Little Data

Once a colleague told me that, in an effort to help herself make an important decision, she created a one question Google form for herself that she filled out everyday asking how she felt about making the change she was considering. 

"How's it looking?" I asked her.

"Right now?" she replied, "It's 50-50."

I Laughed when she told me, both at the quirkiness and the genius of her approach, but in the end she collected months of data and was able to analyze the trends and aggregate record of her thoughts and feelings and use them to help her make a decision that she was happy with.

I thought of her today as I was sliding into a mid-week trough of online teaching. After a pretty good day yesterday, today the same lesson was less effective, and after a meeting during my planning time, it took me much longer than I expected to prepare my next set of lessons for tomorrow and Friday. Now that they are done, I'm feeling a little bit better, but who knows how tomorrow will be. Writing about the challenges and small victories of this time will offer a record, no doubt, but as we go through? I think a daily check in might be a good idea, too.

Cue the Google form!

So Close and yet so Far

A colleague turned her camera on in a meeting this afternoon. Behind her I saw an orange umbrella, a patio, and brick buildings beyond the open gate of her wooden fence. It was all so familiar, and when I asked, it turned out she lived not 1/2 a mile from here. Another colleague on the call lives just a little past that, and another about a mile in the other direction. Just then, yet another colleague who lives only about a block or two from me joined the call. All told, five out of the six of us in the meeting were within a circle with a radius of just a mile or so. 

But it didn't really matter. We were still all stuck in our houses staring at the glow of a computer screen.

More of the Same

For just a moment this afternoon I thought our luck had turned. 

Caught off-guard by a sudden downpour despite sunny skies, I pulled Heidi and Lucy under a big Pin Oak to wait out what surely couldn't be a very long storm. And, almost as if on cue, the rain stopped and we stepped out from our shelter, completely dry,  and back into the muggy afternoon. Not far from home, we continued on our way, laughing at the close call. 

Until the skies opened again, and this time? 

We

were

drenched.

To Do Someday

One of our young neighbors was sprinting through the courtyards this afternoon with his mom. We made this little family's acquaintance at the pool this summer, and since his mom is a teacher, too, we've been spending a little bit of outdoor time with them whenever 7-year-old Elijah zips down to our end of the complex. 

He has lots of energy and imagination, so these short visits are always entertaining. Today it was Truth or Dare, only-child style, where Elijah told us both what we would have on our turn, and what we would have to tell or do. The game was pleasantly wacky, with his questions and directions ranging from kiss your dog on the lips to what do you do when nobody is looking? and go to Mexico and drink ghost pepper milk. 

Eventually we renamed the game "To Do Today" although the tasks did not get anymore doable, much less today. Even so, it was a fun little while, and despite the fact that I couldn't make armor with a silver shield and sword and then travel the world looking for adventure, the thought of adding it to my to do list was unexpectedly appealing.

Keeping Our Distance

One of the few benefits of the COVID crisis has been the accessibility of the National Mall to us. With most offices and all the museums closed until recently, parking has been a breeze and the wide walkways and lack of visitors have made social distancing easy. It's been a joy to put Lucy in the car and go for a long walk through and around some of the most monumental real estate in the world.

I guess that's what I was expecting when we headed down there around 4:30 today, too. Sure, it was a weekend, but the weather had been muggy and overcast, threatening drizzle all day, and it was getting late. As soon as we approached the mall from 14th Street, though, it was clear something had changed. Throngs of people milled about, and loud music was playing from a brightly lit stage flanked by two JumboTrons. My jaw dropped; clearly this was a festival of some sort. 

Traffic was slow, but moving, along Jefferson Drive, and as we rolled along, I couldn't help but stare. It was a scene from another time-- lawn chairs, picnic blankets, children playing, food trucks lined up along the cross streets, with very few face masks to be seen. 

"I guess we won't be walking around here this evening," I said to Heidi, stating the obvious. 

Bumper Crop

Ever since I've had a garden, I've been dreaming of growing my own Halloween pumpkin. Perhaps, like Linus, I want to believe that I have found the most sincere pumpkin patch-- not only found it, but cultivated it myself.

Unfortunately, for the first several years, the vines either didn't sprout, or they withered in July, or they thrived without setting a single fruit. Then there was the time when I had that perfect pumpkin, just the one, and right before it was perfectly ripe and ready, I returned to my garden after a few days away only to find it collapsed into a rotten heap of squash and seeds. 

Last year, I finally got my first pumpkin, a wee little kettlebell-sized thing grown from a kit I got in my stocking. It was a nice fall decoration until I roasted it for pie. I did save the seeds though, and planted them in a three-sisters mound last spring. This year? I have seven pumpkins! All on the small side, but seven!  

"What are you going to do with all of them?" a colleague asked me today when I showed them to our online class. 

"Pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread, pumpkin muffins," I started. "And, since it's National Quesadilla Day," I told her, "I might make pumpkin quesadillas." 

She and the kids laughed. 

"No seriously," I continued, "seven is a lot of pumpkins! I'm going to make pumpkin curry, pumpkin tacos, pumpkin fried rice, pumpkin pasta... 

"Pumpkin fries," she suggested.

"Yes!" I agreed, "and pumpkin tots, pumpkin rings, pumpkin kebabs, pickled pumpkin." I paused to think.

"You're like the Bubba Gump Pumpkin Company!" she said.

Right? And if I save the seeds again, next year I could have 49 pumpkins!

Paradise Lost

 Almost three weeks in, I think I'm making distance teaching and learning work. It's not easy adapting lessons and activities, but it is teaching, and as I shamelessly wrote yesterday: I'm good at that. 

Connecting with the kids is getting a little better, too. Even though most days I still find myself earnestly talking to my own tiny picture in the corner of the laptop screen, laughing at my own jokes, and listening to the hiss of the speaker while the students stay muted and offscreen, I sense a shift: a few more cameras on here and there, a couple more virtual hands, lots of good ideas posted in the chat, and even several kids willing to share what they've written or answer my question when I ask them directly. It's not a classroom, and calling it a community is way too much of a stretch, but it is something, and it is improving. 

Even so, some of my more wistful moments this week have been when I explain what the routine is now and compare it to when we are in the building. Then my voice takes on a dreamy tone as I describe that shining bastion of education that is my classroom. 

"You guys," I'll say, "when you come in the door, the announcements will be on the screen in the front of the room, and I won't have to take roll, because I'll be able to see you! Then I'll ask you to clear your desk of everything except your writing notebook and something to write with. And guess what else? You'll have to keep your iPads OFF until I tell you that you need them!"

Sometimes, the Best Plan is No Plan

I did not have time to preview the pre-planned lesson I was supposed to do with my homeroom this morning. Truth be told, when we are actually in school, that happens quite a bit. I like to think, though, that after 27 years in the classroom I can pick up almost any lesson and do it justice, if not improve it, as I go along. Forgive me; such a belief is a small vanity, especially for someone who just spent 3 hours preparing her own lesson for tomorrow. 

But I digress. This morning the lesson was the second in a series of mindfulness activities that our district has planned for students to help them cope with the stress of the last months. I appreciate the effort, and I've been doing quite a bit of mindfulness practice myself, so I approached this experience with an open heart. The students were being introduced to an activity called STOP, and the anticipatory set was to tell them that STOP was an acronym and have them guess what the letters stood for. 

Not knowing the answer myself came in handy as we puzzled out what the letters might possibly mean. 

"Is the S for 'Speak'?" a student asked.

"Maybe," I shrugged. "I really don't know."

"Maybe the P is for 'Problem'," someone else suggested.

"Possibly," I agreed, "but by the end of the slogan, the problem should be gone, right?"

And so it went, as we guessed and guessed and nothing seemed quite right, and I couldn't even lead them in the direction of the answer.

"Oh my gosh!" one student finally said, "Can we PLEASE watch the video to find out?"

Seeing that my class was fully engaged and ready to learn, I nodded and pressed play. 

Now, that's good teaching!

P.S. It was

Stop

Take 3-5 breaths

Observe your feelings, acknowledge them, and

Proceed.

(Cool guidance! But when it comes to acronyms? I think that's kind of stretching it!)

Flipping Fantastic

Without exaggeration, I would have to say that one of the best things, if not THE best thing, to happen to me in 2020 is the pass that the teachers at our school got from participating live in a virtual Back-to-School Night. A quick review of my blog posts from the last 12 Septembers will reveal my fraught relationship with this mandatory evening that neither teachers nor parents seem to enjoy. What can you say about an event that no one likes it, but everyone feels compelled to attend?

At any rate, our school's leadership team, recognizing the additional challenges of organizing an effective remote event, decided to flip the script and provide all of the information from teachers up front while planning a town hall format with a limited presentation and plenty of time for Q&A with a panel, rather than the entire staff.

Basically? We had to create informational videos, but after that, they gave us the night off! 

Yay! I love it!

Even so, you know what I'm doing right now, don't you? 

Right! I am watching the town hall.

Because I haven't missed a BSN since 1993, and I guess I'm not ready to start now.

The Price Was Right

We were browsing the dollar bin for fun at Target when a young woman in a lab coat approached us. "Excuse me ladies," she said, "would you be interested in a free flu shot? We're offering five dollar coupons to anyone who gats the vaccine."

Full disclosure? I don't usually get a flu shot. After 27 years and counting in a middle school classroom, I like to think my immunity is robust, and since I haven't ever gotten the flu, it seems like a waste of a sore arm to get the injection. Plus, like almost everybody else, I hate shots. But, in light of the COVID-19 crisis and medical recommendations that a flu shot may protect me and those around me as we battle the pandemic, I had planned on getting the vaccine year.

Even so! Just as Heidi was politely explaining that she gets her annual shot from her doctor, I was waving my hand. "I'm interested! I'll do it!" I told the pharmacist.

Because, 

five dollars!

Happy Good-bye

 This afternoon we attended the annual closing day of our pool which is always celebrated by a doggie dip. It's the one day a year when dogs are allowed at the pool, and Lucy and all her canine buddies from the neighborhood took over from 2-4 when the gate was opened and locked for the last time this season. There was a definite chill in the air as we watched them race and dive and shake and splash round and round the deck. 

Our lifeguard this year was the nicest kid, a rising senior in a local high school, who all summer long delighted the kids with cannon balls on the safety break and calling out a score from the chair when they did the same. Today he seemed pretty entertained himself, all bundled up in sweats and a hoodie. 

"I almost came for a swim this morning," I told him, "but 46 was a little too cold!"

"You would have been the only one," he laughed. "There was no one here until the place went to the dogs!"

True North

Not that many months ago, I saw RBG in person. We were at a movie theater downtown waiting for the elevator to the parking garage below when the doors parted, and a couple of big burly guys cleared the way for a tiny old woman. Two younger women helped her shuffle off, and before I could look away, embarrassed to stare at her physical weakness, she lifted her head and made eye contact with me. There was no frailty in that gaze, and when the party had passed and we stepped on the elevator, I knew who she was. 

I don't think I've been to a movie since. The world fell on its side in February when we cleared out and sold my mom's home, and turned completely over in in March when everything shut down, and it spun and wobbled in April and May with the primaries, and flipped again in June with all the demonstrations, and continued to teeter and sway in July and August with the rise of virus cases and deaths and college outbreaks and anti-maskers and ugly, election-year politics, and of course, the reality of distance teaching and learning has rocked our worlds for the last 4 weeks.

And losing Justice Ginsberg is like losing true north while navigating the shit storm that has been 2020. 

But even when she was weak, she stayed strong. I saw it myself, and I will look to my inner compass to persevere.

The Trouble in Troubleshooting

I'm afraid I'm going to have re-think my future career as a remote technical assistant. One of my homeroom students has been having a lot of trouble with his iPad, and screen sharing on the conference call was one of the problems, which made it even more difficult to help him. After a little research yesterday, I was ready to solve that complication today with hope that we could fix the rest of his issues, too. 

Unfortunately, once he shared his screen, he lost his audio feed so that we could hear him, but he couldn't hear us. Let's just say there was a lot of heavy breathing and silly, sing-songy self-talk as he swiped and tapped and peered closely at the camera. I finally got his attention in the chat by holding up hand-written signs in the hopes that he would catch a glimpse of them when he cycled back around to the call. 

What followed was even more of a comedy of errors, as he squinted at my notes on the screen and in the chat, struggling to decode my handwriting and comprehend my suggestions, and I furiously googled what the problem could be and scribbled and typed some more. 

"Nope, nope, nope," he sang. "Hah? What! Nope."

At last I gave up and showed him the number of the help desk and told him to go to lunch. "When do they want me to call them?" he SHOUTED, because he couldn't hear me, so...

Right away! I advised him.

He gave me the thumbs up and left the call.

I wonder if he had his iPad on mute? I thought, as I ended the meeting myself, but it was too late to find out.

Finding Options

 Today was another day remotely resolving technical issues for my students as they took a beginning of the year pre-assessment. It was kind of exhausting, but I'm getting pretty good at it, if I do say so myself. In fact, depending on the election results, I might just move to another country and look for work in a call center trouble shooting tech for people back here in the States.

I'm only half kidding, because it occurs to me, the closer the election gets, that the one thing I really can do is to find a way to make peace with the results if things don't go the way I hope. As overly dramatic as it sounds, I have to be emotionally prepared and know what I am going to do in that situation.

So that's one idea.

Big Brother

 Finding a writing topic is a real challenge for some kids, but simply saying, "I don't have anything to write about" is also a common strategy that other kids use to avoid writing. Fortunately, it's usually easy to separate the two groups by engaging in conversation. 

Most kids with writer's block will open up after a few questions about their pets, their hobbies, their injuries, their victories, and find a story to tell about themselves. It's the kids who don't like any games or sports and don't know what they do in their spare time or don't really like or hate anything who are harder to help. The wrong approach will make them dig their heels in just to prove to you that they

really.

have.

nothing.

to.

say.

In the classroom, it's tough to crack their resistance, and I wasn't sure how I would approach it with distance learning. Today? I found out. I was using that good old workshop tool, the status of the class, checking in with every writer to see how they were progressing. As I asked about their writing topics, I was hoping that hearing from other students would help those kids who were struggling to find an idea.

Then I ran into J.

Oh my gosh! He was committed to having absolutely nothing to write about. He hated soccer, but couldn't tell you why. He won a participation award once, but couldn't tell you when or why. He had no pets, did nothing in his spare time, never watched TV, and never went on vacation. He just ate food because he needed it to stay alive. 

"Well is there any food you hate?" I asked him.

"Pineapple and onions," he answered, "because they're nasty."

"No one hates pineapple," I said. "Are you sure you still hate it?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "I had it last night on my pizza."

"Why did you eat it if you hate it?" I asked.

"My brother shoved it in my mouth and made me," he said.

"That sounds like a story to me," I noted, hopefully.

"Not really," he said.

I looked at his name on my roster, and something rang a bell. "Did your brother go to our school?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said.

"Oh my gosh! I taught him 5 years ago! Is he there right now?" I asked.

"He's across the hall," he shrugged.

"Go tell him I said Hi, and ask him what you should write about!" I directed him.

For the first time in our conversation, he looked engaged. He left the frame and then came back a few minutes later.

"He said, and I quote, Write about how dumb you are!" he reported in a perfect deadpan.

I burst out laughing, and he laughed, too.

"Well," I told him, "I guess you can write about how mean big brothers are."

"Yes," he said, "yes I can."

Two Wrongs: Still Not Making a Right

I just got my new passport in the mail, and sadly, right now it won't really provide entry to very many other countries. Of the 195 nations in the world, only 29 admit US citizens these days, and several of those require a two-week quarantine. All of the others are either on the State Department's Level 3, Reconsider Travel, or Level 4, Do Not Travel lists.

I guess it's a good thing that I'm working 10 hours a day to make online school work-- I'd be too busy to travel, anyway.

Late to the Posole

 At first I considered my corn crop this year a bit of a fail. The sweet corn was misshapen, tiny kernels on short and too slender ears. I planted three varieties, all in three sisters mounds with beans and squash (which may be another blog post, or two, themselves.) Of the three, perhaps the most successful was the blue variety, a fiels corn meant to be dried and ground. 

I probably got 5 good ears of blue corn, and the good thing about was that it could either stay on the stalk and dry or dry in my kitchen, either way was fine, depending on humidity and critters. A month or so ago, I took 30 minutes to remove the dried kernels from their ears, resulting in perhaps half a pound of blue corn. What to do next was a puzzle, but not a pressing one, since the dried corn would last indefinitely. 

A week or so ago, it occurred to me that a pot of posole would be nice, and I wondered if any corn could become hominy. Turns out, it can, all it takes is nixtamalization, an ancient process where kernels are boiled with lime (not the fruit, but the calcium salt), to soften them and release more of their nutritional value. 

A few clicks of the mouse, and some food grade CaOH was headed my way, although my research indicated that most Latin markets would stock it as well. Yesterday I weighed and boiled my ingredients, and this morning I rinsed and finished the corn in the pressure cooker, and when it was done, miraculously, I had several cups of plump blue hominy.

Who knew!?

Um, just centuries of indigenous cooks. 

And now, me, too.

The Wardrobe Report

September weather is a crapshoot around here, with temperatures bouncing from the 60s to the 80s on any given day. 

It was in the low 60s this morning when I dressed to take the dog out before breakfast. As the two of us jogged down the parking lot in the cool morning air, a neighbor rolled to a stop and waved. "Shorts and long sleeves!" she noted, appraising my outfit. "The season has definitely changed!"

I shrugged and laughed. It was true that I had been wearing tank tops not too many days before.

"But you do have the sleeves pushed up," she noted. "I guess it's supposed to get warmer later, right?'

A Confederacy of Dunces

Like most Americans who were alive on the day, I'll never forget September 11. 2001. I have relived and recounted my experience teaching at a school less than 2 miles from the Pentagon on that day more times than I can remember. New York City bore the brunt of those attacks, for sure, but here in the DMV we were reeling, too. But so was the nation, I think. At least in my memory we were all collectively numb with grief. 

In retrospect, I guess life went on more or less as usual in parts of the country that weren't directly impacted by the attacks and their aftermath, but a lot changed for most of us in the United States that day. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, enhanced security in airports and other high profile public places, a shared feeling of uneasiness, wasn't every American affected somehow? 

The general consensus was that we would do what it took to make sure everyone was safe, and since then, there haven't been any major attacks by foreign entities on US soil. And the event was so pivotal, that nineteen years later, even in the midst of an economy-crushing pandemic,  politicians, journalists, and citizens acknowledged the losses of that day with speeches, 90 second retrospectives and interviews, minutes of silence and shining beams of light to honor the dead.

Unquestionably, September 11, 2001 was a terrible day, but right now, more people than were killed in those attacks die every 3 days of Covid-19 in the US. Yesterday, Canada recorded a day without any deaths from the virus. Americans continue to be divided about what should and should not be properly required of us in order to defeat this latest attack, and we are on target to lose way more than 100 times the lives that were lost 19 years ago.

Why?

Your Word, Not Mine

Blogger keeps switching my blog over to their new and improved interface, always with the note that I can revert to the Legacy style, which I inevitably do within a minute or two.

So far, they haven't convinced me that there is any reason I should leave the familiar comfort of the format I have been using for the however many years since they last updated. It looks different, but I don't see why it's better. Maybe I should look harder? But I have a few more important things occupying my mind and time at the moment.

Oh, I'm sure that this old version won't be available forever; the day will come when I receive a message that there are only so many months until we all must upgrade, and then everything will change over, either by choice or by force.

But really, Blogger? What kind of a legacy is that?

Decompression

 When at last I shut down my computer this afternoon after logging nearly six straight hours of screen time, most of it in-person teaching to a grid of tiny dots filled with my students' initials, I considered crawling over to the couch, pulling my soft, fleecy blanket up over my head, and taking a nap. 

My eyes and brain felt raw and numb, but I knew in my heart that sleeping was probably not the best solution, and it was too early to start drinking, so, despite the pouring rain, I pulled on my boots, popped up my umbrella and went for a three mile walk. 

Back at home, I put the loaf of bread that had been rising since 6:30 in the oven, unzipped my ukulele from its case and strummed and sang for half an hour. Next, it was a 30 minute dance workout, after which I finally started feeling capable of maybe, maybe looking at another screen and start getting ready for tomorrow.

I used to be in the habit of relaxing by staring at my screen, scrolling through news and games and messages and social media posts, but all that has flipped along with my classroom. 

I only hope that my students are taking some breaks, too.

Magic Button

In addition to distance learning and teaching, this year our school has also made a move to block schedule. We did it to parallel the other middle schools in our district, because central office is, prudently, mandating as united a front as possible. Adapting to such a change has been an extra layer of challenge, but it has also allowed us to build in time for students to work away from their screens, which, after only 2 days of online school, I whole-heartedly support.

Having a block means that even though school started yesterday, there were still 2 sections of students to meet today. My first group was a lot like the classes yesterday: a little shy and quiet, but more than willing to follow the presentation and work on the assignment. But the next class was something else all together! From the minute I started the meeting, they were talking... not to me, but to each other. It was kind of refreshing to hear one kid greet another, and there was even good-natured teasing in both the real-time conversation and the chat. And it was almost like being in a rowdy classroom when it was time to start-- I had to raise my voice a little and ask for their attention. Honestly? It made me love them a little bit-- what powerful personalities they must have to shape a group from far away.

It didn't take too long before the students quieted down, and the lesson went well. When it was time for them to work independently on the assignment I had prepared, a student unmuted his mic to ask a question. "Can we talk while we work?"

I was unprepared for the inquiry.

"Uhhh," I started. "That's a good question! In school, I would say yes, as long as you worked quietly, so... I guess so? As long as it's not too loud or distracting."

"Cool!" he said.

But as they worked, the noise coming out of my laptop was loud and disjointed. I couldn't mute my speaker in case someone had a question, so at last, in a bit of tired desperation, I muted all of them. On my screen I watched to see if there was any reaction, but there wasn't. Some kids just kept on talking, sure that everyone else was listening, and others just kept on working. No one complained.

Friends, I am more than ready to return to the classroom as soon as it is safe. I can't wait to meet my students and spend time collaborating with my colleagues in person.

But I can already tell I'm going to miss that "mute all" button!

Distance Learning: Day 1

On the first day of school, a day fraught with so many technical problems that our neighbors were actually interviewed by the local news about their woes, I stood after a tense 5 hours at my desk, stretched my spasming back, and then headed out the door for a quick walk. As I powered through the neighborhood I came upon a man pitching baseballs for his daughter of about 6. "You be the outfield," he directed his son, who was even younger.

"Is this PE?" I laughed as I trotted past.

"You better believe it!" he answered.

Duty-free Lunch

As the ever-earlier late summer darkness fell on this September evening, my thoughts turned to my colleagues. As much time as we've had to process the reality of our situation, how strange it still is to begin a school year away from school! I picked up my phone and sent a quick good luck text to the group that was our team last year.


And so it was agreed. We'll meet and debrief as we always did, although it will be virtually. And I'm not sure how long it will be feasible or useful or desirable to do so, but when I scheduled the meeting, I had it repeat for every week day until the end of the year.

But that's really how our lunches always were-- the door was open to anyone who could make it.

Out of Competition

Once, a long time ago, when Heidi was coaching swimming for our middle school, she asked an excited-to-join sixth grader what his favorite stroke was. "Underwater!" he told her confidently. He was more than a little crestfallen when he discovered that underwater was not recognized in swimming competitions.

We still giggle a little at that memory sometimes, especially when we're at the pool trying to earn our activity goal. Treading water is effective, but we like to mix it up a bit, too. Heidi will do a little breast stroke, or even butterfly when she wants to show off, and I rely on the crawl, that one solid stroke I have.

"I'm going to do 10 lengths with flip turns," I'll announce, "but it's going to be the short way."

"How about underwater?" Heidi will suggest.

And then there's the side stroke, the one our moms and all the pool ladies of the sixties and seventies used to do so that their hair would stay dry. "Scissor kick and pick a peach and put it in the basket!" was the way somebody taught me to do it, and I learned! Even though it's not a competitive event, I can still sidestroke like nobody's business, and I usually do, all the way to the ladder whenever the guard calls break.

A Working Salute

Teachers everywhere, I see you!

You are using this holiday weekend to develop your professional knowledge, plan your lessons, create your materials and resources, and optimize it all for the unfamiliar platform of online learning, so that on Tuesday things will go as well as they can for your students.

Now that's what I call labor.

Finding The Way

One of our neighbors has a cool Mandalorian sticker on their car: a white, stylized helmet with the slogan This is the Way. Back in the spring, Heidi and I watched the whole first season of the series, partly because after 40 years, most things Stars Wars are kind of a must, and partly because one of Heidi's students was a huge fan and she wanted to be able to carry on a conversation with him. Either way, The Way, a code of honor and behavior which to Mandalorians includes, but is not limited to, never removing their helmets in front of others, is something we are familiar with. 

On our way home from the pool this afternoon we relived our disappointment with the appearance of the Mandalorian when at last the audience sees him without his helmet.

"I feel kind of bad," Heidi said, "because there wasn't anything wrong with the way he looked."

'I know," I agreed, "but it was kind of like that thing when you only hear someone on the radio, and then when you see a picture of them you're like--"

"That was NOT what I was expecting!" Heidi finished. We laughed for a minute, and then I thought back to all the phone calls I had made this week to parents and their students who will be starting in my class next week. To them I was only a disembodied voice on the line, and although they will see me on camera on Tuesday, I may as well have been wearing my helmet.

We teachers have been given strict guidance that we cannot require kids to turn on their cameras during virtual instruction, and I understand why. Revealing yourself and your current situation to others you may or may not know can be stressful. There is enough anxiety to go around these days without adding to it, especially when our objective is for kids to be in both a physical place where they can learn, and an emotional one as well.

Even so, I hope my students will feel comfortable enough to show their faces, if only because it seems like the most direct way to connect with each other. In the show, the Mandalorian is a lonely soul, isolated from others by choice and The Way. (Okay, Baby Yoda may have changed all that.)

As for me, when I called one of my homeroom students this morning, his mother shared their disappointment and frustration with not being able to fully join the virtual open house our school conducted yesterday morning.

"But we saw you in the car parade!" she continued, mentioning the caravan of teachers who drove an announced route through all our school's neighborhoods yesterday, cars decorated and horns honking. "And that made us feel so much better!"

What Went Right

Sometimes when I sit down to write, all the negativity of the day floods my mind and I can't think of anything other than a rant. But while that kind of writing may be therapeutic in its own way, sometimes I prefer to spare my readers that dose of negativity.

Today was tough in more than a few ways, but here's the Pollyanna edit.

My coffee was perfect this morning.
Using chart paper to decorate my car for the Welcome Back to School parade was an awesome hack: it stayed on, and it peeled right off.
It was great to see my colleagues in person before driving through our school's boundaries and waving to kids and families waiting for us.
The grocery store wasn't bust at all when I went this afternoon.
The pool was especially refreshing, and I got 45 minutes of exercise.
Although it was thundering when we walked over to pick up Lucy, it didn't rain. 

Thanks to my friend, Joanne, I listened to the song of the summer insects in between the rolls of the thunder until the storm finally came. 
I'm feeling a little more prepared for school, and happy I have four more days to really nail that first day down.

I guess it was a pretty good day after all!

A Tale of Three Families

Three of our neighbors have school-aged children. One family is sending their daughter to private school, because they fear that she is regressing by not interacting with her peers to learn. The next family is keeping their daughter enrolled in our public schools, despite their dissatisfaction with the way her first grade teacher handled distance learning in the spring. Even though teachers received guidance to keep our instruction asynchronous, some of our colleagues organized a lot more in-person sessions than others, which led to perhaps unfair comparisons. The third family has let us know that although they are "fully committed" to our district schools, many of their friends are either choosing private school or full-on homeschooling, because "if their kids are going to be at home, they can at least control the schedule and curriculum that way."

Obviously? We are not all in this together.

Food for the Soul

I love to cook-- it's my top creative, hands-on jam. I usually begin every day with grinding, mixing, chopping, stirring, and often toasting, baking and/or frying and end it with blanching, roasting or grilling, dicing, saucing, and, of course, pouring a beverage pairing.

It's rare, though, that I cook for myself alone, but that's okay. For me, the joy of the process is sharing the product. Figuring out what people will and won't love to eat is a fun little challenge for me. For example, Heidi loves acid, but not too much heat; more than a tiny hit of salt will ruin a dish for Bill; Courtney hasn't enjoyed onions since she was pregnant with Richard. Sometimes when I'm cooking, I think of a person who would really love the dish, and vow to make it for them when I can.

Tonight that person was my mom. For some reason every component of the meal made me think of her. Mom would love this! I knew as I chopped tomatoes from my garden, made lime slaw, and pickled onions for the (wait for it) cauliflower (lots of acid, not too spicy) tacos we're having.

And as I worked, I reflexively considered her appreciation in present tense, as if I could make it all for her the next time I saw her, and she would tell me herself just how yummy it was.

If only that were so.