled and steamed in the aftermath of what must have been an impressive storm.

Too

The day was too good to waste, and too hot to do much.
But we tried:
The path was too steep and too muddy to reach the river.
The town was too flooded to have much of anything open.
The park was too crowded to find parking.
The road home was too crowded to make good time.
But:
The company was too good to complain.
The dinner was too delicious not to enjoy.

Holiday

Before I even knew that there was a national day devoted to watermelon, much less that that day was this day, I stood in the kitchen this morning chopping up a small, round, dark green watermelon that came in our CSA box on Thursday. It was perfectly ripe-- crisp and sweet-- but unlike most of the melons we see these days, it was also full of tiny seeds.

Heidi was next to me, sampling the cubes as I cut. "This is a good, one!" she proclaimed, "Except for the seeds."

I shrugged in agreement. "But it's so old-fashioned," I said. "Remember when we were kids? watermelon always had lots of seeds."

"Right!" she nodded. "We always had to eat it outside."

"I know," I said, "like right after we went out to peel the corn? We ate watermelon."

"Yeah," she replied, "and we spit the seeds into the grass!"

We were silent for a moment, and then she continued, "And wished that watermelons would grow there!"

Yes. That's exactly how it was.

Happy National Watermelon Day!

Monsoon Season

The warm, damp air embraces you the moment you step through any door. Whether the sun is shining, illuminating the clouds, or completely obscured, you are cradled by moisture: wet grass, slick pavements and drips from every leaf. Everything is green, green, so green and smells metallic and earthy, like rain is coming, because it is. 

Plan B

Josh is feeling a little bit better and so we approached this day like a classic summer vacation day. We were on the third hole of the miniature golf course when the first peal of thunder rumbled but were able to play through to thirteen before the rain and lightning chased us off the course. Our fallback was bowling, and so we drove through the torrential storm to knock down a few pins on lane 29 and munch on cheese fries and zucchini sticks.

Once home, we churned our own versions of cereal milk ice cream: a taste test of Cap'n Crunch and Fruity Pebbles. Both versions were creamy and pleasantly off-sweet and slightly salty, and topped with their respective cereals, they were really quite delicious.

Next up? A movie on TV and maybe even a board game, because when summer gives you rain, she also gives you options.

Tour de Chef

Josh is here for a few days, and the other night we were flipping through Netflix and landed on a recent episode of Chef's Table. Each episode profiles a chef, focusing heavily on their artistry and origin story.

We started with the one about Christina Tosi, pastry chef and founder of Milk Bar. The three of us were captivated by her philosophy of food and cooking and charmed by her signature dishes of Crack Pie, Compost Cookies, and Cereal Milk soft serve ice cream.

"You know they have a Milk Bar at the Wharf," I told Heidi and Josh, and so a plan was hatched. We headed over there around 4 o'clock this afternoon, undaunted by rush hour. Once at the place, we ordered soft serve for there and one of everything to take home.

Sitting at the community table savoring the not-so-sweet and salty custard garnished liberally with crunchy cornflake brittle, I sighed. "This is amazing! We should go to every chef's restaurant after we watch the show!" I told Josh. "Who was the guy in episode 1?"

"Massimo somebody," he answered.

"Right!" I agreed and got to googling. "Here it is! Massimo Bottura. He has restaurants in... Modena, Italy. That's all." I shrugged. "Guess we better start packing!"