A Whole (Nother) Story

A child of the sixties, the first president I kind of remember was LBJ. Even though I was in first grade when he left office, I knew who he was. As I grew older and learned more about the turbulent decade in which I was born, Johnson was always a bit of a minor character: the benchwarmer forced into the game in the JFK story, the out of touch antagonist in the RFK story, the recalcitrant cooperator in the MLK story, the ineffective villain in the Vietnam story. (That old guy.)

His wife, Lady Bird, was also a soft-edged somebody who planted a lot of flowers along the highway, not much substance there. But today, on our road trip home, we listened to the first six episodes of the podcast In Plain Sight: Lady Bird Johnson. Hosted by Julia Sweig and based on her book about the former first lady, the podcast tells the story of the Johnsons' time in the White House using the over 123 hours of audio diaries that Mrs. Johnson kept. Her voice, her insight, and her smart observations humanize the couple in a way I just never considered. (Highly recommend the podcast.)

In my mind, the Johnsons always seemed so old, but when President Kennedy was assassinated and the two of them were thrust into a role they had worked toward but in a time and situation they were unprepared for, he was 55 and she was 51, both years younger than I am now. (Pooooosh! Mind. Blown.)

Despite their good intentions, the changing world was ultimately unmanageable, and they found themselves out of touch, especially with younger Americans. There was a little bitterness along with the relief they shared upon retiring to Texas in 1969. It would have been nice if they had had many years together after that, reading and riding and swimming and hiking and driving the amphibious car on their ranch in the Texas Hill Country, but LBJ passed away just 4 years later, at the age of 64. (So sad, right?)

Nooks and Crannies

The recipe looked easy enough: Mix up the 4-ingredient dough in the evening and let it rise overnight. Stretch and fold it, give it a short rest, and then roll it out. A biscuit cutter and some cast iron skillets warming on the stove were the final pieces. Ease them onto the hot surface and griddle for seven minutes a side. 

"What are you doing?" Gary asked when he came downstairs this morning.

"I'm making English muffins!" I told him. 

He looked skeptical.

I shrugged. "We'll see."

Thirty minutes later? We were buttering our muffins. 

Fork split and toasted, they looked store-bought, but they were much crisper on the outside and tender on the inside than those. 

"These are outstanding," Gary declared.

I'd call that a success.

Supporting Role

I stood on a 12 foot ladder in the middle of the family room stretching to reach the smoke alarm fastened to the cathedral ceiling. It had been chirping since the night before, a side-effect of searing half-racks of lamb before finishing them in the oven for Louise's birthday dinner. Heidi's folks are both in their mid-70s, and still very independent, but wise enough not to climb tall ladders anymore. I pushed the reset button, and the four of us waited, anticipating an annoying alert to break the silence in a minute or two.

"That was it?" Louise scoffed, when I clambered down a few moments later, satisfied that the beeping was over. "How stupid! I told the electrician not to put it up so high! What are we supposed to do when it's time to change the batteries? Pay a handyman 87 dollars? Ridiculous!"

She had a good point, of course. Heidi and I put the ladder back in the garage, both of us thinking how hard it is to be of help and support from 400 miles away. At least we fixed one thing, I thought, checking it off the to-do list we always encourage them to make for us when we visit.

Later that night I woke from a sound sleep, certain that I could hear the alarm bleating about its low battery. I lay in the darkness straining my ears for the persistent warning that something needed attention. It was not my imagination. We heard its piercing alert every 28 seconds for several hours until we dragged the ladder out and, at Louise's direction, just disconnected the whole thing so that it would never bother them again.

We offered to get a new battery and change it once a year on one of our visits, but she declined. This time as we stowed the ladder, I wished for a different resolution. 

But it's her house.

Four Seasons

It was 66 and sunny, bare boughs barely bouncing in a mild breeze when we arrived yesterday afternoon in Buffalo, NY. Today? A hard, cold spring rain is drenching the barely green grass. Tomorrow? A gusty day with a mix of clouds and sun is predicted, but not to worry! Tuesday will bring full sunshine and temperatures in the mid-70s, a true taste of early summer in these parts, right before the snow on Wednesday.

Lucky us! We get all the weather on our Spring Break.

Write On

We were about an hour from home and the sun was still low on the horizon when I realized that I had not updated the slice of life for my students. "I have to pull over!" I told Heidi and then scanned the interstate anxiously for the next rest stop or exit. 

Five minutes later we were idling in a park and ride lot as I cussed a little at the limited functionality of the app and my phone. The task that would have taken maybe 60 seconds if I had remembered to do it on my lap top, as I meant to, before leaving school, seemed interminably glitchy. 

"Are you sure it can't wait until later?" Heidi asked, noting my frustration. 

"Somebody is going to log on looking to post!" I replied. "It has to be there!" 

At last I was able to save and publish, and we were just about to resume our Spring Break road trip when a little chime sounded on my phone. 

"Where's the slice of life for today?" the message read. 

"Refresh your screen!" I replied. "It's there now." 

"Yay! Thanks!" the student responded. 

I took a deep breath and relaxed as I eased the car back into the flow of traffic. When the kids are that eager to write? It's worth an unplanned pit stop to let them.

Dogs in Space

When we went to pick up Lucy from doggie daycare this afternoon, there was a 4-month old pug puppy at our dog walker's house. Evie was a little shy; she watched the rough and tumble of the big dogs from behind the toy basket, her flat face peeking over the stuffies, and looking for all the world like ET hiding in the closet. And when at last she ventured out on her strangely long legs (she'll fill into them), she strongly resembled an AT-AT Walker from Star Wars. 

Really? Is it any wonder that the creators of Men in Black chose Frank the pug as the perfect disguise for a friendly alien? It really isn't much of a stretch.

The Haystack

One of my homeroom students started in person today. Because he was a few weeks behind the kids who had attended already, his mom contacted me yesterday to go over the routine and also to report that he was a little nervous. Understandably so! Our sixth graders have never even been in the building: they have no frame of reference for even the most explicit directions.

"No worries," I told her, "I'll head down to the gym in the morning and bring him upstairs to show him around." 

It was a good plan until I entered the cavernous field house attached to our school. A couple hundred or so masked kids sat on the cross points of a six-foot grid. Many had their hoods up; most were looking straight down at their devices. I scanned the group and considered my options. Short of shouting his name, all I could do was walk up and down the rows peering intently at every student. When at last I was saved by the bell, a figure just ahead of me stood up. "Here I am!" he said cheerfully.

"You are so tall!" I told him. "The camera doesn't show that!"

Later in the day, I found out that yet another of my homeroom kids would be starting tomorrow. "Where do I go?" she asked anxiously.

"I'll come downstairs to find you," I promised, but then looked at the guy I had fetched this morning. "But if you see me before I see you? You better wave!"

Keep Stirring

I made risotto for dinner tonight. Any avid fan of one of the many reality cooking competition shows out there will know that risotto is always a risk, if not a certain ticket to the loser bracket. It is not necessarily a hard dish to make (although it does take focused attention at the stove), but it's a hard dish to time when coordinated service is an expectation. Luckily for me we eat when it's ready around here.

The first time I ever ate risotto I was 14. My family was living in Saudi Arabia, but due to the laws governing expatriate schools in the Kingdom, I was in boarding school in Switzerland. Just up the mountain from my school was a little restaurant called Flora's where all they served were ribs slow-cooked on their wood fire hearth, salad, and risotto Milanese. If you wanted anything else you might have been disappointed, until the family-style platters and bowls arrived at your table and you dug in. A menu as simple as that must be impeccable, and Flora and her staff delivered.

But I was 14. How was I to know what an extraordinary meal I was having? I just thought you could find perfection everywhere. 

When I first started cooking seriously, I believed I could recreate that meal. Over the years, I have tried dozens of rib and risotto recipes, and there have been some good meals, but that Flora's magic? Has eluded me. Tonight our risotto is rather work-a-day: boxed chicken stock with some shallots and shiitakes. We have a shrimp topping sautéed with napini and winter cress from our CSA, freshly shaved pecorino and a little dice of plum tomato. Nothing to complain about, for sure, but no comparison to Flora's either.

But that's okay.

Whiskers Forward

I have a student in my homeroom who has been very shy all year. She never turns on her camera, and in fact, before Fall Conferences she told her dad that I had never seen her before. It was true-- my image of her was based on the photo in my grade book, a picture that had been taken early in fifth grade. When she finally made an appearance for the conference, I was kind of surprised at how much she'd changed: the little girl with pigtails and smile was replaced by a middle schooler with a high and tight mop of curls and an anxious frown. 

After that? I heard her voice (although rarely), but the slash across her camera icon remained steadfastly present, even during the second conference. That is until last week. 

A bunch of the other kids in our group are certified goofballs: they are forever wearing hats and masks, waving papers and books and posters, and parading their stuffies and pets across the screen for us. There were a couple of cats waving in the gallery when her hand went up. 

"Hey!" I said brightly. "Do you have a question?"

"No," she said quietly, "but I do have a comment."

"Go ahead!" I said.

"We're getting two kittens next week," she reported.

Well, the class went a little wild and wouldn't give up until she had posted a picture of her kittens-to-be in the chat. 

And then today? That hand went up again. "We got our kittens," she told us. 

And what do you know? There she was on camera, first with a very stubborn and wiggly gray-striped kitten held up to her cheek, and then again cradling a quite compliant orange-striped baby.

"So cute! Congratulations!" I said, as the image faded to a little circle with her initials. 

But my fingers are crossed that those kittens will be a little less camera shy than their girl.

The C in CLT

One colleague mentioned a mentor text that she had used successfully with her students. Another colleague searched the author and found that she lived and taught in the next school district over. The third colleague went to the author's homepage and contacted her about a virtual visit with the young writers in their classes.

Ten days later? Kids and author were laughing and talking about writing and publishing together.

Now that's collaboration!

It's Been a Minute

I ordered a lightweight vest from LL Bean and when it arrived the other day I found that it was a little big. If this had happened any time in the last 12 months, I would have printed a return label and dropped my package either at the post office or UPS Store. But there is an LL Bean store not 20 minutes from our house, and being fully vaccinated, it seemed like a good Sunday errand to go make an exchange for a vest that fits. 

So we did. It's not that we haven't been shopping all year; we have in moderation, but today being out and about in the sunshine, jockeying for a spot in the parking lot, and then spending a little time checking out the sale racks and new spring offerings? Well.  

And although it is hard to say if it felt more like a beginning or an ending, it undoubtedly felt very different.

Who's Walking Who?

Years ago, a dog trainer we worked with advised us against extendable leashes. "Your dog should never be in front of you," he told us, "much less more than a few feet away." I sheepishly reeled my dog in from the tree she was sniffing and pressed the lock on the handle.

We immediately purchased a six-foot cloth leash and donated the others to the animal shelter. After that we side-eyed all the dogs criss-crossing 12 feet ahead of their walkers, while virtuously keeping our dog a foot or two to the left. Well, that was the ideal, more often than not there was some tugging. Our wrists grew mighty strong, though, and so did our dog's neck. Eventually, we found a balance, and our dogs have been very nice walkers, both.

This evening I looked out the window and saw our neighbor walking her 15-year-old dog. She uses an extendable leash, but rather than run ahead of her, her dog stopped and she was the one who continued walking until she got to the end of the leash. Only then did she turn around and see her recalcitrant pup. "C'mon," she encouraged him, and he lumbered forward. Then she turned and kept going, unaware that he had stopped again. They made their way all the way home just like that, 12 feet at a time.

Running the Workshop

Our sixth graders are writing children's fiction, and we have reached the point in the unit where the planning has been completed and the drafting has begun. Or at least that's what the calendar says; in reality, students are spread out wide along the writing process already, like runners in a marathon. 

Our main means of supporting all the writers, where ever they might be, is the writing conference; a quick individual conversation to catch them up and/or speed them on their way toward a final draft. Concurrent learning both simplifies and complicates our conferences. 

Yesterday and today, for instance, I had some students in front of me and other students at home. Most kids from each group were ready to write, but others hadn't finished their planning quite yet. I made the logistical decision to pop the planners into individual breakout rooms where they shared their electronic plot diagrams with me as they worked. There, we could talk through any blocks that had them stuck. 

I joined the main call on my iPad, too, so that when I was on hold and in a breakout room, I could still monitor the kids who were working independently and answer any quick questions they might have. In between conferences, I muted all the mics and checked in with the in-person writers, most of whom were wearing headphones, as I was, too, when I was talking to someone else. 

When at last I had the room to myself and was able to take a deep breath and remove the mask, glasses, and earbuds that were stuffed into or otherwise covering every hole on my head, I was pretty wiped. But the writers? Were on their way to the finish line. 

Win-Win

One of Lucy's friends came over this evening. It's been raining all day, and both dogs needed a little stimulation. They've known each other for years, and in fact we refer to Lady as the nanny: with a few well-placed nips and a judicious little growl or two,  she helped socialize Lucy back when she was a cheeky puppy. 

These days Lucy has a bit of an upper hand; she's bigger and younger, but she still defers to Lady most of the time, with the occasional exception of guarding a toy. Tonight, though, Lucy snatched every single thing that Lady showed any interest in. In our house that kind of behavior means that the toy gets put away, and soon we had a pile of stuffies and balls on a shelf beyond the reach of either dog. 

Neither one seemed too upset, in fact Lady seemed to enjoy getting Lucy in a little bit of trouble. Their good-natured possessiveness reminded us of our last dog, Isabel, and her cousin (my brother's dog) Sonic. Whenever Sonic would stay over, he always wanted whatever Isabel had. No doubt he was motivated by love and admiration, but he used to stare at her as she chewed and the minute she dropped whatever it was, he dashed over and took it for himself. 

Isabel was a wise old girl, though, and it didn't take long for her to figure out that if she showed a little interest in something she didn't care about, when Sonic grabbed it, she would be free to get the good stuff for herself. 

And everybody was happy.

Nous Allons Voyager

My 7th grade niece is taking French I this year, a class which is, as her teacher frequently reminds her, a year-long course. My niece is also a distance learner, and learning a completely new language virtually has been a bit of a challenge. Fortunately, both Heidi and I took French in high school, and so we have volunteered to do some zoom tutoring. 

Personally, I am thrilled by how much of the language I have retained all these years later. Despite struggling to recall where I left my keys and wallet 2 minutes ago, French verb conjugations, nouns (along with their feminine and masculine articles) and prepositions all roll off my tongue without a second thought.

Back when I was learning French, having the privilege to travel made learning the language very relevant. Although I never considered myself a fluent speaker, you bet I could read and understand enough to get myself around Paris and Geneva. But my niece is stuck in Atlanta, and when her year-long course began in August, the prospect of traveling anywhere was dismal at best. 

Even so, with every assignment we do together, I get a hankering to go and speak French somewhere. Montreal and Quebec, perhaps? Surely Canada won't keep us out forever! Maybe this summer (or next?) the three of us can pack our bags and head north.

 Comment dit-on ROAD TRIP?

Annual Event

As is my custom when the Academy Award nominations are announced, I printed out a list of Oscar nominees yesterday and began gleefully checking off any film or performance I had already seen. Truth be told? It was a paltry handful. Thank goodness for Nomadland, A Promising Young Woman, and Mulan; a little bit of girl power went a long way this year. (But definitely not as long as it should go.)

Scanning the very few checked boxes, I started to scold myself a bit. In any other year, I chided, thinking of all the movies I would have seen by nomination time. 

But of course I stopped, because in any other year since 2004, the Oscars would be over by now, and our traditional family movie-going, dinners, and getaway only a pleasant memory as our thoughts turned to Spring Break and beyond. And obviously there's no question that this year is not just any year. 

So I took another look at the list with appreciation for those few good movies I'd seen and the promise of all the ones I would see between now and April 25, when I win the family Oscar pool! (Because why not? It's been a crazy year.)

Where He Is Now

It must have been the eyes I recognized first-- despite his face being two-thirds covered with a mask, his eyes were unmistakable. And he nodded when those eyes met mine as he rolled past me on his skateboard; he knew me, too. Then, when I called his name, his eyes narrowed as I'd seen them do so many times, and I knew his lip was curling beneath the mask as he skated past without a word or a backward glance.

"Aw," I said to Heidi, as we continued on in the same direction. He turned around about 50 yards ahead, and glided off to the side, stopping where would have to pass him again.

"You knew that was coming," Heidi told me.

I called his name again and waved. This time he looked up and waited for me to get there. "How are you?" I asked.

"Good," he nodded.

"How about school?"

"It's okay." He shrugged. "Virtual."

"The other teachers are going to be so excited that I saw you," I told him. "Do you have any messages you want me to give them?"

He mentioned two of the team by name. "They were cool," he said.

I ignored the implication that the rest of were not. "Well you look great!" I continued, and it was true: his eyes were clear; his clothes were clean; his body was relaxed. "Come on by and see us when you can. We always want to know how you are."

"Maybe," he allowed. "I think I might move back here for high school next year."

"Can we get a picture?" I asked. "I want to show everyone at school."

He nodded, and I stepped over. He pulled his mask down, and we smiled. I know mine was genuine, and I want to believe that his was, too.

Plagues Upon Us

Rather than outside in the breezy March sunshine, the annual spring meeting for our community garden was held on Zoom yesterday morning. To be honest, it's never been my favorite part of gardening there: so often the presentation and approval of the budget and bylaws devolves into a bit of a scolding session, and this meeting was no exception. 

Particularly unpleasant was when, while discussing a bit of controversial rule-smithing, the membership chair unmuted, and brandishing the waiting list for plots, assured us all that if we didn't care to conform to expectations, 150 of our fellow citizens would jump at the chance to get their gardens planted by May 15. (Now June 1-- score one for the democratic process!)

Later in the call, the question of "brown space" came up. Were our gardens supposed to be at least 30 percent clear of growth or no more than 30 percent unplanted? 

"It's at least," one of the chief gardeners confirmed. "We made the rule 17 years ago because of the cicadas. Well, really it was the rats. There were so many cicadas for them to eat, that the rat population in the garden exploded, and they were everywhere. If there was no brown space, a plot would be infested with rats burrowing and breeding under the plants."

Silent gasps of alarm lit up the digital gallery of gardeners, myself included, because this is the year that Brood X will emerge again, just as soon as the soil warms up to 65 degrees. And if a pandemic and billions of cicadas weren't enough, the thought of battling hoards of rats, too, was more than a little daunting.

All in Good Time

I needed a key cut, some lightbulbs, and super glue, so yesterday afternoon I celebrated the end of the work week by heading out to the big box home improvement store right after school. On a Friday afternoon, the place was not crowded at all, and the unspoken promises of repair and improvement drew me up and down the aisles long after I'd found the items I came for. 

Eventually, I made my way out to the garden center and was surprised to find a wide selection of herbs and annuals. So many years the plants are pretty picked over by the time I get to shopping for them; I was tempted to fill my cart right then. The string of 70 degree days we have enjoyed this week made it seem like the time was right to plant the containers and hanging baskets that we enjoy so much in the warmer months of the year.

But I knew better: the danger of frost in these parts extends to mid-April, and starting things too early, no matter how much I wished it was a good idea, was not a risk I was willing to take.

Who knows what might be lost when I shop again in April? But it doesn’t matter— my baskets will be lovely, as they always are. 

Soft Opening

I welcomed my last group of in-person learners this morning. Our hybrid concurrent block schedule means that I'm only in the same room once a week with most of the kids who opted to return to the building. The rest of the time they are virtual along with the majority of their classmates. 

"How has actually being here at school been so far?" I asked them.

"Good!" they nodded with mild enthusiasm. 

"Well it sure is nice to see you!" I told them in return.

A hand shot up. "Do you know when spring break is?" 

"It starts two weeks from today," I answered without hesitation.

He looked as relieved as I was.

One More Pivot

Just as the students were arriving for their first day in the building this morning, some sort of HVAC catastrophe had the halls outside my classroom roaring like an airport runway. With my door closed, the thunder was manageable, and when the noise quit, I assumed it was fixed. 

Not so fast, though! The principal knocked on my door a little while later. "We're going to have to move your class down the hall while they work in the ceiling to replace the part," she told me. "It's for safety reasons. Have the students pack up." 

In another time, the request might not have seemed so complicated, especially since there were only 4 kids in the room with me. But concurrent teaching and all its attendant technology had me dismantling my carefully calibrated set-up: unplugging several cables, turning off the SMART board, and leaving my extra monitor and the webcam and mic behind. 

"We'll be back on the call in a minute!" I told my virtual students and led these brand new students to an unfamiliar classroom with only laptop and iPad in hand. With no other choice, I propped up my laptop on a student desk, almost as if it was the fifth student in the class, and taught from the front of the room.

Oh, the lesson went fine, and it was actually quite liberating to get up from behind my fortress of a teaching station and move around a little. By the end of the class period, the repairs were complete, and I was able to return to my classroom and reconnect the whole apparatus before the next class began... 

...and dream of a time when the room is filled with kids agin, and all that technology is no longer necessary to do the job.

Not so Free Market

"I need to work on getting more commissions at lunch today," a student told me this morning. Although I have been teaching him remotely since September, this was our first face to face interaction.

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

"I draw humanoid figures," he explained with a bit of impatience. "Customers ask, I go home and do it, and they pay me two dollars when I give it to them."

"Hm," I responded. "I like your initiative, but I'm pretty sure kids aren't allowed to sell things to each other here at school."

"Oh," he dismissed my concern, "that would just be faulty logic. I'm sure it's fine."

"Well," I responded. "I'd hate to see you get into trouble. Why don't I check the rules to make sure?"

Signs of Life

For their fiction project, the sixth graders in our school write and illustrate a children's book for an audience a few years younger than they are. It gives them a chance to apply the elements of fiction and all they know about creating characters and conflict and setting in a simple, but creative way. Throughout the unit we read and analyze published books as models and mentor texts, again, a simple and accessible way for students to solidify their knowledge of fiction and its structure. 

Today we read A Place for Pluto by Stef Wade, a book that checks all the boxes for the assignment. Once he is stripped of his planet status, Pluto wants to find a place to fit in, so he talks to comets, meteors, and asteroids before finally meeting the other dwarf planets. The resolution is a two-page spread with all the planets, plus the Sun and Halleys Comet answering the classic question Where are they now? with a little joke for each. For example, the Sun says, "You all make me dizzy!" 

I like to go through the page and ask students to explain why the lines are funny. "Because the planets spin around the sun," they'll say. 

But when we get to Mars, it's a little tougher when he says, "Let's celebrate with chocolate!" Not many kids make the connection between the planet and the candy company of the same name. 

Even so, I had to laugh when one of the students who was here in person this morning mused, "Did they find chocolate on Mars?"

But ever an exemplar of growth mindset, I recovered my composure quickly and answered, "Not yet!"

What the Devil?

When it came to TV and the movies, I used to love a good serial killer or true crime drama. Malicious or mean, villains and their evil actions were as easy to watch as the popcorn was to munch: hot and salty and forgotten the moment the house lights came up. These days, though, with all the negativity in the real world, I have found it almost impossible to escape into the fictional world of TV. Everything is too sad, or too spiteful, or too violent, or too callous, or too unjust to enjoy. I've even taken a break from The Crown; they lost me when the queen told her son that no one, in the kingdom, the palace, or the family cares what he thinks. 

Googling "nice shows" will only get you so far, but there are a raft of sites that will tell you what to watch next based on what you liked before. Somehow, through a combination of scrolling and clicking, I found my way to a list that had the show Lucifer on it. Perhaps you, like I did, might think that a show about the devil is the opposite of what I was looking for, but we, friends, would be wrong. 

Based on a character created by, well, God, and a situation invented by Neil Gaiman for DC Comics, the series is about how Lucifer, having grown tired of Hell, moves to LA and opens a nightclub. Through a series of events, he becomes a consultant to the LAPD, using his unique abilities to question people of interest and uncover deeply buried clues. The show is irreverent and funny, with playful dialogue and silly situations. And although he expects selfishness and cruelty from all he meets, Lucifer Morningstar (as he is redundantly known) is more complex than either Milton or the Books of Ezekiel and Isaiah would lead you to believe. 

We are only a few episodes in, but redemption is a big theme. What could be more positive and feel-good than that?

Consider the Sweet Potato

I.

The best way to cook a sweet potato, according to Nik Sharma, on the podcast the Genius Tapes, is to both steam and roast it. Steaming it breaks down its fibers and gives the veggie a creamy texture, but roasting it “releases at least 17 more aromatic molecules than boiling or microwaving.” As such, Sharma recommends a hybrid, 2-stage method involving aluminum foil. The result? A creamy and complex sweet potato. I have tried it myself, and I can vouch for the technique.

II.

When I was growing up, the one time a year that sweet potatoes were always served was on Thanksgiving. Then, my aunt would boil and mash them with butter and brown sugar and top them off with mini-marshmallows toasted under the broiler. They were gooey and sweet, any child’s dream, and I couldn't stand them.

III.

My sister has a friend who went through a phase in college where she ate a big baked sweet potato for dinner every single night. She literally turned a light shade of orange from all the beta-carotene. 

IV.

There is a difference between sweet potatoes and yams, but no one is quite sure what it is. One is starchier, one is sweeter; one can be purple or orange or white. One is monocot, and one is dicot. I used to think the orange things we ate at Thanksgiving were sweet potatoes, then a few years later I was sure they were yams, but now I think they were definitely sweet potatoes. Maybe. 

V.

Every year, we get at least 10 pounds of sweet potatoes from our winter CSA share. It might seem like a lot for a couple of little 50-something ladies to consume over the course of a few months, but they keep very well, and we find lots of ways to use them: diced in soup and stew, mashed for muffins, riced for gnocchi, grated for pancakes, home-fried with onions and eggs, spiraled and crisped browned in the oven, minced and added to risotto, and of course, both steamed and roasted. Don't worry, we get that vitamin A!

Coda

We've only been back in the building for a few days, but already the weekends are filling up like a bucket under a leaking roof. Where does the time go?

Fortunately, there is no remedy for a busy day like a simple supper. Hello scrambled eggs, salad, and toast!

Mask-capades

Perhaps the hardest part for me so far of returning to the school building is wearing a mask all day. I have a wide assortment of face coverings, but I haven't found any that remain comfortable for much longer than 30 minutes. So, I always take advantage of the rule allowing us to remove our masks when we are alone in a classroom with the door closed.

But I was halfway down the hallway at school this afternoon when I realized I wasn't wearing a mask. Even though the building was almost deserted, and no one else was in sight, my eyes widened and I began to feel a little panicky. Just then, a colleague turned the corner. 

"I forgot my mask!"

"You're not wearing a mask!" we said in unison.

I spun on my heel, clapped one hand over my nose, and then pulled my turtleneck up and over my mouth, speed walking back toward my room. "Sorry," I added over my shoulder.

Back in my room, I grabbed one of the many masks on my desk and put it on. I sighed, plopped down in my chair, and put my hands in the pocket of my hoodie, where I found a mask that was in there all along. Shaking my head, I stretched my legs and stuffed my hands into my side pockets. There was another mask in the left side. 

Evidently? I know myself well enough to be prepared for those moments of forgetfulness, but not well enough to think that I actually am prepared for those moments of forgetfulness. 

Maybe I'll just keep my mask on at school.

Pragmatics

When I signed off for my last (scheduled) fully virtual classes of the year today, it was with an enthusiastic, "Have a great weekend and I'll see you on Tuesday!" I paused and added, "Some of you in person."

"Nooooo!" groaned one student.

"I wish I was coming back," sighed another.

I empathized with both of them. There is a fair amount of anxiety among all the stakeholders as we transition from distance learning to hybrid. No one knows what it will be like, and there is a bit of buyer's remorse on both sides of the choice to either send your students in person for 2 days a week or keep them home for the rest of the year.

"Listen," I told them. "Your families chose what they think is best for you. Our class is not going to change-- we will all be here together, some in person, most at home, but we will make it work for everybody, right?"

"Oh I'm not worried about that," responded the first student. "I just don't want to have to get up earlier."

Space and Grace

"I'm going to come home right after school!" I vowed when I returned to the building, but two days in I am already seduced by the sun shining in through that window, as it has so many afternoons in the last 27 years, warming me as my fingers fly over keyboard and mouse, crafting the lessons that will become skills and knowledge in the days to come. 

Even though my desk has been moved to allow for six feet between me and the tidy rows of desks a handful of students will occupy next week, those four walls have witnessed my entire career-- countless inhales and exhales and all the spaces in between. Being present in that place after a year of teaching remotely is a homecoming. The clock on the wall speeds ahead, and it's already later than I planned.

One day in the not too distant future, I will close the door on that room behind me for the last time. Another teacher will stand at the door to welcome the students, and maybe sigh with a little relief when they charge off to the rest of their day, leaving behind a quiet space to work and plan for the learning ahead.

Reality Check

We showed a series of safety videos today at school in order to prepare those students who are returning to the school building next week and the week after. Modeled on the TV series Stranger Things, the videos ran through the rules and safety requirements in a humorous and witty way. 

The mitigations are hardly surprising, especially for a community that the NY Times designates as "Very High Risk" for COVID-19: from arrival to dismissal, the middle school kids are expected to stay six feet apart and wear their masks in most situations-- the classroom, the hallways, and the restrooms. At lunch, masks can be removed while eating, but students will be seated at desks set at six foot intervals with plastic shields. There is also a daily sign-in procedure that includes health screening and temperature check, and students must sign out any time they leave their assigned room during class.

"What do you guys think?" I asked my homeroom afterward.

"The videos were good, but the rules are insane!" one student responded. "I predict kids will lose their minds if they have to follow all those! Something has to change!"

"Maybe," I agreed, "but it won't be the rules."

Free Your Mind

We had the full attention of our pets this afternoon as we did a crazy yoga kriya in the living room on our lunch break. As we stretched and twisted and breathed deeply, or with fire, the dog was downward and the cats were cows; their participation complicated the space, but definitely expanded the energy, too. 

The penultimate pose of the series had us placing our thumbs on our temples with fingers straight up and chanting. Full disclosure? It was awesome, but I also had to giggle a little.

"I hope the dog walker doesn't come right now," Heidi said.

"I hope she does!" I laughed.