8 Birthdays: What a Wonderful Life

When I hatched this 8 lists of 8 concept, a quick little tote on my fingers confirmed that the last eight would be on my birthday. That's easy, thought I.

Turns out, I was wrong. It was nice to know where I was headed all week, but picking the top 8 of 58 wasn't quite as simple as I expected. I have had a lot of wonderful birthdays.

When I was a kid, being born on the last day of June meant never having to go to school on my birthday. Sure, it meant never having my mom bring cupcakes for the class on my birthday, but somehow, that trade-off always seemed worth it. Especially since my mom went all out for our birthdays, particularly in the cake category. I had a cake castle with a princess in a cake dress, a barn with coconut grass and animals, my brother had covered wagons, and a circus train, my sister had a jack-in-the-box for her first birthday, and there were all sorts of cats and Snoopys in between.

With all that in mind, the first entry on my list is a bit of a cheat-- it's all my birthdays before the age of 10 (which is an arbitrary number, but I have the sense that 10 is the age when my kid birthdays ended).

18

The year I turned 18, my family spent 2 weeks in a rented villa in Portugal at the end of which I headed off to London to be a counselor for a summer program at the English branch of the Swiss boarding school I had graduated from the year before. I spent my 18th birthday at Heathrow Airport, holding up greeting signs and shepherding kids on to shuttle buses bound for Surrey. No one knew it was my birthday, and I forgot it myself several times throughout the day. So this is what it's like to be an adult, I thought with sadness and pride. That night, as I played poker with the other counselors, there was a knock on the window, and there was my family-- my mom, dad, brother, and sister had rerouted their trip home to Saudi Arabia to spend the last couple hours of my birthday with me.

19

The year I was 19, I canceled my counselor job from the summer before to spend a summer term at college. One summer was a requirement of my university, and although I hoped to get an exemption, it was not a sure thing, and all my friends were planning on being on campus that summer. One boy in particular encouraged me to stay, and when I did, he was a constant companion. When he found out it was my birthday, he offered to take rent a canoe and take me fishing on the lake near our school. As we paddled about casting our lines unsuccessfully, he suggested I turn my back to the bow and keep fishing as he paddled us to a place he knew was lucky. Nearing the end of the lake, I heard a chorus of voices and turned to find all my friends singing happy birthday on a little beach.

 Not 24

"Are you going to write about the time Teresa and Elaine showed up and crashed your birthday?" my brother asked me this afternoon. "Because that was one of my favorite of your birthdays," he laughed.

Yeah. No.

40
and
50

Our whole family gathered for a week in Maine on both of these milestone birthdays. We hiked, canoed, ate lobster, and had an all out wonderful time. Just 2 more years 'til 60!

53

I've spent a lot of birthdays in Buffalo, where Heidi's parents live. Mostly, it has to do with summer travel and coordinating our visit with her brother or nephew. In 2015, I took matters into my own hands, organizing a trip to Jamestown, NY, birthplace of Lucille Ball and home of the Lucy Museum. Can you say Vitameatavegemin?

57

I flew out to Minnesota to spend time with my mom right after school ended last year. Heidi joined us on the 29th, and the three of us played games, went to the pool, ate at one of the best restaurants in the Cities, and walked around St. Anthony's Falls on The Mississippi River. It had been 7 years since I spent my birthday with my mom, and this would be the last time I'd ever get to do it. It was a great day.

58

Despite the restrictions of the pandemic, today was quite possibly the quintessential birthday for me; in fact, if my sister's family had been here, it would have been nearly perfect. I ate peach and blueberry galette for breakfast, worked on solving a murder box until 10, went over to my brother's for sandwiches (from Earl's!), games in the back yard with both my older nephews, and lemon cupcakes. Once home, Heidi and I closed all the curtains and pulled the recliing chair up to the TV to pretend we were at the movies. (We would have had popcorn if we hadn't been so full of cupcakes.) When the house lights came up on Troop Zero, I wiped a tear and walkeda up to water my garden. Then it was home for lobster rolls and corn on the cob.

I know, right?

8 States

Spending so much time at home encourages daydreams of traveling. In my life, I have been fortunate to see a lot of the world, and quite a bit of the United States. As of this writing, I have set foot in 48 states (Hawaii and Idaho, I'm coming for you), and I have spent time outside an airport or an interstate in 45 states, and I have actually spent more than a night in 39 states.

This is an amazing country, both topographically and culturally, and it's easy to see why people come from all over the world to visit. Even so, there are places that, for me, one stop was enough. Then there are the places I would go again and again.

These are my top 8 states:

Alaska

Alaska has a lot to live up to, and it does. It has the most beautiful mountains I ever seen outside of the Alps. Forests, glaciers, ocean, tundra, it is immense and amazing.

Maine

I first visited Maine in August 1995. We left hot and sticky Virginia to spend a few days with a friend on Mount Desert Island. I'll never forget the first day-- my friend showed us around the island and through Acadia National Park. Windows down we rolled along the ocean and through forests with the sharp smells of salt and balsam in air. "I hate it here!" I said. "It's too perfect, and I never want to leave, but I have to, so I hate it."

New Jersey

My family lived in South Jersey from the time I was 4 until I was 13. I loved my childhood there. Beaches in the summer, peach, blueberry, and apple picking, in the fall, snowy winters, and rainy springs with daffodils and lilac. I started school there, made my first best friend, learned to swim and ride a bike, and played soccer and softball.

South Dakota

On the eastern side, it's all farm land and prairie that rolls into the Badlands and the Black Hills. Looking out the car window, you can imagine cowboys riding up over the ridge to your right. It is gorgeous country, wide open and still untamed.

New Mexico

The Sandia Mountains make a half-circle around the flat, high plains that Albuquerque sits on. There is true dessert in all the other directions. Dry heat during the day gives way to cool nights, even in summer, and the stars!

California

Everyone knows Cali is amazing, from south to central to north. I can't imagine tiring of it.

The last two slots are sill open.

I think Virginia might make it, if I hadn't lived here for the last 37 years. One day, if I move away, I might long for the monuments of Northern Virginia, or the shores of Virginia Beach, or the splendor of the Blue Ridge Mountains, especially in autumn.

And New York i in the running, too. The City is exciting and vibrant, always worth a visit. My dad grew up in central New York, and I went to college there. The winters were grueling, but I honestly didn't mind. Heidi's folks live in Buffalo, and I've spent a lot of time in Western NY in the last 22 years. Niagara Falls? Incomparable, and the great lakes, Erie and Ontario, are, well, great. But, sorry NY, I just can't commit.

8 Sandwiches (plus 1)

"I don't think I've ever seen you eat a sandwich before," one of my colleagues remarked at lunch a few months ago; this after eating that meal together almost every day for at least three years.

"It's not my usual," I agreed, taking a bite of calabrese salami and provolone on pane di campagne. A couple of seconds in the microwave had softened the bread and warmed the meat and cheese so that no condiments were necessary. It was delicious.

My relationship with that workhorse of the portable meal is a bit fraught. I love a good sandwich, but it rarely occurs to me to go out of my way to eat one. Even that day, the only reason I had a sandwich for lunch was that there were no leftovers or salad fixins in the fridge. As a kid, I always wanted to buy my lunch, despite the fact that my mother packed fresh fruit and homemade sweets with every bag lunch. I think it must have been the sandwich, peanut butter and jelly (which I hate to this day) or bologna and yellow mustard, that I objected to. 

A notable exception was anything with cream cheese, which in our house meant cream cheese and olive or cream cheese and jelly, often my mothers homemade peach jam. I also think that the store-bought white bread of the day was another drawback; I clearly remember tearing the center of a slice away from the crust and rolling it into a gummy ball of dough which some kids liked, but most of us used as ammunition.

Outside the lunchbox, there were some sandwiches that were rare treats, restaurant-made as they were. For us, living right outside Philadelphia, we're talking incomparable cheese steaks and hoagies. A few years later, when we moved to Saudi Arabia, shawarma from a street vendor was always a satisfying, and late night ham and Bel Paese cheese sandwiches with mustard and mayonnaise from Angelo at the snack bar were a staple at my Swiss boarding school.

After college, I moved to Virginia Beach and The Jewish Mother was a fun place to go see live music. True to their name, they had an extensive deli menu, too, and if I was there, I loved Mother's Uncle Sam: turkey, avocado, and sprouts on pumpernickel. Another great sandwich down there was the Taste Unlimited roast beef and havarti with their signature dressing, perfect for packing a picnic to take to the beach.

These days, there's a roasted cauliflower with tahini and pickled beets that a little Lebanese takeout place up in Buffalo makes that I order every time I'm in town, and locally? It's Earl's chipotle turkey with bacon and  field greens. Can you believe I just figured out that they probably named that place Earl's after the Earl of Sandwich?

Yup.

So, to recap, here are my top 8 sandwiches:

Cream cheese and homemade peach jam

Philly cheesesteak

Italian hoagie

Shawarma

Ham and Bel Paese with pickles and mustard and mayonaise

Mother's Uncle Sam

Roast Beef and Havarti

Cauliflower and tahini wrap

Chipotle turkey with bacon and field greens on ciabatta

Oh? And in a pinch? I would enjoy that calabrese and provolone on pane di campagna, as long as it is gently warmed. But I can make that one myself.

8 Homegrown Vegetables

I have had a community garden for 10 years now. My how time flies! Most of the time I still feel like the novice new kid, fighting an endless battle against mugwort and wire grass, but I guess I've learned a few things, too. One of the most important lessons is that every season is different, and although I can do some things to help my plants thrive, most of it is up to them.

At this point in my agrarian career, there are eight must-have crops:

tomatoes
shell beans
okra
eggplant
peppers
corn
summer squash
winter squash

As reluctant as I am to leave my garden for vacations and family visits, coming back after time away and seeing how much has grown is always really exciting. It reminds me that we often lose sight of daily progress when we are right there.

I can't wait until Monday!

Eight Birds

I never paid much attention to birds growing up. My Aunt Sis would always call us to the back door of her Virginia home whenever she spotted a Cardinal or a Blue Jay, though, and I learned early that Robin Red Breast was a sign of spring. But beyond that, all birds with dark feathers were blackbirds and anything that swam on a pond and ate leftover bread was a duck.

I take that back: I knew what pigeons were, and still, on a high school trip, I bought a handful of corn from the vendor in the Piazza del Duomo so that I could hold a dozen of them on my outstretched arm.

Later, when I was in college, it was the bird feeder outside my Aunt Harriett's picture window by the kitchen table and the field guide on the sill that finally captured my attention and kindled my interest in birds. It was kind of thrill to be able to sort and name the birds that came for the millet and sunflower seeds. Chickadees, Nuthatches, Titmice, Sparrows, Wrens, Finches, Starlings, Mockingbirds, and Downy Woodpecker joined Cardinals, Blue Jays, Ducks, and Pigeons in my consciousness.

In 2006, I participated in the Northern Virginia Writing Project Summer Institute, an experience which changed my teaching and writing forever. One of the most popular books among our cohort was Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. Subtitled Some Instructions on Writing and Life, the book draws its title from advice Lamott's writer dad gave to her 10-year-old brother when he was overwhelmed by a report he had to write on birds: Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.

All summer, we used those words as short hand to describe the best approach to any overwhelming task (such as teaching or writing or teaching writing): Get started and keep going, day by day, word, by word, student by student.

Here are 8 birds I've only spotted once or twice:

Indigo Bunting
Cedar Waxwing
Magpie
Common Loon
Kingfisher
Virginia Rail
Oriole
Screech Owl

But I'll keep looking!

Top 8 Radio, 1972

When we were kids, our car radio was always tuned to WFIL; they played all the top 40 hits live from Center City Philadelphia. Out on any errand, short or long, my mom, brother, and sister and I would sing along to every song.

The year I was in fourth grade, I got a clock radio for Christmas. I guess my mom must have thought that it was time I started getting myself up and ready for school, and what better way to start the day than listening to the radio? She was right about that-- even today my alarm wakes me, not to the top 40, but to NPR. Even so, that first year of having my own radio made a huge impression on me.

Whenever I hear a song from 1972, I'm transported back to that yellow room I shared with my sister. I am sitting on my bed, a homemade canopy contraption made with a plywood frame on the ceiling hung with dyed bed sheets on spring curtain rods. My night table is on the left, and the boxy white analog clock with AM radio is right under the little lamp.

Here's the list of my favorite eight songs of that year:

Doctor My Eyes by Jackson Browne
Candy Man by Sammy Davis Jr
American Pie by Don McLean
Brandy by Lookin Glass
Daddy Don't You Walk So Fast by Wayne Newton
Morning Has Broken by Cat Stevens
Song Sung Blue by Neil Diamond
Heart of Gold by Neil Young

That was also the year I started buying my own records, and I owned the 45 of almost every song on that list!

Pie!

We brought a bag full of those Georgia peaches up here to Buffalo, and they are ripening quite nicely. So much so, that Heidi's mom decided to bake a peach and cherry pie for dessert tonight. It was a warm and satisfying end to a meal of pan-roasted halibut with buerre blanc, sauteed fresh corn, and a spinach salad, and it got me thinking about pie.

Years ago, when my friend and colleague Leah and I started our first online writing community for our sixth graders, using new-ish technology to bridge the distance between our 2 middle schools, the students immediately started shaping the virtual space all on their own, first by posting polls and questionnaires on the discussion board topic we called Random. One of the more memorable was Pie or Ice Cream?  

The profound simplicity of the question, along with the engaged debate it inspired, convinced me that we were on to something much larger than we knew. Our students voluntarily wrote seven days a week, nearly 24 hours a day, on that topic and many others. It was September 2006, coincidentally the very same month that Facebook went live to anyone over the age of 13 with an email address.

As for me? I love ice cream, but I was always pie, no question. Here are 8 of my favorites, in no particular order:

Lemon Meringue
Peach and Blueberry
Blackberry Cobbler
Apple Cranberry
Pecan
Sour Cherry
Chocolate Mousse
Key Lime

And, if I didn't have to choose between the two, I would have them a la mode, anytime!

8 Great Road Trips

This top eight list idea started on a road trip; I love a road trip; so naturally my first list would be road trips.

Here they are in chronological order:

Geneva to Lugano 1978

This was the annual trip our high school basketball team took to the big tournament. Our school was much smaller than the other contenders, and we rarely made it to the semi-finals, but Geneva had the only McDonalds within 200 miles of our school, and our bus always stopped there before we headed back through the Alps. Those french fries and shakes made the sting of getting spanked by the home team a little less painful.

Hamilton to Virginia Beach and back 1983

At the end of the January term our senior year 3 of my college friends and I decided to take the three days we had before the spring semester and go down to Virginia Beach where my mom was living. We left at about 10 at night and drove all the way through, arriving at the ocean just as the sun was rising. We spent the day and one night and then turned back north, breaking our return trip in DC with one of my high school buddies, where we ate fondue and drank beer and Jaegermeister by the fire long into the evening.

Austin to Santa Fe 1992

The first stop was San Antonio and that tiny adobe mission we know as the Alamo, then we ate the best cheese and bean enchiladas I have ever tasted at a roadside dive outside Del Rio. We dipped into Mexico for the afternoon and then drove north on 285 through the scrubby desert in the western panhandle of Texas. Crossing the Pecos River at sunset, the sandstone gorge was glowing red, lit by the golden light reflecting off the water. I'll never forget it.

Minneapolis to Rapid City and back 1997

Early in August, my mom had a conference to attend in South Dakota, and since I was on summer break she invited me to tag along. Heading west, it wasn't long before we left the Twin Cities way behind passing first through farm land and then over the Red River and into the prairie. Until then, I didn't realize exactly where the American west was located. After lunch and fantastic homemade pie at Al's on the Missouri River, our next stop was the Corn Palace in Mitchell. There I bought a paperback of O Pioneers by Willa Cather and read that story of hard scrabble and survival on the prairie as we drove across the same land. In the next four days, we saw the Badlands, Mt. Rushmore, the Black Hills, Crazy Horse Monument, Deadwood, Devil's Tower, Wind Cave, AND Wall Drug.

Arlington to Bar Harbor and Buffalo 2005

Back when my oldest nephews were kids, we used to rent a minivan and drive to Mount Desert Island for a week of hiking and blueberry picking. This particular summer, we stopped in Buffalo on the way home and stayed with Heidi's folks, where we explored Niagara Falls, including Cave of the Winds, and camped on the shore of Lake Erie. We played Settlers of Catan at the picnic table, cooked our meals over an open driftwood fire, and the boys climbed the cliffs that towered over the lake beach.

Minneapolis to Medora and back, ND 2007

Heidi and I joined my mom and a couple of her book club friends for what we came to call the "Dead White Guy" tour of the upper midwest. Our first stop was Sauk Centre, birthplace of Sinclair Lewis and thinly disguised setting for his breakthrough novel, Main Street. From there we drove through Fargo and on to Valley City, which was the childhood home of one of our traveling companions. Then it was all the way across the state, through countless fields of sunflowers, to Medora, and Teddy Roosevelt National Park, home of the North Dakota Badlands. We did the famous steak fry and western show, and toured the park, pulling our van over to witness an actual wild stallion fight. On the return we stopped at Fort Mandan, Lewis and Clark's first winter headquarters.

Arlington to Isle of Palms 2011

We rented a beach house for spring break, and my mom flew in from Minnesota to drive down with us. My sister and her family traveled from Atlanta to meet us in Isle of Palms. We rented a minivan, and although Emily and Treat flew down later in the week, my brother and his dog joined me, Heidi, my mom, and our dog for the trip. We listened to 70s music and laughed all the way down I-95. The first morning we were there, the beach was covered in sea stars, and we thought it must just be like that there, but we didn't see anymore for the rest of the week.

Arlington to Rochester 2019

Heidi and Lucy and I drove west to spend the month of August in Minnesota with my mom. It was a lot of highway, but we passed through Michigan City, where my grandfather was born and raised, and Chicago, the skyline bright at 11 at night. We found a couple of dog parks not far off our route so that Lucy could run a bit, and feasted on fantastic hot Italian sandwiches a couple blocks from the University of Wisconsin in Madison. We admired the glacier carved sandstone in the Dells and cheered when we crossed the St. Croix River entering Minnesota in the 24th hour of our journey. After so many years of visiting my mom out there, it was kind of cool to have my dog and my car there, too. Over the month, we drove back and forth from the Cities to Rochester many times, over the Minnesota and Mississippi Rivers, past the refinery where my mom worked, through farms with fields of corn and soy beans, gray barns and horses, wind breaks and wind mills to the tidy town with numbered streets and avenues and a world-famous clinic at its heart.

8 x 8

On our road trip up to Buffalo today, we did what we have done countless times before: Buckled in, punched play on an audiobook, and ventured forth. The book of this trip was Eight Perfect Murders by Peter Swanson. To be honest, I am not sure where I read about this mystery written in a twisty classic whodunit style, but wen I saw it in my library, I knew it was the story for us.

The premise of the novel is that the narrator, Malcolm Kershaw, owns a mystery book store in Boston. Several years ago, writing for the store's blog, he published a list of 8 perfect literary murders. In the opening pages, an FBI agent shows up in the middle of a blizzard with the theory that a serial killer is using his list.

These eight mysteries are real books:

A.A. Milne’s The Red House Mystery,
Anthony Berkley Cox’s Malice Aforethought,
Agatha Christie’s The ABC Murders,
James M. Cain’s Double Indemnity,
Patricia Highsmith’s Strangers on a Train,
John D. MacDonald’s The Drowner,
Ira Levin’s Deathtrap,
and Donna Tartt’s The Secret History,

and their plots and themes are woven into this story, too, offering lots of layers, especially to those who are already familiar with the eight original texts.

Near the beginning of the story, Malcolm muses on all the lists he has made as a reader, starting with those he created as a boy and working through those he has published on the blog over the years. He decides that they give him an identity beyond his own, one of authority. They are also quick and easy topics.

Hmm, he might be on to something. With that latter rationale in mind, I have challenged myself to 8 days of lists of 8.

Tune in tomorrow to see how that goes.

Reframing a Sprinkler Fail

I walked up to my garden today to make sure that everything was as set as it could be for a week away. I weeded and fertilized; inspired by Squanto, I applied some disgusting fish concoction on my three sisters mounds, and I have enormous hope that it will be just the thing. I also gave the whole plot a thorough watering using the sprinkler set-up I wrote of before, but also adding another watering spike I found tucked away in the back of the little shed I keep in the corner.

What may sound like a simple process, stick sprinkler in the ground, connect hose, was actually much more complicated. Several of my hoses have nozzles frozen on their threads, and so I had to pull out two short ones and hook them to the connector. Then it was a matter of adjusting the position, the spray, and the watering area, all while my other sprinkler was running.

Short story long? I got soaked! As I took several direct hits to the face, what an idiot I must have looked like to anyone on the other side of the chain link fence who cared to pay attention. At least the whole garden was getting watered.

And, once I was wet, I just plunged right in to the heart of the garden to do my fertilizing, becoming further drenched as I worked. Because I did not care: the sun was warm and a torpid little breeze just barely stirred the trees, and I had been sweating, but no more! Being wet was exhilarating, and I stayed even longer in the garden than I planned. There's a reason we used to play in the sprinkler when we were kids.

If the pool never opens this summer, I think I might have a lot of "watering" to do.

Hail Mary

A light drizzle could not deter me from my appointed destination this afternoon. My friend Mary had forwarded some information about the great Georgia peach road trip, and I had pre-ordered my half bushel right away, especially since the stop was at a garden center right up the hill from us.

From folding tables beneath a collapsible canopy, two young men efficiently worked to hawk and deliver their wares and in less than five minutes I had my freestones and was headed home. Oh, those 72 peaches were refrigerator-cold and hard as rocks, but I read my info card carefully, and with 6 dozen greenish-pink little fist-sized fruits clenched on the counter, I choose to be confident that they will be on their way to perfectly ripe in just a couple days.

Peaches, anyone?

Yay?

We usually celebrate the last day of school by going out to lunch for a lobster roll and then to a movie.

Well.

That's out.

I Love Nature! Except When I Don't

A flurry of wings and a raucous racket drew my attention to the sky this morning as I walked Lucy. Over my head, a crow pumped its pinions furiously, pusued by two very distraught robins. As the crow swooped closer, I saw a limp figure with downy feathers and tiny feet grasped tightly in its clutches. Clearly, it had stolen one of the robins' nestlings and they had given chase. All three birds landed on the peak of the roof to my right, the robins pestering the crow, the crow posturing in defense. Where the baby robin was, I couldn't see, but eventually the robins flew away and the crow hopped over the roofline and pecked murderously at its prize.

Those Were the Days!

The first house my parents ever owned was a 3 bedroom colonial in a Levitt community in South Jersey, right outside Philadelphia. It was actually pink when we moved in in 1966, but they painted it avocado green as the 70s approached.

There were many things I remember fondly about being a child in that house: the peach, pear, and apple trees in the backyard, the forsythia clubhouse on the side of the garage, sledding down the gentle slope of our street when it snowed, and the epic kickball games and variety shows that some of the older kids in the neighborhood organized, just to name a few.

Another great thing about the planned town where we lived was that every elementary school was in walking distance of every house in the subdivision (kids used to walk home for lunch-- that was an option along with buying or bringing!) AND every school had a public pool. Oh how excited we were about going to the pool at this time of year; it always opened in mid to late June, on the day after school got out for the summer.

My mom had a rule, though, it had to be at least 70 degrees for us to go. Looking back, especially as an adult, I think she was more than reasonable, but as kids it was excruciating waiting to see if the weather would cooperate. Once the pool was actually open, though, and we were enrolled in swimming lessons, that rule was gone.

My brother and I had to walk ourselves down to the pool in the early morning when lessons were scheduled. That wasn't so bad, but I can clearly remember wrapping my towel around me as tightly as it would go and watching my wet footprints on the cold sidewalk as I shivered, blue-lipped all the way home. 

Measure Twice, Cut Once

This week is professional learning for teachers, and in keeping with the times, all of it is remote, and most of it is asynchronous. That was not the case for the session I chose for this morning however. All of us who enrolled gathered via MS Teams from 10 to 11 to learn about the educational tool called Flipgrid.

Essentially a video discussion board, Flipgrid allows kids to record, enhance, and post their video replies to an assignment. In order to teach us about it, the instructors of our course this morning gave us 10 minutes to view a quick how-to and then post an introduction video of ourselves to the group. All we had to say was our names, where and what we teach, and an interesting fact about ourselves.

It was the fact that jammed me up. After three months at home, I couldn't think of anything on the fly that anyone might find the least bit engaging. As the timer ticked down, I swallowed, looked straight at my laptop camera, and hit record. Then I blathered some nonsense about my passport renewal which I had dropped in the mail right before joining the meeting.

My blood roared in my ears because I knew the class was waiting for me to post, and I hit the send button and clicked back to the meeting. Even as the instructors went over some basics, I was suffering remorse, thinking how dumb my video was.

As we moved through the teacher tools, participants were encouraged to post questions in the chat. I waited to see if my one burning question might be answered, but when it seemed we were near to the end of the presentation my fingers flew to the keyboard: Can students edit or delete their videos once they are posted?

"That's a good question," the instructor commented. "I don't know."

But I knew that my students would want to know, and at that moment, I completely understood why. My video was fine, but it felt risky to put it out there only to lose control of it. My anxiety was heightened by the structure of the assignment: if I had had more time, I could have created a recording I was more comfortable with.

To be honest? Flipgrid is a fun tool that I think kids will find engaging, but the biggest lesson of the day was that reminder before we ask our students to go public with their work and ideas, we must create a safe space and give them the time they need to feel good about their contribution.

Find a Penny, Pick it Up

Of all the institutions in this country, I never would have predicted that the Supreme Court, as it is currently constituted, would deliver the one piece of good news in the last three months. And yet, there they were, announcing 6-3 that the Title VII of the Civil Rights Act does indeed protect people who are LGBTQ.

It's small, but it's shiny, and I'm going to hold on to it.

You Get What You Get

Heidi and Lucy and I took a walk in a newly-reopened national forest this afternoon. It was a little later in the day, and although we saw several people, most of the time we had the trail to ourselves, rambling up and down the hills, along the creek, through the woods, past an early 19th century cemetery.

Just a little farther south than here the day was a bit overcast, and a light wind stirred the fragrance of pine and hardwood into the air and kept the mosquitos away. It was a cool day for June in Virginia, and after so many miles walked around the neighborhood, the change of location was dramatic, almost as if we had traveled away from home on vacation.

Somewhere around mile 3 I noticed how far away the events of the last three months seemed, and how relaxed in turn I felt. As we walked, I understood that, like everything else, summer vacation is going to look different this year, but the rolling trail ahead of me and the sunlight filtering through the leaves gave me confidence that, like everything else, we can make it work.

Birthday Dinner

Yesterday was my mother's birthday, the first since she passed away in October. "What are you going to make for dinner?" my sister asked me, for I have a tradition of remembering those we loved with a favorite meal of theirs on their birthdays.

But I couldn't answer her question, because I honestly didn't know. My mom was a great cook and loved so many foods it was hard to pick a signature dish. Even narrowing the choices down was a challenge, although my brother and sister and I did have a go at it as we talked yesterday afternoon.

Our conjecture was a little irreverent, focusing on things that she liked that we didn't always love. "Some kind of salad with fruit in it and a dressing that is too sweet?" My brother suggested.

"Or one of those awful chopped salads from a bag?" my sister offered.

"Slap some pesto butter on frozen salmon and pop it in the oven," my brother continued, "and mash up some cauliflower to go with it."

My mother did love cauliflower, especially after she began limiting most of the carbs in her diet to wine and dessert. It was kind of good to laugh at her a little, too, as we would have done if she were still around to take the teasing.

In the end I chose to make southern fried chicken using my grandmother's recipe, which was something my mother loved but rarely treated herself to. And Heidi insisted that we had to have chocolate cake, which the love of was a bond between her and my mom. And I think a new tradition has been born, because, fried chicken and chocolate cake! Who could say no to that?

Don't worry-- I made mashed cauliflower and a salad, too. Not from a bag, though, and the dressing? Was not too sweet.

But I know my mom would have like it anyway. Happy Birthday, Frannie.

Perfection Not Required

I volunteered to go into school today to help return some of the possessions that our students left behind when they were dismissed on March 13. As happens so often these days, the beautiful day belied the hazard of the situation. The system we had in place, involving marked plastic bags organized by homeroom on the sidewalk in front of the building, and signs displayed in car windows as they drove through at designated times, was thoughtful, but clunky.

We ended up sweating in our masks on folding chairs in the shade until it was time to hunt down some plastic bags from piles where the signs had blown away and then toss them through open car windows. (But not before the librarian squeezed every car for any overdue books!) And I did get to shout a few words of thanks and encouragement to the students and families I knew before they drove off.

Even so, since we had never done any such thing ever before, all of us volunteers agreed it was workable, if not successful. Furthermore, we agreed that even though we had some insight and suggestions into how to improve it? We never wanted to have to offer them.

The Myth of Scheduling

The programmers who created our electronic grade book included the convenient feature that whenever a teacher launches the information system it lands on the class that is scheduled for that time. It may seem minor, but it spares us a few clicks when taking attendance, and time in the classroom is a precious commodity.

With asynchronous learning, as we’ve had for the last three months, such a common schedule is an anachronism. Some mornings I startle to realize it’s only 2nd period when I’ve already baked bread and walked three miles. Likewise, it can be strange to look at a clock and think that my teaching day would be over, even though I’ve been sitting at my dining room table participating in virtual meetings for hours with several more to go.

I went into school the other day to pick up a few things from my classroom, masked and gloved of course. I was sitting at my desk, peeling off the pages of my word-a-day calendar which had been frozen on March 13, when the bell rang. I literally jumped, but then my head swiveled automatically toward the clock to see what was ending and what was beginning.

Sixth period already? I thought. Where has the year gone?

Kaboom

Lucy gave a low growl this afternoon, but before it turned into a full bark there was a crash from outside. When I flung open the front door, all the dogs in the neighborhood were barking and all the neighbors were stepping outside. "A tree!" called someone from her balcony, pointing at the narrow strip of woods across the way. "I saw it fall!"

Hearing her words, I realized that I had known what it was, even as I dashed outside to make sure nothing was damaged. And it wasn't. Despite the enormous boom, the tree we found tangled and dangling from its brethren was not even 12 inches in diameter, although it was at least 100 feet tall. Perhaps it was our collective imagination, but there seemed to be a discernible gap where once it stood in the tree line. And when we were all done marveling at the event and heading back into our houses, the neighbor across the way voiced the obvious. "Well," she said, "I guess we know what sound a tree makes when it falls in the forest."

Dog Talk

Our first dog, Isabel, was well acquainted with the phrase No dogs allowed on account of all the school fields and other places we walked past that looked so inviting to a fun-loving dog like herself but were forbidden. Whenever she would tug the leash or look longingly at such green space as if to say Wouldn't that be a good idea? A simple No dogs allowed would snap her back to reality.

I would wager that our current dog, Lucy, also knows that phrase but chooses to ignore it. She is much more willful than her predecessor, and her response to No dogs allowed is more along the lines of la la la la I don't hear you. 

Unfortunately for Lucy, there is a sentence that she cannot ignore these days. Whenever we pass one of the several dog parks where she spent many happy hours before the pandemic, all we have to say when she pulls toward the padlocked gates is It's closed, and then like Isabel before her, she droops just a bit, before trotting resolutely on.

Just Hair

I went to the grocery store and got my hair cut today. In other times, neither of those would be big news, but these times are not those. Although I will say it is beginning to feel normal to be aware of and step away from anyone closer than six feet.

It is not beginning to feel anywhere near normal to wear a mask, however, and in the hair salon I worried as the stylist snipped around my ears, concerned that she might accidentally clip the elastic. In fact I was so preoccupied with the ear bands that I barely noticed when she nicked my neck with the straight razor, and it wasn't until the end, when she sent me out into the world with wet hair (no hair dryers allowed), and a blue bandaid on my neck, that I realized my mask was full of my own hair.

I know I wear the mask to protect others from me, but the sprinkle of fine blond hair that floated away on the wind as I uncovered my nose and mouth was a confirmation and a reminder that we all must safeguard each other.

Zine Machine

Years ago we were in Philly for a long weekend when we stepped into a coffee shop for breakfast. We made ourselves comfortable in overstuffed chairs that would have fit in perfectly at Central Perk on Friends. Yes, it was a hipster place, and we were totally digging the hipster vibe, when I spotted an old cigarette vending machine across the room.

It was so retro, and I hadn't seen its like in a long time, so I went over to check it out. Inside were copies of self-published Zines, little mini-magazines by local artists and writers. I dug in my pocket for some change, bought a couple, and was utterly charmed as I read. "We need a zine machine at school!" I told Heidi.

Back at school, for a while anyway, I pushed to find an available vending machine that we could use for student writing, but as is the way of many of my good ideas, it just never happened. And now, for the last assignment of the year, I have borrowed a feature published on NPR (and found by my colleague Matt)-- a little how-to cartoon about creating a zine. I just know the kids who do it are going to make something special! Now about that vending machine...

Wardrobe Dilemma

"You have a farmer's tan," Heidi told me, giving my outfit of tank top and shorts the once over.

I was not offended, but I knew it was not a compliment. The days I spent in my tie dye t-shirt working in the garden last weekend had literally left a mark.

"So you don't like the tank top?" I asked.

"It's fine, but the tan lines have got to go," she answered.

"So I have to wear it all the time or none of the time?" I clarified, as we walked through the 90 degree heat. "I'm going to need some more tank tops!"

Do Not Open Until...

One of the last online assignments I offered to my students was a letter to their future selves. If we must be distant in space, why not consider a distant, or not so distant, future? At least that's what I thought, and so I provided an organizer, a review of friendly letters, and the promise that any student who submitted a final draft would get their letter sealed in an envelope with a reminder of when to open it.

Today was the day that I did the grunt work of printing letters and labels and stuffing and stamping envelopes. I was happy to have received 35 letters, which is a little under 45% of my students. Heidi was an invaluable assistant, stamping and stuffing, as I printed, addressed envelopes, and added the Do Not Open Until... date. As she worked, she was quite charmed by the content of each letter, so much so, that she read every single one of them out loud to me, lending an audible voice to those very earnest writers, and reminding me how funny and wise they are.

It was a wonderful hour or so! And at the end we had a stack of letters and the anticipation that all the writers would not only feel the thrill of getting mail in the next day or two, but also some time in the future, have that sweet experience of revisiting their former selves, and a reminder of who they were and who they hoped to be.

Rainmaker

I love watering my garden. I enjoy paying attention to each and every plant individually for those few seconds the shower of water is on them. But when it's dry, as it has been ever since I got my vegetables in, I worry that my plants are not getting a proper soaking.

I've had a few sprinklers and other watering systems over the year. Should I be embarrassed to report that I am usually drenched when I leave my garden? Irrigation design is not my forte (yet! See that growth mindset?). Anyhow, the other day at the garden center, a sweet purple number caught my eye and I decided to give a sprinkler another try.

Today was the day when I placed that sprayer in the corner of the beds, dragged my matching purple hose to the hydrant, and let her squirt. And with a very few adjustments, soon the majority of the garden was being well-watered. The sidewalk on the other side of the fence was also remaining dry, which I'm sure all the passers by appreciated.

It was a good set up, but not perfect. So I dug up a splitter, hooked up another hose, and did a little manual supplementary watering. Between the sprinkler and my TLC, everything was damp and looking happy when I left a little while later.

And now that everything is all set? I'm sure those predicted thunderstorms will show up.

I Wish You Well

To round out the final week of the 100 Day Writing Challenge, I created a "Stay-at-Home Wellness Board" for my students with the directions to choose one of the activities each day and then write about it. The idea came to me as I considered all the kids whose profound boredom comes through in their writing, both explicitly and implicitly and examined my own coping strategies and those of the few kids who seemed to be fine despite everything. I noticed that there are things we do consistently, if not every day that help keep us regulated and well, and I wanted to challenge all of my students to try those practices.

So far, there have been mixed results. A few kids have done it, many more have opted out, and it's in situations like this, that I feel the shortcomings of distance learning. I learned long ago that I can't make students do anything; my job is to offer engaging educational opportunities and encourage kids to pursue them. It's the encouragement part that really suffers when we're so far apart.

Here is the board:

Pivot Point

There was a thread of anxiety that ran through every single one of my meetings today. Even as we work to organize the end of this pandemic-interrupted school year and scramble to plan the next amid so many variables and uncertainties, our nation is in turmoil. Whether or not a straight line can be drawn from the unrest to our personal lives, no one I spoke to today was not unsettled by the events unfolding a few miles away and all over the country.

Everyone's a total wreck.

Personally, I feel weighed down by a heavy, heavy sense of history. I imagine how future documentaries will breezily summarize these days, these very days, 10, 20, 50, 100 years from now, and while I am still around to watch them, the lump in my throat as I relive them 60 minutes at a time.

Will I feel distress, disbelief,  renewed outrage, nostalgia, or all of the above?

Honestly?

I don't care, as long as in the end I am happily reminded of all the lessons we learned and the positive changes we made as a result of our this trauma.

I Feel You, Kid

During this time away from the school building, our team has been vigilantly tracking student engagement through participation, and last week we all noticed a precipitous drop in assignment completion. Our principal assured us that all the other teams at all the other grade levels had documented the same decline, and it's easy to rationalize:

Memorial Day, warm summer weather, distance learning fatigue,

and just a strong sense that this?

should.
all.
be.
over.

We know, because we feel it, too.