Practice, Patience, and Grace

To some it may have seemed a little silly to schedule a dry run of online classes, taking a whole day away from the precious time we have to plan delivering our curriculum in a radically new way, but once I heard that I would be able to do a lesson in the conference app our district has chosen, and that my "students" would be my colleagues on the interdisciplinary team I have worked on for my whole career, the idea was a lot more appealing.

And as it turned out, it was really useful. From 8:30 to 2 we took turns presenting, introducing new apps and new ways to use tried and true tools. We asked questions, trouble shot, and made suggestions in a group that was very, very safe. I learned a lot, and despite all the technical difficulties (that were either resolved or referred to our tech department) I feel much more confident about what's coming.

Brain Games

When I was in ninth grade, I spent some time in an activity where the teacher in charge briefly flashed long strings of numbers on a screen and our job was to write as many digits as we could recall in the moments after the screen went dark. To be honest, I have no idea what the objective was, or even why I was there. It wasn't connected to any academic class, and I don't remember getting any kind of feedback or results. Were they trying to improve our short-term memory? If so, why? The kids that were selected to participate were already pretty high-achieving, and in my experience as a teacher, weak working memory often negatively impacts academic success. Maybe we were there to show that link?

Speaking of memory, I don't really remember how often we went or how long it lasted, probably because it didn't count toward anything. I do remember sitting at tables with my friends, cutting up before and after the test sessions, or whatever they were, and I also recall being pretty good at the task. I think I could go up to 12 or 14 digits without any problem.

I haven't thought about that experience in over forty years, but the recent rise of two-part verification has brought it all back to me. As much of a pain as the extra step for security is, I get a tiny thrill every time I get that text with the six digit code. Just like I used to do when I was 13, I repeat the numbers to myself once, and then type them in before I forget. It's like a little push-up for my aging brain, and just like before? I'm not sure why I have to do it, but I like being good at it.

The Marble Not Yet Carved

When we were teenagers, my brother and sister and I went through an Irving Stone period. Of all of his soapy biographical novels, I must say I liked The Agony and the Ecstasy, about the life of Michelangelo, best. Starting with the his time as an apprentice in Ghirlandaio's studio, a position he takes against his father's wishes, the book is the turbulent tale of Michelangelo's struggles to stay true to himself and become a successful artist.

One of the things that stuck with, me even after all these years, is when Michelangelo is trying to get a commission to carve a huge block of marble in Florence. The stone is famous for its size and quality, but was mis-cut when it was quarried, and no one thinks it can truly be salvaged. But Michelangelo believes that each statue is already in the stone; the sculptor need only recognize it and reveal it with his chisel. The result? His masterpiece, David.

I also learned what "contrapposto" meant from reading that part of the story: one shoulder forward, one knee bent, relaxed yet powerful, it's the perfect pose for strength and beauty. It's how Michelangelo solved the problem of the huge gouge in the side of that enormous block of marble.

As silly as it seems, I thought of Michelangelo's precept more than once this summer while painting rocks. In addition to some perfectly smooth and round stones, some oddly shaped ones found their way into our collection. Rock painting is not a craft for the impatient; it takes time for the base paint to dry as well as the details, and on such a small canvas, that means setting the little project aside for a while between stages. And if Michelangelo is to be believed, it also takes patience and a little imagination to let the rock reveal its true identity.


And that is exactly what I found in the case of Kermit, Pikachu, watermelon, Nemo, rugged heart, and ladybug.

But more importantly, the lesson for me as an educator, is to look for the masterpiece within each student and do my part to reveal it.

Stress Management

I was optimistic that I would be able to maintain an active routine, even as school started up again. I hoped that working from home would give me the time I needed to fit in plenty of daily exercise; so much so, that I actually increased the activity goal on my smart watch on Monday. And I was crushing it on Wednesday when I set a new personal record of 23 days in a row of closing my activity ring.

But tonight, when late thunderstorms put the kibosh on our plans to go to the pool at six, a quick glance at my watch confirmed what I already feared-- I wasn't going to make my goal today.

The last week has been stressful, filled with meetings and time to plan some very unfamiliar familiar tasks. "This is the first time in a long time when I haven't known what to expect from the first day of school," I confided to a colleague in an afternoon call.

I'm torn between cutting myself some slack and kicking my butt to make sure I get out there and get some exercise.

We'll see how it goes after tonight, but I have a hunch about what it's going to be. I don't know what's coming, but I just feel like I need to be ready for the fight, and that's going to take some working out!

The Stuff of Teaching

I have to say I expected the call.

After reading all summer long about teachers in other districts who were told to strip their rooms of any personal items so that more desks, at six foot intervals, could fit, and then hearing in our own school meetings that some staff would be asked to come clear parts of their room to allow more distant seats, I knew that I would be one of them.

I have had the same classroom since 1994, with the exception of a brief four month stint in "swing space" when they did a bit of renovation to our circa 1973 building. Over the years, as you can imagine, I have accumulated quite a few things to make the space more comfortable and efficient for my students and me, and I was quite sure that, at the very least, the reading chairs and pillows would have to go.

They warned us not to be surprised at the way our classrooms looked when we were finally allowed back into the building, briefly. The last time I was there was in June, and the place was frozen in time. The supply baskets on the tables, the paper in the recycling bin, the anchor chart on the board, and the calendar on my desk all looked exactly the way I left them on March 13.

But even though I expected a change, I was surprised: my desk was in the middle of the room, and they had moved several bookshelves full of books. Gone were the trapezoid tables, original to the building, and in my classroom since I started. They were replaced by 10 battered student desks in 2 rows, and all the miscellaneous baskets and bins that had been stored neatly away in just the perfect place were now stacked on the floor and my desk.

It took me a good hour and a half to move the furniture and put my other stuff away in my storage closet, a space I feel so very, very lucky to have. Who knows when I'll be back? Then again, who knows how much longer I'll be attached to that room at all?

Either way? 

I'm going to have some serious packing or unpacking to do.

Supply and Demand

Like many people I have been blowing up Amazon with orders for things I think will make the start of the school year a little less bumpy, and I picked up the box on my front porch without even looking at it when I came home from the pool, but a little while ago my neighbor knocked on the door. "Did you get a package from Amazon that had my name on it?" she asked.

I laughed and assured her that if that happened I would have brought the package over. "I did get a package today," I told her, "but it was for me!"

"That's funny," she said, "because you know how they send you a picture when they deliver? My picture was of your front porch." She swept her hand across the stoop. "I certainly don't have a basketball or umbrella by my door."

I apologized again, and she walked away, but as I closed the door, I tried to remember just what was in that box, and I gasped when I realized I had no idea. So I dashed over to the chair where the package still sat, upside down and unopened. Sure enough? It belonged to my neighbor.

I heard on the radio the other day that only 6 retailers made up almost 30% of the retail market share for the second quarter of 2020. Should I pause for a moment and let you guess who consumers turned to when the quarantine hit?

If you said Amazon, Walmart, Target, Home Depot, Costco, and Lowes, then you were right. With the exception of the grocery store and the drug store (oh, and the coffee roasting and pet supply places) those were really the only businesses I personally shopped and ordered from in April, May, and June. You too?

At any rate, as much as I was grateful for those big box places maintaining the supply chain, I've also come to resent their muscle flexing a little bit. With such incredible demand, customer service seems to be an after thought. For example, our local Target, Home Depot, and Lowes are very unreliable when it comes to inventory, and I'm not just referring to disinfectant wipes. Walmart seems to be pretty lax on mask wearing, and Costco has really long lines.

Amazon, too is unapologetic when it comes to stocking items or honoring prime delivery. But at least they send you a picture so you can track your own stuff down.

How's the Water?

"Oh, hey!" a neighbor greeted us as we signed in the pool this afternoon. "Done with your training already?"

I didn't have to look at my watch to answer. "It's 5 o"clock!" I laughed. "Yes!"

She turned to the other woman she had been chatting with while their children played together. "They're both teachers," she informed her, and suddenly it felt like all eyes were on us.

"How has it been going?" she asked.

I scanned the pool, reading the room, so to speak. "Great!" I answered with a little fist pump.

She raised her eyebrows skeptically. "Really?"

"Yep," I said. "We have a lot of great resources and the time to plan and figure things out. We are going to be ready to go when school starts."

She looked doubtful.

I looked at the sparkling pool water.

Then I waved, ready to set my stuff down and dive in.

Onward!

We should make all our meetings virtual! seemed to be the consensus this morning when we finished the first part of our all-day agenda an hour early. And it was nice to go out for a walk around the neighborhood at lunch and not worry about finishing the last of our meal even as the afternoon session got started. The chat feature on our virtual meeting platform turned out to be another blessing-- it was way better for questions, concerns, comments, and even jokes than any stack of post-it notes and a chart paper "parking lot" ever was or could hope to be. Plus, texting took the place of all those whispered side conversations and snarky asides.

BUT...

There were lots of people we never saw or heard from at all, and 5 hours sitting at the dining room table in front of a screen was uncomfortable. It was also hard to stay focused and engaged, especially when my camera was off and the kitchen was eight feet away.

My take away from today? Distance learning is going to be challenging for reasons I haven't really been considering, but there are going to be good things about it, too. 

A Doolittle Project

A friend of ours is working on her dissertation. She is getting close to finishing, and so to keep herself motivated, she is developing a list of things she's going to do as soon as it is signed, sealed, and defended. One of her favorite things to dream about is making a communication board for her dog, in the style of speech pathologist Christina Hunger who created just such a device for her own dog, Stella.

According to Hunger, Stella knows many words and is even demonstrating some pragmatic language skills by the way she selects and organizes the words. Some of the words are even qualitative, allowing Stella to express her opinion about the things she likes and loves and those she doesn't.

Even though I agree with our friend that it is every pet owner's dream to be able to know definitively what their animal is thinking, is it really necessary? Because really, don't we all think we know already? Who doesn't talk for their pets? To be honest, though, part of our understanding is because our pets are really good at communicating. Just today, when Lucy and I were on a long, hot walk, she pulled me insistently over to a car and stared longingly at the back door, as if to say Why don't we just drive home from here?

And when we talk about teaching our cats to use a communication board? Well, for Tibby anyway, there better be a cuss word or two, so she can tell us how she really feels.

I Miss People

A few days ago we received a text from an old friend of Heidi's:

Are you are around this weekend? We sold our house at the lake and we have to go up to pack. DB would like to visit with you. Although she has not been on formal quarantine, her activities have been limited to TikTok in her room and running outside.

DB is Heidi's 16-year-old goddaughter, and every August, we usually spend a week with her and her older sister. Her style of quarantine sounded pretty safe to us, and, so on the last weekend of our summer break, we were thrilled to at last have a real, traditional, summer activity to break up our days.

And the last 24 hours have been a pleasant diversion of cooking and eating and watching Netflix, walking the dog, swimming, painting rocks and solving our most recent murder box.

All the things we've been doing anyway, but with a fresh perspective and another voice. What a difference it makes.

A New Spin

I recently did a little research to find out why in the world military air traffic, especially helicopters, has increased so much lately in the air space directly over my house. The racket was driving me crazy and making me a little paranoid.

I found a perfectly plausible explanation which claimed that in the dramatic decline of commercial air traffic due to the pandemic, many agencies and branches of the service have opted to take advantage of the space to schedule more training. Still! As relieved as I was that it wasn't the beginning of some pre-coupe activity in advance of the election, those choppers are low and really loud, and they circle several times a day.

Finally, in an effort to turn my irritation into a plus, I decided that whenever I hear one of those cursed contraptions I will send a blessing to the universe.

May we all have the time to refine our skills and the patience to find whatever we are searching for.

But it's still tempting to add, Now go away you f-ing helicopters!

Namesake

"I think I'm going to watch the Republican Convention next week," my friend Lincoln told me today. "I don't agree with them, but I just want to see what they're going to say," he continued.

I was impressed, both by his curiosity and his open mind.

Especially since Lincoln's eight.

Change of Seasons

The weather here has taken a rare and most pleasant turn for August-- highs in the low 80s and hardly any humidity at all. The water in the pool is almost cold. Almost. But a few brisk laps will warm a swimmer up nicely. This evening we were on our way home from the pool when we ran into a neighbor and her 8 month old. Babies love Heidi, so as the little one giggled and cooed in his stroller, his mom and I caught up. "Well," she sighed after a little while, "I better get inside and check on my bread." She raised her eyebrows. "It's my first time making homemade. I've got to see how it's rising."

I nodded with complete understanding. "Is it sourdough?" I asked.

"No!" she shrugged. "It's a quick no-knead recipe. But I'm making stew tonight. This weather just makes me think of fall and stew and homemade bread."

Standing there in my wet bathing suit and towel, I found it a little early to pull the trigger on autumn comfort meals, but who am I to judge? Plus? She's from Georgia.

So That's How It's Going to Be?

I woke up at 7:30 for a virtual meeting at 9, ran downstairs, made coffee, jumped in the shower, dressed a little less casually than I have all summer, set up my extended screen monitor, and popped my airpods in, all in plenty of time to join and complete the ice breaker. (Yes, the icebreaker!) I listened, took notes, sent informational emails and texts to colleagues who were not "there", answered questions, read and commented on documents, and otherwise participated fully until almost noon, when the meeting ended, about 30 minutes late.

I sat back, away from the screens, and tried to relax for a few minutes before my next meeting at 1. Rubbing my eyes and ears, I felt a rumbling in my stomach.

It was only then that I realized I had forgotten to eat breakfast.

Madame Replicant

The day was dark and rainy yesterday, just the kind of late summer weather that would ordinarily be an invitation to the movies for us. But since that was out, we closed the curtains and turned on the TV. It took a while to find something blockbustery enough, but in the end we decided on a double feature of Bladerunner, the classic from 1982, (a movie I had seen and loved when it was new) and its sequel from last year, Bladerunner 2049.

We gasped when, after the credits rolled on the first flick (yeah, last century they did those at the beginning of the movie, remember?), it flashed Los Angeles 2019 on the screen. I think I knew we had passed the date Ridley Scott set for his story, but seeing it was something else. And although it was dark and rainy throughout the entire movie, that was really the only thing the world of Bladerunner had in common with our world.

Flying cars, video pay phones, and a huge Pan Am billboard were just the top three buzzers, and only if you accept as a premise of the story the fact that almost everyone fit and able enough had moved off the planet. And pacing? Oh my gosh! It was like all those songs from the 70s and 80s that you are sure are fast enough to add to your workout playlist, but when you actually listen all the way through they are either deleted or moved to the warm up or cool down section. The truth is Bladerunner is like an opera: a dark and slow and melodramatic exploration of humanity.

And, I still liked it. 

Who Was That Masked Man?

When I was a kid watching TV, it always seemed kind of silly when people couldn't recognize the Lone Ranger say, or Zorro, or Robin, or even Batman, just because he was wearing a mask that covered part of his face. The same was true for all sorts of burglars and bank robbers on every sitcom from The Flintstones to I Love Lucy. On those shows, secret identities were always safe; that suspension of disbelief was just part of the price for those 30 minutes of diversion.

These days, everyone is wearing a mask (at least around here). It's required in all inside public places, and it's becoming a lot more common for folks to wear them outside, too. I was wearing my mask this morning in line at the farmers market, when a fellow shopper called my name. "How are you doing?" she asked.

"Pretty good!" I said, but just then the vendor called me forward, and we waved good-bye. As I ordered my produce, I wondered who I had just been talking to. I think it was an English teacher from another middle school in our district, someone I have known slightly for many years, both because we're in the same discipline, but also because we have a mutual friend. I'm not a hundred percent it was her, though, and I'm impressed she recognized me.

Later, we were out for a walk with the dog, unmasked, when a couple of women with face coverings hailed us from down the block. We waved back, a little uncertainly. As they neared us, and began talking, we saw realized that it was a former neighbor and her daughter. We know them pretty well, but we haven't seen them in at least a year, probably two, and it took a few awkward seconds to figure out who they were.

I have a feeling experiences like those two are going to become ever more common in the months ahead, but I also think we're all going to develop a new skill set to more quickly recognize people with only a partial view of their faces. And when that happens?

Super heros and bad guys alike are going to have to rethink their disguises!

The Wrong Side of the Pike

My goal was to walk over 4 miles today, leaving from home and pushing into at least a little unexplored territory. The challenge was not the distance but rather the route, because after 5 months at home it seems like we have walked everywhere. As such, I had a notion to journey beyond one of our usual boundaries and see what that neighborhood held.

There were a few surprises, most of them to do with real estate development. Among these wonders of gentrification were mcmansions popping up like mushrooms, and newer houses down very long driveways behind much older homes, suggesting that several somebodies sold their back yards. It's hard not to judge, even as we marvel at the value of property in this tiny county we call home.

Crossing back over the pike, we walked a winding street through a most unappealing apartment complex. The grass needed mowing almost as much as the windows and doors needed painting. Litter lined the sidewalk, and the tall weeds growing through the cracks in the pavement suggested that even the county had forsaken caretaking the public property adjoining these homes.

Because that's what they were to someone.

To Have and to Hold

My friend and CLT colleague, Mary, and I have been kicking around ideas for our students' writing notebooks. What will they look like in this time of distance learning? Typically, we start the year with a kind of Unit 0: How to Create a Writer's Notebook, which functions both as a get to know you community building tool and a practical introduction to some of the requirements and other nuts and bolts of the course.

This year, we wondered if we should even have a notebook at all, and if so, would it make sense to have it be virtual. To that end, we researched several options, many involving teacher-created templates using a slides application.

But today, as I dutifully continued my online course, one point they made resonated with me. Everything doesn't have to be online. Students can work with pencil and paper and show you on camera, or upload images of their work.

And suddenly it became clear to me that we should have real notebooks. That way kids could work in them without splitting the screen on their devices (or even using their devices at all), and it would offer another mode of expression that would benefit some learners. Plus, everyone would have something concrete to hold onto in these weird, virtual times, and beyond.

Our school is organizing material and supply pick-ups for students before the year begins, and if we have our way, there will be a writing notebook for every sixth grader included in the package.

The Challenges of Asynchronicity

This morning was so dark and rainy that I turned on all the lights in the living room, and with nothing happening outside, we decided it was time to start a 10 hour webinar on improving our online teaching. This particular offering was recorded by educators from the Stanford Online High School (Yes, that Stanford. The place is a grade 7-12 model school for education and research. It is completely online.) and provided free to teachers.

From the start of the course the content was no-nonsense: well-organized, clearly delivered, and of course relevant to the situation we find ourselves in. Were there bells and whistles, fun and games, interactivity? No, for although the organizers were surprised by the thousands of people participating live, not to mention the many times more that number who would watch the recording, there's only so much you can do in a one-off situation like that.

Still, we wanted to learn, and the fact that this experience would fulfill a big portion of our independent professional learning requirement, made it all the more important to us. But then... we paused to get paper for notes, and a little later we logged in to see what our district requirements would be. The we stopped to talk about the content, and then take the dog out, go to the bathroom, get a drink of water, and order lunch. As much as we wanted to watch, there were just too many other things competing with that recording.

Which was the biggest lesson of the day. 

Queen of Tarts

A happy byproduct of my refusal to throw away even a little bit of my sourdough starter has been the pastry recipe I adapted from Jacques Pepin. I have long used his pate brisée as the base of all my fruit galettes, because it is so simple and so good. A cup and a half of flour, a stick of butter, a generous pinch each of salt and sugar, and then cold water to bring the dough together will yield an easy to handle, buttery pastry the consistency of pie dough.

But, cut the flour to a cup, grate into it your stick of cold butter, and add 1/2 cup of sourdough starter, straight from the fridge, and the result is amazing: tender and flaky, more like puff pastry than pie pastry. Every few days or so, I throw together a batch, chill it for several hours or overnight, and then make either a sweet or savory galette. So far we have had a few with peaches and blueberries, one with Swiss chard, caramelized onions, and fontina, and this morning I made 8 individual tarts with cherry tomato sauce, rosemary, and basil to share with our neighbors.

I have plans for a summer squash version, perhaps with fresh thyme, savory and cheddar, another one with berries and cream cheese, and maybe roasted eggplant with tahini and mint. And when fall gets here? Oh boy! In addition to apples (of course), I foresee wild mushroom, butternut squash with goat cheese and sage, all sorts of greens, and more finding their way to a palette of pastry.

"I just want to eat tart every day!" I told Heidi at the pool recently.

"Then you better keep swimming, Babe," she replied, quite practically.

And I did! But what am I going to do when the pool closes?

Insider Trading

Our neighbor was bursting with excitement when we ran into her walking the dogs this morning "I got the DNA results back for Benny!" she told us.

And before we could even say Cool! she continued. "I'll tell you what they are, but you can't tell anyone. The big reveal is tonight."

We knew that a group of her buddies had chipped in on the test as a birthday gift earlier in the summer, and it made sense that they would get together to share the results. 

We looked at Ben: 85 pounds, short white hair with a few brown patches, huge gray eyes in a giant block-shaped head, and a big smile. "Can we guess?" I asked. 

"Okay!" she answered, "but you'll never get it. There are four breeds."

"Pitty?" Heidi guessed.

"Yep!" she answered. "We expected that, right?"

"But those eyes!" I said.

"Great Pyrenees!" she revealed. "And then there was Boxer, and... Husky! Can you believe it?"

We agreed that he was an unexpected mix of mutts, and patting him on his Great Pyreepityoxerusky head, we went on our way.

A little while later we got a text from the dog friends. We are going to find out today what breeds make up our favorite gentleman Mr. Ben, it read. Come on by my house at 6:30 and participate in the best guess contest. He has four breeds, so bring your four guesses in a sealed envelope.

I looked at Heidi and laughed. "I think we can win this one!"

Day Shift

I spent the day somewhere between Monday and Tuesday. Summer vacation can do that, especially one with so few breaks in the break. Every day blends thoughtlessly into the next.

Now that I'm pushing sixty, I have a couple of those 7 compartment pill and vitamin organizers, and they ground me in the calendar at least once a day. Oh, it's Monday again, I told myself as I chewed my gummy multivite. But then I forgot.

Floating in the pool later I mentally checked my fluid agenda. Soooo... Teachers "report" 2 weeks from today? Or was it yesterday? And students start 4 weeks from... today? Tomorrow?

In the end I was certain we have roughly 2 weeks to get ready to spend, more or less, 2 weeks getting ready for whatever is going to happen in around 4 weeks.

I'm on it!

Never mind the obvious follow up question: how long will we have to get ready for the next thing?

To Float

Recently, we've been booking the 6 PM slot at our community pool. At that hour it is less crowded; most families are at home for dinner, and the golden slant of the evening sun over the aquamarine of the still water is beautiful. We enjoy treading and floating in the deep end and talking away as many of our cares as we can. That's a big job this summer, but the weightlessness of the water helps.

It takes a little planning to make it to the pool at that time. We eat dinner when we get home, so I like to have our meal ready to go. Lucy needs exercise, and I have all number of other chores for myself. Some days I go to the garden, some days are for baking bread, and every day is for writing, reading, and working out. Having all of those things taken care of before we go to the pool makes the evening much more enjoyable.

And so here you find me, but not for long: exercise ring closed, tomatoes picked, bread rising, summer seafood chowder simmering, dog exercised, and blog written.

The pool awaits!

Something to Look Forward To

Since my vacation was canceled (Yes! I'm still bitter!) I was poking around looking at other rental options for the near and distant future this morning. One place I found was on a farm just outside Gettysburg, PA. The chickens and horses were part of the experience, which also included six bedrooms, a game room, hot tub, and, wait for it... an indoor heated pool!

This is the perfect location for Oscar weekend! I thought. But wait! When are the Oscars next year?

I can be forgiven for not knowing-- they have been messing around with the date for the last few years. In 2018 they were in early March to make way for the Winter Olympics, in 2019 they were the last weekend in February, as they have been for a while, but this year they were moved all the way up to February 9, so early that we were caught unprepared; we barely saw any of the movies, and our annual holiday was canceled. (Yes! I'm still bitter!)

And it turned out to be wise that I checked the date, because next year the ceremony is scheduled to be held on April 25! It's COVID, of course, and, wouldn't you know it, the perfect house is already booked for that weekend. "But we can plan on it for 2022!" I told my sister on the phone this morning.

Put it on the calendar, gang: February 27, 2022, Oscar Weekend in Gettysburg!

The Grapevine

When I was a kid, it was just about this time of year that they published the school classes in the newspaper. Back then we would open the local evening paper and turn eagerly to the columns of small print in the somewhere in the back pages. There, listed by town, then school, then grade, were the classes. Once we found our own names, we would scan with excitement and a little dread, to find our friends, and then get on the phone to see what everyone knew about kids and teachers and our new classes.

I thought about those days today as texts were flying between colleagues at our school. Have you heard yet? What priority are you? Who else has gotten the call?

The priority system was put in place by our district to manage the discrepancy between teacher requests for distance vs. in-person learning and those made by the families. Priority one teachers will be the first to return, whenever it's safe enough (but not safe for everyone) and priority four will be the last. In between staffing will be determined by enrollment.

Our principal is calling staff alphabetically, and folks are sharing the news anecdotally as it arrives. We are waiting with excitement and more than a little dread to hear the news.

Maybe they should just put it in the paper!

Cynosure

I had another frustrating customer service experience today, and I was really tempted to use this space to vent a little, but I was very mindful that I did that yesterday, and I try to avoid too much griping, because, well, it's boring. So, as I sat at the keyboard watching my cursor blink and still steaming about my mobile phone company, I took a deep breath and considered my day, looking for that bit of glory in all its banality.

And it occurred to me that I had a perfectly delightful customer service experience while shopping this afternoon. As Heidi and I scoped out the long, long check out lines, we spotted a young man standing at a register nearby. The light was not on, but since we were tenth in line for self check, I made eye contact and asked if he were open. He politely informed me that he was not, and continued with his task. A moment later, though, he scanned the lines and called us over, opening his register for us and several others after.

It was a small, unnecessary kindness, but I appreciated it in the moment. I would have totally forgotten the gesture, too, if I hadn't been looking for an antidote to the toxic interaction I had recently concluded.

So often it's easier to fixate on what nettles us than what soothes us; I'm glad I had a chance to refocus today.

Amateur Hour

Recently I've begun to shy away from shopping at what was once one of my favorite groceries, and I couldn't figure out why. But today, the time and the place and the list seemed right to give it another try, so I parked in the garage, masked up, and climbed the stairs to the store. This particular location is only a few years old, and it has the compact layout of one of this chains urban outlets.

Before, I enjoyed being able to find what I wanted quickly, scanning the app on my phone for my discount, and paying by tapping my watch, but since the Covid shortages, I've been frustrated by spotty inventory, which is more of an issue when there are fewer items to choose from.

I realized today, too, that my fellow shoppers are also contributing to the decline in my shopping pleasure. Most of the people in the store were paid shoppers; all of their attention was on the lists on their phones, rather than social distance, or even the courtesy of selecting an item quickly when someone was politely waiting to get to the same shelf or cooler.

Personally, I enjoy grocery shopping, it's an aesthetic experience for me, but there was no pleasure or appreciation in their activity; shopping with them was like trying to make dinner in the kitchen at a McDonalds while the staff was serving customers. Don't get me wrong, there was no animosity, but in my encounters with them, whether it was pushing my cart past theirs in a small space, or trying to get to the cilantro, I felt the pressure to step aside and let the professionals do what they were hired for.

I guess that attitude is completely understandable-- they are at work! But I'm not. And it will be a while before I go back to that particular store.

The I of the Hurricane

According to the Capital Weather Gang, In the history of hurricane names, ‘I’ stands for infamous.

Their argument is that by the ninth named storm of the season, things get cranking in the Atlantic, and so conditions are right for some powerful hurricanes. Of the 84 storm names retired, 10 of them have begun with I, more than any other letter.

Anecdotally? I can support that claim. For me, that ninth storm of the season has had great impact over the years:

In September 2003, Hurricane Isabel closed school for a couple of days. Many in our community were without power, but our lights were on, and we used the windfall of time to find a puppy. Isabel was a great dog.

In late August 2011, we battened down the hatches for the impending destruction of Hurricane Irene, but that storm was a bust, neither class was canceled nor puppies adopted. Was I disappointed? Perhaps, but it made a good blog topic.

Today, in 2020, Hurricane Isaias came ashore in North Carolina and stormed up the East Coast. Here at home we had some rain and wind, but no flooding or other damage. Up in New Jersey though, half a million are without power, and 2 nice ladies and a dog got their vacation rained out.

Sure, there have been other memorable storms in my life. I vaguely recall Camille and Agnes from when I was little; I rode out Gloria with my dad and sister in Virginia Beach in '85; my ex went to Puerto Rico for a month after Hugo in '89, and of course Katrina and Superstorm Sandy made big news.

But when it comes to me? It's all about I.

Yer Out! (but Safe at Home)

Concerned about the impending storm, I contacted the owner of the bay-front vacation home we had rented for advice. The house is equipped to withstand the storm, she replied. The house will rock, but don't be scared. I love storms there! And this morning as we packed for our week away, it seemed like the storm track was favorable; it would be rainy tomorrow, but nice the rest of our stay. And so off we drove the 3 1/2 hours to the southern shore of New Jersey.

The air was heavy and still when we arrived, and the sky was low. We worked up a sweat as we unpacked the car, our footsteps crunching over the crushed shell drive and up the outside steps to the entrance. Inside, it was cold. Someone had set the window units to 60, probably to cool the place down fast, and we stepped out on the deck overlooking the Delaware Bay to call the owners and let them know we had arrived.

They assured us again that although the house would rock, and the waves would be high, and the power might go out for a short time cutting the well water, by tomorrow night all would be well, and we would have a story to tell our friends. With that, we unpacked.

The phone rang a little while later. The owners sheepishly told us that an evacuation order had just been issued. Seems like a second storm was predicted to collide with the first, and flooding and power outages were practically guaranteed, putting the house out of commission for a couple days and threatening our car. You can ride out the storm with us, they offered, or maybe go to a hotel?

Neither option fit the cooler full of food we had brought to comply with the quarantine order for residents of our state, and 2 days away from the house was half of our vacation gone. It was 5:30, and the wind was picking up. Isaias was predicted to arrive from the south in a few hours, so we thanked them, repacked all of our stuff, carried it down to the car, and came home.

(But not before buying some peaches and blueberries and corn. And I would've stopped in a heartbeat for hoagies  if I'd seen a place. I'll be back New Jersey-- just you wait.)

Yesterday Once More

I like to think I have a pretty good memory; that's why it was so appalling today as we listened to the AT40 countdown from July 28, 1973 that I kind of knew the songs, but not really. "What the heck was I doing that summer?!" I asked Heidi in exasperation. But of course she had no idea-- we would not meet for another 25 years. "Obviously not listening to the radio, for some weird reason," I concluded.

It wasn't until the countdown reached number 2 that it all became clear to me. As the Carpenters sang Yesterday Once More, I remembered that for my birthday in June that year I got a cassette tape player and recorder, and I spent the summer listening to the one tape I also received, The Carpenters Greatest Hits.

I also recalled that when we went to California to visit our friends, I made everyone listen to my tape. Those kids were Callie cool, and let's just say that the Carpenters were not on their playlist, but after a few days there, I got the confidence to play my music. It went over fine, but later that night, when our parents tuned into the summer replacement variety show hosted by, who else? The Carpenters! There were groans all around.

"Why did we have to listen to that tape?" one of the kids moaned as Karen and Richard crooned, We've only just begun... "Once a day is enough!"

Two Strikes

Mandatory quarantine AND a hurricane?

I'm beginning to worry a little bit about my vacation next week.