The Beholder

Thursday is recycling day in our complex, and today, the first Thursday since Christmas was a big day on the curb. The rule is everything must be out no earlier than 6 and no later than 9 A.M. so when I took Lucy for her first out of the day, we walked by several brown bags filled with cans and bottles and many, many broken-down boxes. The one that caught my eye? Barbie's Dream Camper, tucked between an empty case of wine and a Chewy box. 

Fifty years ago Barbie's Country Camper, orange and yellow with a cool California vibe, was parked under our Christmas tree. In retrospect, I know it was meant to be my wow gift, everything any eight-year-old girl might ever dream of for the holiday, something so amazing I never knew I wanted and so never asked for. But I was not a Barbie kind of a little girl, and so I was a little underwhelmed. My friends thought it was amazing, though, and I understood how lucky I was to have received such a thing, bragged about it a little even. 

By where the box was placed, I knew exactly what little girl in our neighborhood got the camper under her tree this Christmas. She's a pistol of a 6-year-old kid, all go go go in her pink and purple sneakers and tutus. 

I wonder if she liked her camper.

Fulfilling the Promise of the Gifts

I got a few fun things for the holidays-- among them a hand-forged Japanese bread knife and some copper canelé molds. Just preparing to use those beautiful tools as they were meant to be has given shape to the last few days.

First, feeding the sourdough levain for the bread, coaxing it back to life after a week in the refrigerator, then weighing, mixing, turning, resting, raising, forming, fermenting, and baking the loaves with the anticipation of finally using my knife to slice through them without crushing or tearing has been very gratifying.

Likewise, scraping vanilla beans and steeping them in milk, whisking eggs and sugar and butter and flour together, tempering the mixture with the hot vanilla milk and stirring in dark rum all so the batter can sit in the fridge for 48 hours until it will be time to coat my molds with a combination of beeswax and butter before filling them to bake into that classic French confection of crackly caramelized crust and tender custard within has also been a fine way to spend my time.

The Power of Words

 Lucy was not sure at all about the family approaching us on the trail this afternoon. Catching sight of the four of them with their adorable dog, she tensed and let out a low growl. 

"Look!" called one of the little girls. "That dog looks like a big version of Boomer!"

She was right, our dogs did resemble each other.

"Awwwwww," her sister and mom responded. "She's so cute!"

It must have been the tone of voice, or perhaps it was the sheer admiration, that disarmed Lucy, but whatever it was, she relaxed her shoulders, lifted her tail, and pranced happily past.

"Have a great hike!" the dad said us as we passed him on the trail. Boomer just wagged his tail.

Then, Again

One of the more humorous scenes in WW84 involves a character who suddenly finds himself 66 years in the future. To him, 1984 is an amazing place, full of wonders including pop tarts and parachute pants. There are also many confusing things as well, such as the stationary bike in the place where he's staying. "I couldn't figure out how to get it going," he reports sheepishly.

I thought of that scene tonight on my walk through the neighborhood. After winding through a residential section admiring the holiday lights twinkling in the spring-like evening air, I headed down to the shops and restaurants at the bottom of the hill. There I passed a gym with a half dozen power spinners out on the pavement. The dance pop hit "Believe" by Cher blasted through the speakers as a single sweaty rider pumped the pedals in gym shorts, muscle tank and tube socks. 

A time traveler from 1984 probably wouldn't have too many questions about that.

Relative Heat

I never bothered to put my coat on when I took the dogs out and then packed the car this morning-- it's amazing how balmy 33 degrees feels after spending a few hours in 22 yesterday!

Upstairs Downstairs

Upstairs it snowed all day. Bands of lake-effect squalls drifted slowly through, fat flakes reducing everything to simple, white shapes. Mid-afternoon we bundled up and went out to clean off the car and move it closer to the house so the plow service could clear the driveway when the storm had passed. The snow was fluffy and light, and the air was so cold that every crystalline capped column was starkly etched in each flocculent scoop of the shovel. In short order our work was done and we ready to venture forth on a snowy walk with the dogs.

Downstairs, the heat was working overtime; the year was 1984 and Wonder Woman flew in her invisible plane through fourth of July fireworks. I propped up my feet and reached into the bag of cheese corn on my lap, squinting to make out every familiar location in the movie that was filmed just a few miles from our house. WW1984 was slated to be released last summer, but COVID first pushed the premier back and then changed it to streaming. Like so many summer movies, it was as cheesy as the popcorn, and so it seemed a little out of place this time of year. Even so, it had been a minute since I'd seen anything even resembling a blockbuster, and so I forgave it for its lack of subtlety.

Christ-mehs

As promised, the snow starting falling at just about 10 last night. The tradition here is to open gifts on Christmas Eve, so everyone slept in a little, and we woke to a classic white Christmas with flocked trees and a soft, perfect blanket on the ground. The morning was spent puttering with our presents: plugging them in and trying them on, mostly, but not playing with them. At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I confess to being a bit out of sorts, for there was not a single toy or game unwrapped this year. Which is perhaps just as well, because there is no sister, brother, nephews, or niece here to play them with, either. This holiday is lovely, but it doesn't feel completely like mine. I thought I would be fine, and I am, but I'm also not.

Things went a little off the rails this morning when breakfast was delayed, and my usual even disposition was a little ragged with hunger by the time the quiche made it to the table at noon. I perked up a bit with a facetime call to my brother and sister and aunt, and the prospect of cooking my rib roast the Alton Brown way also invigorated my day. 

Brown call for putting the well-seasoned roast into a cold oven and setting it to 250 for three hours until the internal temperature reaches 118. Then it's rest the roast and blast the oven to 450 for the Yorkshire pudding, and then sear the rested roast in that hot oven for about 10 minutes before carving. And it all would have been great, except I was following video directions which didn't mention that his roast was 8-10 pounds while mine was barely 5. 

When I checked the roast just a couple of hours in, the faulty meat thermometer read 160 and I swore a blue streak to think I ruined a 70 dollar roast. But snatching it from the oven just then to rest while I spun around the kitchen like a dervish for the next 45 minutes making gravy, Yorkshire pudding, roasted brussels sprouts, mashed sweet and white potatoes, and salmon for the non-meat eaters turned out to be perfect timing and the roast was a lovely rare, the slabs of juicy prime rib rivaling any steak house you like. 

Even so, it was sheer luck, I know, because it's not even my job to cook the roast on Christmas Day. I do the gravy.

A Star, a Star Dancing in the Night

I was lying on the bed reading when my watch reminded me to stand up. Despite the temptation of holiday nestling, yesterday I made both my exercise and activity goal, but not my 12 hours of standing, which is ironic, because I always get that goal. So, with a cold rain falling, and exercise and activity feeling out of reach, I jumped right up and started waving my arms. Destiny Child's version of Do You Hear What I Hear? was playing in the background, and my flailing morphed into a kind of Christmas jig as I boogied to the contemporary arrangement of that old classic. Ding! One hour of standing achieved, and 2 minutes of exercise, too. Just nine more hours and 28 minutes to go-- all those cookies are not going to work off themselves.

Whether the Weather

There's a big storm brewing up here. Driving rain and frigid winds are headed our way tonight and tomorrow. It's not the kind of weather you hope for this time of year, or expect, either, especially in Buffalo, NY. I guess we can chalk it up to another shitty thing about 2020. Except... on the other side of the front are arctic temperatures and lake effect snow. The prediction is that the rain will turn white just in time for Christmas morning, and 8-12 inches of snow will blanket the frozen mud. 

Is that a metaphor for 2021?

Christmas Finery

There was a pretty gift bag on our front porch yesterday before we left. Inside, beneath the brightly colored tissue paper, was a bandana for Lucy. Buffalo plaid on one side and little candy canes on the other made it the perfect holiday accessory, and tucked in the bag next to it were two little drawstring pouches. When we opened them we found a couple of masks sewn to match Lucy's bandana. The collection was handmade by our neighbor, and her thoughtfulness made us smile. Even so, I couldn't help sighing as I tried my mask on. "It's so nice," I said to Heidi, "but this might be the saddest Christmas gift I ever got." 

We're Here Tonight

How hard it was this morning to pack up and leave not only our decorated Christmas tree, but our two cats, and hit the road for the 7 hour trip to Buffalo! Cautionary advice from health experts and interstate travel restrictions made leaving home even harder, and Heidi's cranky parents and their reflexive negativity did not feel all that beckoning.

Still, they are the only parents we have between the two of us, and as we all grow older? Time, especially at the holidays, seems more precious for sure. It was their request that we gather despite the public health warnings, and in the end, despite our reservations, we agreed. And so, after a road trip that has grown as comfortable as a warm pair of mittens over the years-- around the beltway, up through rolling farmland, into the snowy mountains, past thousands of twinkling lights, and down to the great lake-- here we are together, just as we have been for the last 21 Christmases. 

And that's enough.

Two and Half Hallmarks

 That's how long it took to decorate the tree this morning. Well, okay it was really only one and three quarters, but once you start watching? You have to know whose charm bracelet it is and how long it will take Holly and Greg to discover they are meant for each other.

Right?

And I must say that there is something quite soothing about knowing that no matter how bleak it seems, everything will turn out great in the end. 

And everyone will have a Merry Christmas.

Bitter Sweets

Since this will be a Christmas like no other has been, I find myself more willing to try new things in the sweets and cookie department this season. Last week I made some peppermint cookie cups and bite-sized Atlantic Beach pies and this morning I made cherry-almond kringles-- a version of the Danish treat using my own sourdough pastry, none of which have been a tradition in our family. I'm also considering skipping the rugelach, or maybe switching up the filling to something different this year, and a recipe I came across for cranberry crackle pie looks kind of tempting, too. 

This post to the contrary, I'm not a big dessert eater, so the peppermint cups were a half recipe, and we gave most of the kringles away to our neighbors. All told, there are a lot fewer sweets this year, which makes sense, since there will be fewer folks to share them with. And who knows? Maybe next year? Cranberry crackle pie will become a new tradition.

Big Sibling is Watching You

Another day, another sibling-related interaction. Since we have block schedule, I shared the happy news that having a bossy big sister can be ever so beneficial with the rest of my classes today. The older sisters in the group embraced the news, but not surprisingly, there were skeptics, too. 

One student unmuted and said that his experience did not match the research.

"But you said you have a big brother," I answered. "That doesn't count."

"You don't know the whole story," he said. "My brother? Is transgender! So I know what I'm talking about."

"Uhh, you're right," I replied. "I did not know that." I was quiet for a moment. "I don't think the research study corrected for that factor, though. But maybe they should."

Birth Order

Sometimes there seems to be a confluence of events-- some call it coincidence, but I always wonder just a little if perhaps the Universe is sending us a message. 

Yesterday I wrote about the study that FINALLY proved the benefits of having a bossy big sister, and as fate would have it, my students currently are reading a story where one of the central themes is tied to the connection between an older and younger brother. So today, for the Chat Snap, I asked the kids where they fell in the family: oldest, middle, youngest, or only child. 

I knew that some answers would be complicated, and they were. One girl posted that she was both, the youngest in her mother's family and the oldest in her dad's. 

"Which do you like better?" I asked with genuine curiosity. 

"Being the oldest," she answered without hesitation. 

But then there was the guy who posted that he was the youngest. "That's right," I said. "I taught your brother, Jeffrey, who's in high school now, and I know you have a brother in 8th grade who wasn't in my class. Isn't his name Ethan?"

"No!" the student immediately corrected me. "His name is Buffoon."

His unmistakable vexation made me laugh. "Well at school? I think we call him Ethan."

Bossy Has its Benefits

As part of the back-and-forth-repartee-style toast my brother and I made at my sister's wedding rehearsal dinner, it came out that when we were kids I, as the oldest sibling, treated the two of them as my minions. My brother fully confessed to be a willing sidekick to all my wacky plans, and I defended myself, assuring everyone that I was nothing if not a benevolent dictator. 

But isn't that what the oldest child is supposed to do? When I went to school and learned to read, I thought it was soooo cool, that I came home and taught my brother how to do it, too. The same was so for riding a two-wheeler. I learned, and then both my brother and sister learned shortly after. Why would starting a singing group, trying to sell mud door to door, or taking the dog out for a walk when we were not supposed to be any different? Sure, some of my schemes were more successful than others, but at that age? They all came from the same place, and it always started with I have a great idea...

In our family, growing up in the 1960s and early 70s, my mom put me in charge of those two, for short periods of time, from the time I was 5 or 6. "Go outside and play!" was a common direction in almost every family then. She told me to keep an eye on them, and I did, even when they insisted, "You are  not my boss!"

So you can imagine how justified I felt this morning when I heard a piece on NPR about a recent study that "suggests kids in poor countries benefit hugely from having older sisters — who are more likely than brothers or even mothers — to engage in stimulating play." That's right! There were measurable benefits for all those kids whose bossy big sisters forced them to play school and other games that engaged their brains and their imaginations. 

Just as I did 50 years ago, these girls spend "as much as half of their free time looking after younger children." And their siblings? Perform better on tests of vocabulary and fine motor skills than their peers without an older sister, ahem, orchestrating their days. 

You're welcome, guys!

Where's Liz?

I had lunch, virtually of course, with a friend and colleague today. She is a math teacher on my team, and we eat together almost every day when school is held in the building. She is also an accomplished singer, and since COVID safety orders have been in effect, she has been performing with the Stay at Home Choir. 

The members of the SHC are singers from around the world, and for each project they meet with internationally acclaimed conductors and composers to prepare and rehearse, and then each singer records and submits their part. Sound and video engineers blend the recordings into a final performance, and the amazing results are released into the world via YouTube and other video sites.

Today happened to be the premier of their performance of Beethoven's Ode to Joy, with lyrics by US Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith and accompanied by the Vienna Radio Symphony Orchestra conducted by Marin Alsop. Lucky for me? The premier was during our lunch, and so we watched it together. 

The performance was stirring and beautiful, but I confess that I was distracted by looking for my friend in the hundreds of faces, each in its own little tile. And maybe all this online communication is changing my brain, because I was sure, absolutely sure! I saw her at least three times. 

Later this afternoon, when I went back to listen again, I couldn't help myself from pausing the video to scan the faces, and sure enough-- there she was. For the last 9 months, all of seen of her is a face on a screen, and so I guess it makes sense that I could pick that familiar image out, even among all those other faces. 

Plus, it was kinda like Where's Waldo? but more fun and with wonderful music.

The Elements

When the days grow shorter and colder, it is so easy to burrow in, snuggle up, and hunker down. Working from home? There is very little reason to leave the comfort of my warm house, and quickly those instincts start to become habit. Fortunately, we have to get Lucy from her dog walker every afternoon, and at 3 miles round trip, walking over there and back offers a modicum of activity. 

Even so, when temperatures hit the low 60s over the weekend and sunny, springlike days beckoned me out of my lair, without necessity, I resisted and stayed in baking cookies and decorating my tree. Often the contrarian, this morning I woke with conviction to exercise outside, and the cold driving rain would not dissuade me. 

In need of a shower anyway, I dressed in some tights and a pullover and, leaving my phone behind so it would not get drenched, I shoved a cap on my head and ventured out. We were under a flood watch at the time, and at first I tried to avoid the wide puddles and gushing gutters, but as I got going, it was kind of exhilarating to plunge my feet into icy water even as I was sweating beneath my dripping clothes. 

And half an hour later when I returned home, breathless and sodden, I did not feel like curling up or nestling in. I did eat a cookie, though!

No More Gnomes

When we were shopping for new furniture a year or so ago, Heidi told me in no uncertain terms that we could not buy a white leather couch, no matter how much we liked it in the showroom. "Babe!" she said. "White couches are for old ladies. That's not us."

I thought of that conversation today when we purchased a stuffed winter gnome to join the two I inherited from my mother. Those holiday fellows were just a little too appealing to me to leave to the consignment, and when we opened their box with my mom's handwriting on it a couple of weeks ago, I knew the perfect place for them. Currently, they survey the living room from atop the bookshelf. The new gnome in his gray flannel and buffalo checks is a perfect compatriot for them; he fills the gap up there we never knew we had, and three is a pleasing arrangement. 

While shopping, I was appalled to see Valentine's Day decor liberally included in the already clearance-priced Christmasware, but Heidi was transfixed by the pink Valentine gnome and his leftover autumn gnome brother. "We should get a gnome for every season!" she said, a proposal I immediately vetoed.

"You sound like an old lady!" I told her. 

"Maybe," she shrugged, "but I don't even care!"

"You must see our gnome collection!" I added in a warbly fake elder voice. "It's adorable."

She shrugged again. "It would be!"

In Sight

I misplaced my reading glasses earlier in the week, which is strange, because my world is so very small-- I haven't been anywhere recently besides over to the dog walker to pick up Lucy each evening. Even so, they were gone, disappeared, nowhere to be found in this little condo despite an exhaustive search of the few possibilities. 

Oh, I muddled through, most people of my age have learned to strew their cheaters about, placing a pair of spectacles within easy reach of any location where they may be required. So, yeah, I have extra reading glasses in the kitchen, by my favorite seats in the living room, in the bedside table, and, of course, in the bathrooms. Even so, I missed my Peepers, the ones I purchased because Oprah recommended them, and whose heavy blue frames provided just the right balance of gravitas and levity to my on-camera teaching persona.

So you can imagine how happy I was to hear Heidi call down to me this morning: "I found your glasses!"

"Where were they?" I asked joyfully.

"In the washing machine," she reported.

Now, there's a place I don't usually keep reading glasses, but? Maybe?

Oh Snap

MS Teams recently rolled out an update that allows the meeting organizer, aka the teacher, to open breakout rooms and automatically send participants to work there. It's kind of a nifty feature, you can quickly organize and supervise group work, almost like being in a classroom. There is also a general broadcast that posts messages to all the chats, which is also very handy. 

Of course, I immediately integrated the new feature into my lesson-- I feel certain that many kids really miss the self-direction and interaction that cooperative work offers. Popping in and out of the breakout groups validated my sense, most groups quickly overcame their initial shyness and got to work on the task at hand. 

Perhaps the coolest thing about the breakout room, though, is the ability to close all the rooms with a single tap, bringing your participants right back to the main meeting in an instant. Today as all the little glowing circles rematerialized on my screen, there was almost a collective gasp as several kids unmuted at once. "Wow!" one student said. "That was so weird! I felt like I actually went some place else!"

"I know! Cool right?" I answered.

"It was like the Avengers," another student added. "You have the Thanos snap!" 

"But I brought you back!" I said. "I am Iron Teacher!"

Dynamic Group

My homeroom was very engaged in the library scavenger hunt activity that was scheduled for today. Once I made sure they had the right app downloaded and opened, I shared my screen and we used the chat for them to post the answers they found to the 7 questions so I could type them into the challenge.

We had to use the chat because so many were excitedly yelling answers that I couldn't hear them. When we had successfully unlocked the final padlock and our finish time was displayed, I entered it into a google form to see how we stacked up to the other homeroom groups. "I did it!" I reported as I clicked submit.

"You didn't do anything!" one student said indignantly. "You just typed! We did all the work!"

"I know," I agreed, "I meant I submitted the form."

"Ohhh," he said without apology.

"What do we win if we got the best time?" asked another student.

"Um, bragging rights?" I answered. "They'll say our homeroom on the announcements."

"That's your name!" said the first kid.

I shrugged. "The gift of knowledge, then? A skill you need to be a good student?" I suggested, but they were jokingly grumbling and playing up their disgruntlement.

"Well," I finally said, "how about the gift of lunch 5 minutes early?"

With a cheer, their circles blinked out one by one, and I chuckled as I ended the call. 

*

Tonight, with my lessons planned for the next 2 days, I am within just a couple of plans of winter break, which begins at the end of classes a week from Friday. As much as I am looking forward to rest and relaxation and time away from the screens that comprise my professional life right now, I wonder what this holiday will be like. 

All my life I have enjoyed Christmas with the family I was born to; in fact, over the years I have traveled many miles, even on Christmas Day, to do so. When I was in high school, I flew home to Saudi Arabia from Switzerland, in college it was an even longer trip from Hamilton, NY. In recent years, I have driven or flown from Buffalo, NY to Washington or Atlanta. But every hour in the air or on the road has been worth the comfort and joy of the company of my parents, while they were alive, and my brother and sister. We've never missed Christmas together.

But this year?

Nope.

It makes me so sad, but we have promised each other that we will gather again as soon as it is safe, and in fact we are even holding our gift exchange until then. So, Christmas will come, and then perhaps? It will come again.

After all, 58 years is a good streak! And I plan to continue it, with an asterisk by 2020, of course.

Getting Warmer

For the attendance chat snap today I asked my students if they would rather be too hot or too cold. With only about 60% reporting (block scheduling!) the results are 32 cold to 15 hot. It was not what I would have predicted; in the past, most of my students have been heat seekers. "Maybe since it's just the beginning of winter, people are feeling kindly about the cold?" I suggested to my co-teacher. "If we ask again in March, will they be wishing for warmer days?"

But on this cold night, we are having a warm and homey dish of lentils, rice, and smoked sausage along with some homemade sourdough bread and a salad for dinner tonight. It's the salad that takes a star turn here, but mostly because of a supporting member. The tomato wedges that accompany the arugula, watermelon radish and olives are among the last from our garden. That's right! On December 8, we still have a couple quarts of homegrown tomatoes.

And just the other night on a FaceTime call with my brother and sister, Bill filled us in on a few of the many wonders he and Emily have observed in their Covid quest to walk every single street of our fair county. Among the unexpected charms, they have also lately seen daffodils, forsythia blooming, and cherry blossoms. "It's disturbing," my brother shook his head. "It's hard to shake the feeling that something is very wrong with the planet."

Reformative Assessment

What do you do when the average grade on the quiz you gave was below 60?

Review and reteach, baby!

Joy to the Door

 I made a to do list today that included throwing or giving away at least one thing a day for the foreseeable future. Looking around from where I sat, I saw a pile of about a half dozen unread magazines, and decided to start with them. But first? I had to at least flip through each one, right? I started by paging through the two latest copies of The New Yorker, making sure to read all the cartoons, note any books, movies, or TV shows I should check out, and skim the articles of interest. Thirty minutes later, after reading a personal essay about mortality and Wheel of Fortune and an article about the human tragedy of poverty (in Alabama, specifically), I was almost ready to give up the whole magazine thing. 

I moved forward to a couple of alumni mags, one from college and another from high school, and those fortified me to continue on to Entertainment Weekly (which is now published monthly), and finish up with Martha Stewart Living. It was there that I found some recipes and a couple of holiday craft ideas, one of which I was determined to execute today! 

And so I did-- after a quick stop at the craft store, a bit of foraging through the evergreens growing in the neighborhood, and repurposing an LED candle and some ribbon I already had, my winter door decoration was complete!

Martha's:

Mine:

So Reclined

I had every intention of leaving my house early today-- working out, running errands, getting a Christmas Tree. 

But... I walk every day, and so maybe more vigorous exercise can wait another day or two. Plus, we're set as far as staples go, and the tree? Well, okay, I really do want my tree up, but the weather was cold and gray, and there were other holiday errands to do that only involved reclining in my Stressless chair with my lap top. 

Oh, somewhere around 3 PM I cleaned off the deck to prepare for the lights we'll string out there, and we decluttered a bit and scooted the living room furniture to make room for the tree when we get it (tomorrow!). Then around 5 PM we bundled up and headed out into the early darkness for that daily walk, which was magical! So many lights and decorations, 2020 has got at least that going for it. And back home, I made soup for dinner and returned to my chair to rest up for the productivity that is sure to surface

tomorrow.

Wish You Were Here

I enjoyed the bonus pix some kids posted to the first Chat Snap of the week so much that I made the second Chat Snap a photo by itself. 

Take a picture of something red or green at your house and post it, I asked, and the kids delivered, if not always in the way I expected. In addition to an elf on the shelf, holiday lights, markers, pencils, notebooks, blankets, and hoodies, they also posted images of green mouthwash, red deodorant, video game controllers, lighted keyboards, computer cables, paint, donuts with sprinkles, parakeets, solo cups, and grass outside the window. 

It was an interesting glimpse, literally, into each student's world, and I loved it. 

I was not the only fan, either. "This is my favorite chat snap yet!" posted one kid today. (I appreciated her growth mindset demonstrated by the use of the word 'yet'! She's right: there will be other great snaps!)

"Same!" replied another, and the likes kept rolling in. 

I was happy, but hardly surprised. Clearly we all appreciate connection and community where ever we can find it these days. I'm just glad we found it in English class.

One Day at a Time

How oddly the time passes lately! 

It's hard to believe that one week ago we were celebrating Thanksgiving, that tomorrow is the end of another school week, and that in two weeks and a day we will be on Winter Break. In other measures, it has been 3,996 days since I started this blog, 2,172 days since the first post on our family's selfie blog (Hi, Mom!), and 2,042 days since I started logging my weight and meals every day. This year's 100 Day Writing Challenge started 277 days ago, and my daily sit ups are going strong, but the mediation has fallen off. (I need to get back to that! Just 10 minutes, Tracey! You can do it!) I'll repeat my brother's wisdom that the days pass slowly but the time flies by.

Today I read that, upon his inauguration, President-elect Biden will ask the public to commit to 100 days of mask wearing. That would be from January 20 to April 30, 2021. Maybe it seems easy because I already wear a mask whenever I go into a public place, but still?

You can do it America!

Here Comes the Surge

After Thanksgiving Break it had been a while since I had "seen" my students, and so I set aside a longer period of time than usual to converse and connect with them at the beginning of class. 

"I'm warning you," I said, "I missed you guys last week, and so I'm going to ask everybody a follow up question to your Chat Snap today. I just want to hear your voices!"

I guess they wanted to use their voices, too. The question of the day was simply What was the highlight of your break? and the answers were predictable: food, family, and video games. But with a little prompting? Oh my! Some of the kids talked more than they have for the entire year put together, and in addition to pies and turkeys and Christmas trees, there were also pictures of kittens and parakeets and pugs in sweaters, and tales of family game nights and holiday movie marathons.

Unfortunately, there were also several reports of Black Friday shopping, huge family gatherings, and sleepovers with friends. I'm sure everybody thought they were being as safe as necessary. My own family ignored the CDC warnings not to travel. Of course we took precautions, but we also took our chances. I'm glad we did, and that makes it hard to begrudge others the same comfort and joy.

Even so.

I Think Not

I laughed today when I read that President Trump's longest serving cabinet official is... Secretary DeVos of education infamy. Holding her office in all the hurly burly of that administration may have been the closest she'll ever come to lasting a few years in a classroom full of kids, never mind actually doing them some good. 

The joke seemed a little too good to be true, and so I did a little research on my own. DeVos is actually only the second longest serving cabinet member of this administration. Six out of fifteen secretaries made it all the way through, their seniority determined only by Senate confirmation, and guess who was actually confirmed first? Elaine Chao, Secretary of Transportation, who also happens to be Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell's wife.

Coincidence?