Flex Time

I asked the sixth graders to post a single word that best described how they were feeling today, and the most popular word by far was "tired." 

I sympathize with them. As I wrote a few days ago, last week was the first full, five day, in person week since March of 2020, and I'm feeling it, too.

When I shared my observation with the students, one kid was all over it. "I know!" she said, "But I didn't even have a full week last week!"

"Because you broke your arm," I nodded.

"Right!" she said rapidly, like she says everything. 

"Then this is your first full week?" asked the student beside her.

"Nope," she fired back. "Early release yesterday. I won't have a regular week until next week."

It was actually the next item on our agenda to talk about schedule changes for next week. Because of state-mandated testing, we are about to implement the seventh and eighth versions of schedules for the sixth graders. In addition to Block A, Block B, Anchor, A, Anchor B, Early Release Anchor A, next Monday and Tuesday we're having Testing Day Anchor A and Testing Day Anchor B. (Which should be easily recast as Delayed Opening Anchor A and Delayed Opening Anchor B-- but who knows?) 

"What time is lunch?" the fast talking kid asked when I told them about the testing.

"12:45," I replied.

"What! That's so late! Yesterday we ate at 10 AM and next week we have to wait until 12:45? Why??" she dramatically dropped her head to the table in mock despair.

But again, she had a good point. The Early Release schedule does call for the sixth graders to go to lunch after a compressed timetable of five 21-minute classes. But to be honest? I kind of love it. My teaching day is over when they go, leaving plenty of time for planning and grading.

In fact, when my CLT met for professional development yesterday afternoon, I was in exceptional humor. "It's the schedule!" I explained. "If I could teach these hours every day? I'd be good to go for another 10 years!"

Service Industry

"I'm not sure how they cook it," a student told me the other day when he was writing about a traditional family food. "We always buy it."

I scanned what he had written "Injera?" I said. "I think they cook it on a huge, flat stone or griddle."

"Like a pancake?" he confirmed.

"Yep," I answered, "and they use a special grain called tef."

He nodded.

"Does your family cook the food that you have with it?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" he replied.

"Like, do you have doro wat or something that you make it home?" 

He shook his head and frowned. Suddenly he laughed. "Do you mean do do wet? Chicken stew?" 

I laughed, too. "I guess I didn't pronounce that very well." What I had said sounded like door-oh-watt. "How do you say it again?"

He patiently coached me until we both agreed that I was much closer than I had been at the beginning of the conversation. "Thank you," I told him. "You taught me something important today." 

And I meant it! Especially when I think back on all the times I ordered that dish from an Ethiopian restaurant, butchering the pronunciation on every occasion, and considering how patient the waiters were with me.

Of course it was their job to understand me and help me to get what I needed and wanted.

Just as it is mine.

Three Squares

At our school, the final project for the first unit of sixth grade English is a personal narrative that is somehow related to food. Since kids have been writing personal narratives since 3rd or 4th grade, our team made the decision a few years ago in an effort to shake our young writers away from their go-to topic. Plus, food is universal, we reasoned, everyone eats every day and there is a lot of untapped material there.

Today was the day when I revealed that parameter of the assignment to the students, and to be honest? They were underwhelmed and even a little resistant to the idea, and as confident as I am in our choice and reasoning, by the end of the day I was a little weary of defending it. 

That is, until in the waning minutes of the last class, when we were wrapping up, a student walked over to me to ask me a question in a semi-private conversation."Can I tell you a fun fact about myself?"

Sure!" I said and turned from what I was working on to look at him. 

"I do not like cake or cookies or pie or ice cream or anything sweet!" he declared.

"Wow!" I answered "That is unusual! What do you like?"

"Mostly Asian food," he told me.

"Your family is from Vietnam, right?" I said. "What are your favorite foods?"

We talked for a few minutes about Pho (he likes it with tripe!) and summer rolls and my favorite, cha gio (Spring rolls). He told me his mom is a great cook, but she has a Bolivian friend who is so good at making spring rolls that they always get her to do it. He also told me that his mom had lost her job because of COVID, but that his dad was still working, and they were doing okay.

"It was really nice talking to you," I said as the bell rang and he gathered his things.

"Can I tell you something else?" he stopped at my desk before he left. "You're my favorite teacher!"

And as pleased as I was to hear him say that, I'd really like to think it was the food talking!

Low Bar

 The question of the day today was What did you have for breakfast? Which to me seemed like a quickie to me, but the chorus of "What if you didn't eat anything? was louder than I thought, and convincing students that "Nothing" was an acceptable answer in that situation took a little time. And I might have seemed a little more frustrated than usual, because, in an astute social maneuver, one of the kids asked me what I had for breakfast.

"I bet it was Eggs Benedict, right?" she guessed.

I laughed, wishing I had that much time in the morning.

"I don't even know what it is," she continued, "but since you used to be a chef it sounds like something you might make."

After I explained what it was, and subsequently gave a quick run down on poaching, and then refereed a heated debate on the desirability of runny yolks, I pulled the class back together by announcing my morning menu.

"Actually, I had avocado toast and iced coffee for breakfast today."

The class sat in stunned silence for a moment.

"Lucky!" scoffed one student.

"What kind of bread?" asked another enviously.

"It was sandwich bread I made myself," I shrugged.

"Wow! You really are a chef," the first kid said.

Recalibrating

Now that we've survived that first full in-person week since March 2020, today I've realized there's a bit of a nasty corollary:

The first real two-day weekend since March 2020.

Ouch!

Equipment Malfunction

 The cart would not go. 

Usually? I'm a hand basket or mini-grocery cart person, but our new supermarket has underground parking which means riding the elevator or using the cart escalator to get your purchases to the car. And so I have learned to park near the corral and select a full-sized shopping cart when my list is long.

Which I did today, and my mind was already in the car and driving home when I pushed my fully loaded cart through the swinging doors and onto the tiny channel which was supposed to guide it down. Except it didn't! My cart froze and it was only sheer muscle that brought it back to me, but there was no rolling it anywhere. 

Perplexed, I signaled one of the young employees overseeing the self-checkout. "My art is locked!" I reported with dismay, and nodding politely, he went over to a secret drawer and returned with a device about the size of a lockbox for a rental property. All of a sudden my cart could roll again!

"Can I take it down?" I asked hesitantly, and I should have listened to my gut, but his nod seemed so reassuring.

Once again, my cart locked at the top, but this time as I was struggling to free it, the young man who had bagged my grocery came to the rescue. "Let me help you," he said, and with a mighty heave shoved my cart forward. 

I hadn't noticed the touch screen at the top of the apparatus until it started beeping and flashing the CONTACT CUSTOMER SERVICE message.

"I'll be right back," the guy said and I watched him go over to the counter about 10 yards away, speak to someone and walk away. When I had almost given up, a women strode purposefully up to me from the other direction.

"I'll help you!" she said waving her key card across the display and confidently tapping a series of numbers. The belt began moving.

"Yay!" I said, but before I could thank her, my cart stalled again and she frowned. Repeating the series, she leaned on the last button to keep everything going, and I hopped on my side of the escalator. Arriving at the bottom along with my cart, I turned to see her wave and start away, presumably to solve another problem. Just then? My cart locked again, frozen at the bottom of the incline.

"Hey!" I shouted. "Excuse me!" 

And thankfully? She heard me and turned. Descending the escalator herself, she commandeered another cart from the guy who was bringing them up in the elevator, transferred my groceries, and yanked the offender out of there. "So sorry for the inconvenience!" she told me, and as I walked away I heard her muttering. "I gotta call my boss."

Here for a Reason

This week the sixth grade writers have been working on sensory detail poems modeled after Knoxville, TN by Nikki Giovanni. The mini-lesson today was on endings, and the importance of adding a final thought to let the reader know the significance of the place and time these poets chose as their topic. 

At this age, theme can be a little too abstract for many kids, but some of them captured their message quite nicely:

...and close your eyes and wish to stay there forever

...and think that everyone should have a monument for the great things they accomplished in their life.

...and be brave and scared at the same time 

...and say good-bye to the ocean and welcome back dear home

...and start a new beginning, not only when you wake up in the morning 

...and laugh and feel like the luckiest person in the world 

...and feel like you can do anything, because you can

Hybrid Design

My friend Mary and I took a working walk during our planning time today. As we stretched our legs on a mile-long loop through campus and around the neighborhood, we compared notes on today's lesson and what we have coming up next week. 

We also looked up the listing for a tiny, 1900 square foot, 2-bedroom, 2-bath house with some updates ($885,000!). Rounding the corner, Mary spotted a huge, new-construction house down the street. 

"Fancy!" she noted. "They obviously have some serious money-- look at their three Land Rovers in the driveway."

"That used to be one of my favorite houses in the neighborhood," I said, "an old farmhouse with a big porch."

"I'm not saying I don't like the new house," Mary nodded. "I'm just saying it doesn't really fit in here."

"Well, they do have that more traditional facade in the front," I said looking at a wide white gable over a spacious porch. "But that back is all contemporary-- it's like a giant brown box." I paused. "I guess it's business in the front and party in the back."

"Right," Mary agreed, "the mullet of houses!”

And although the hairstyle is enjoying a bit of a comeback, I can’t help thinking those people are going to regret that house. Because it’s never going to grow out. 

Sugar

In the three minutes between third period and lunch today there were some students in my classroom shooting balls at the mini-hoop, others reciting poetry in either a single breath or from memory, and still others brainstorming the most precise sensory details they could about a single place in their favorite season. 

All for a chance at candy, of course. 

I did offer sincere congratulations in the form of a way-to-go-kid elbow bump as an alternative, but there were no takers. Even so, I was richly rewarded by their words and their writing and their joy, even when they did not succeed, and I think they might have been, too.

"It's okay," one student said when I expressed my admiration for the attempt along with my condolences for not quite winning the Jolly Rancher. "It will be fun to try again tomorrow!"

Facial Recognition

Not yet quite used to the timing of our block schedule, I was power-walking into the office and toward the ladies' room at the beginning of lunch today when I locked eyes with a student waiting in the chairs there. He showed no real sign of recognition, but looking at all that was visible above the mask, a mop of wavy, brown hair, hazel eyes, smooth caramel forehead, and ears studded with at least a dozen blingy earrings, I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew him. 

Such interactions are very common at school this year. Just last week a student planted himself in front of me as I stood greeting kids in the hallway. "Hello!" he said with a broad wave.

"Hello!" I said and cocked my head. "Who are you?"

"Dewayne!" he told me. I was thrilled to meet one of my best students from last year in person for the first time, and we spent an animated, if weird, few minutes both catching up and getting to know each other.

Today, as I exited the office on my way back to eat my lunch, I heard that kid in the chairs talking to one of the secretaries as I passed and spun on my heel. "Is that Steven?" I asked.

"It sure is!" the secretary answered. 

"I thought I recognized you!" I told him, "but I wasn't sure."

Turning to the secretary I explained. "He never turned his camera on last year, but that voice..." I laughed and from his eyes, I could tell he was smiling a real, genuine smile. "That voice is unmistakable." I came back into the office. "It is nice to finally meet you, Steven."

Longest Three Weeks Ever

Last week, when one of my students called his classmate "that kid", I gave the group a pep talk about community and offered a reward to anyone who could name everyone in the class. Over the next few days, there were several takers, and I was impressed and heartened by their attention to the other kids in the class. "I know how hard it is," I laughed to my teacher friends at lunch, "because I feel like I just learned the names and faces myself!"

But today, when I scanned the 2 assessment forms I have been charged to complete for some student support meetings, I wished for an N/A or "not yet observed" option on many of the questions. I also wondered if I was somehow coming up short because I couldn't give a 1-5 on tests, peer relationships, or accommodations imperative for success. In the end, I reviewed the available data, and completed the form as best I could.

"Do you know I've only worked five days this year?" my friend Mary sighed this afternoon. She's been out on family leave since the day her father died a couple of week ago, and today was her first day back. "It seems like these kids need to re-learn almost everything."

I sympathized, but it was the five day figure that captured my attention. "Today was six?" I clarified.

She shrugged-- it had been a hard re-entry.

"But, you were out for six days! That means we've only been in school for 12." 

And with block scheduling? I've only seen most of the kids six times!

Now, that explains a lot.

Very Late Summer

It was a busy weekend, and so it was nearly six this evening when we walked up to the garden to harvest anything that might not last until midweek when we will be able to find the time to return. The peppers are finally coming in, some of the tomatoes are enjoying a resurgence, and the shell beans seem to think it's still July; we can thank the hot weather we had last week for that, I think. 

Although we picked briskly and dawdled not at all in the garden, dusk was coming on quickly as we headed home. The cold front this morning brought us some drier air, but there was no chill, yet, and we were comfortable in our shorts and flip flops. Still, the light told us that summer will not linger much longer. As we walked home in the gathering evening we heard some folks out on their decks and patios, enjoying the final hours of the weekend, but the windows, too, cast a warm and golden glow, encouraging a passerby to hurry home.

With a K

 A few days ago at Target we ran into the son of a friend of ours. This young man was also a former student at our school, and so it was fun catching up with him. He had some really good news to share, too. "I had to buy me some more polo shirts," he said, showing us the jewel-toned garments he was carrying. "I got a promotion! I'm a district supervisor now!"

"Congratulations!" I told him "That is awesome!"

"I even get my own office!" he replied. "I have been decorating it all week with pictures of Kobe Bryant."

I was reminded that it was when he was a student at our school that Heidi had hamsters as classroom pets. She generously adopted them from a student who was forced to give them up, but unfortunately, their former owner kept putting the male and female in the same tank together at school, and so soon the two hamsters became seven. (Then they became four, because, well, you know what hamsters do if they feel their environment can't support their young.) It was a rather traumatic time.

Back at Target, I remembered that this guy had adopted one of the baby hamsters and named him Kobe. "Do you have any pictures of Kobe the hamster in your office?" I teased him.

He looked wistful. "Ah, no," he answered. "But that was my first pet, so now it's the answer to all my security questions!"

Eighteen Months Later

I literally scratched my head as I stood in front of the big, new copy machine in the main office. After tapping around a bit on the darkened touch screen, I finally woke the giant up and found that it wasn't really that different from the last copier we had. But when I had to think a minute about where to find some of the settings and controls, it occurred to me that I hadn't made a single copy since before March 13, 2020. Almost all of my instruction had been electronic since then.

"How many trees do you think you saved?" joked a colleague when I told him.

"That's not even the point!" I said, do you know what else I haven't done since that week in March 2020?"

He shook his head.

"Have a full, five-day week of in-person school! None of us have." I pointed at the calendar. "But, get ready... it's happening next week!"

Susan's Salsa

One of the unexpected pleasures of the wedding we attended last weekend came when I was drying dishes. At about 10 on the night of the wedding, those who were still celebrating were *really* still celebrating, and a few, a little more sober, of us decided to get a start on clean up. That is how I found myself working to clear the cluttered kitchen with the sister of the bride. 

I have known Josh's Aunt Susan for over 20 years; she is his mom's younger sister, and was probably around 21 when we first met. Like many big sisters, Michelle is sometimes dismissive of her younger sibling, but over the years I've seen Susan become a wife, a mother of three, and an accomplished homesteader, with all sorts of enviable making and preserving skills. When the kitchen was as clean and organized as we could get it, She opened a jar of her candied jalapeños, chopped some spring onion and stirred them into cream cheese. The concoction was delicious on crackers. 

As we discussed the heat level (pretty mild), she told me about a friend who, after tasting the jalapeños, requested candied ghost peppers. "I treated it like the toxic mixture it was," she said. "I ordered a gas mask from Amazon and wore two layers of rubber gloves past my elbows. I have a three-burner gas cooker out in my back yard, and I did all the cooking and canning there."

My eyes were huge. 

She laughed. "And it would have been fine, except for some reason, I took the gloves off to do the dishes." She shook her head with rue. "My hands were red for a week and super sensitive to any heat of even warm air. I had a chemical burn!"

"Did the guy actually eat his peppers?" I asked, thinking that if they could do that to her hands, what would they do to someone's throat.

"Yep," she shrugged. "He loved 'em."

A little while later, she gave me her method for making salsa. 

Cut your tomatoes in half and squeeze out the seeds. Place them cut side down on a baking sheet, with sliced onions, garlic cloves, and seeded peppers. Run the sheet under the broiler until everything is charred. When cool, the tomato skins slip right off and the pepper skins will, too. Chop everything together, season to taste, put into pint jars and water process. One sheet pan makes about a quart.

I tried her recipe this morning with tomatoes and peppers from my garden and onions and garlic from Treat's farm. A little of the fresh cilantro I have growing on the deck, and some cumin and sea salt completed the salsa. 

But it won't be around long enough to can, because it's that good.

Near Miss

The compost bin in my garden is snugged up to the chainlink fence that separates the community from the public sidewalk that runs right along its edge. Over the years I've had a few conversations with friendly bypassers, even recognizing one or two people from school or the neighborhood, but in general the folks walking by while I work politely ignore me just as I do them. 

So today, when I chucked a rotten tomato from the far side of the plot to the compost bin without looking, I gasped when I noticed a pedestrian heading my way. Mostly, my aim is true, but I have splattered a few over-ripe things through the fence. And goodness, did that teenaged girl, all focused on her phone, jump when a soft, pulpy mess kerplunked into the nest of vines and clippings in the bin a few inches from her phone hand.

Our eyes met when she scanned the area to identify the threat, and I waved wildly. "Sorry! Sorry!" I apologized. 

And to her credit and my relief, she laughed and kept on walking.

Just One Thing

The warm-up question for class today and yesterday was "If you had to eat only one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?" 

Even though I explained that it was really just a thinking exercise, the sixth graders took it very seriously, many of them posting answers and then replying to themselves to add or change their responses.

Here are a few examples:

Bread

Or maybe grapes

No actually it would be pizza

Pizza is my final decision

And this one:

Funnel cake 

Because its just soooo good in my opinion, but I would miss French fries

 Because French fries never let me down as well

LIKE NOT EVERRR!!!

There were also a few surprises:

Honeydew, I guess...

Or spinach

And

My choice would be whey because it would supply me with much protein. It wouldn’t taste very good but it is healthy.

 The kind without lead

There were also kids who tried to game the question

Eggs, cause you can have them lots of ways

Subway subs

Different pizza every day

But my favorite of these cheatin' answers was this one:

A sandwich with every single type of food on it.

"Wow, that's so smart," marveled another student. "You can just take off anything you don't like!"

Keeping it Fresh

At this point in the growing season, I confess that my attention to cultivation wanes. Most of the crops in my vegetable garden are near their end, and watering the hanging baskets and potted plants here at home is much less of a priority, especially when I spend so many hours away from them at school. 

Even so, when I stepped out to our top deck late this afternoon the condition of the zinnias and snapdragons was quite alarming, and I filled the half-gallon purple pitcher by the door right away in an attempt to resuscitate them.  Satisfied that, after several trips back and forth from the bathroom sink, they may revive enough to forgive me for a weekend out of town, I looked over the railing at the hanging baskets on the level below. They, too, were in considerable stress. 

I could have gone downstairs to fill the gallon pitcher I keep in the kitchen, but laziness got the best of me. I refilled my trusty upstair pitcher and leaned over, aiming the stream of water 8 feet down to hit the basket centers so that it might hydrate without splashing out. It was challenging enough to be fun, and I was giggling a little when a neighbor wandered by with her dog. 

"Whatcha doing?" she asked in amusement, and when I explained, she stayed to watch, well beyond the splash zone, but laughing with me, all the same.

Way More than Half Full

 As the wedding celebration entered its 27th hour a bottle of blue wine with sparkles on the bar caught one of the party-goer's eye. "Where did that come from?" she asked the bride. "My mom loves sparkles in everything!"

"A vineyard down the road," the hostess replied. "Do you want to try it? There should be a cork screw somewhere around here." 

Truth be told, they had both had quite a bit to drink already, and the cork screw proved impossible to find.

"Maybe it's not a good idea to open it," the bride suggested. "It might just make us throw up."

The 21-year-old guest waved her hand. "I'm probably going to throw up later anyway, and the sparkles might make it a little nicer!"

But that cork screw never turned up, and besides? They were doing shots of moonshine over at the picnic table.

Dream Wedding

"We were just going to go down to the justice of the peace," our friend told us last night, "but the kids convinced us to, well..." she swept her hand toward the yard, indicating the tent with 10 eight-top tables, the converted carport bar, the 12-foot fire ring, the enormous fallen tree whose weathered roots make the backdrop for the vows.

Her 15-year-old daughter and her friend, the bridesmaids, along with Pinterest, were the creative forces behind the event. And what a crazy-quilt spectacle of a day it promises to be! Cotton candy, soft serve ice cream, tea and lemonade slushies, corn hole, horseshoes, and knife and axe-throwing are all options, along with ATV riding on the trails, a fully stocked, split-log-wagon wheel bar, a DJ named Giggles, and s'mores around the huge bonfire in the evening.

I can't wait!

Saving the Date

A friend is getting married tomorrow afternoon. Her wedding day also happens to be the 20th anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon and the hijacking of Flight 93. Tonight, as friends and family gathered around a roaring bonfire within sight of the wedding and bar tents glittering with thousands of fairy lights, the topic of the date inevitably came up.

"I googled the etiquette of planning a celebration on 9-11," our friend confessed, "and it pretty much said that there's never a problem with creating happy memories, even on a sad day." She shrugged. "The 11th worked."

She's right, of course. Every day is the anniversary of something sad, but it is also the anniversary of something amazing.

Let Me Talk to Your Manager

"That's not for you!" I reminded my class when he bell rang four minutes before lunch in my 5th period, A Day block.  That particular class is split into 2 45-minute sessions by lunch. Bending their 11-year-old minds even more, yesterday was an A-Anchor Day, but today is an A Day Block, and so 6th graders went to the same "alternating" PE/Language class two days in a row. Third period is a single class every day, and first or second is a true block, but fifth and fourth are always divided by lunch.

So I wasn't surprised even a little when one student stopped five minutes later on her way out the door to lunch. "I just have one question," she said. "Why. can't. we. just. have. the. same. schedule. every. day?!"

I nodded sympathetically. "That's out of my hands," I told her. "But if you're not used to it in a few weeks? I'll be happy to help you prepare your message to the people who make those decisions."

She rolled her eyes and sighed and then headed off to lunch.

Beginning of the Year Assessment

As the hook for a lesson on standards-based grading, I asked the students to give middle school a grade so far. They were free to use number scales, percentages, or letter grades, as long as they could justify their rating. 

After 4 days in and 5 days off, (not to mention a year and a half of disrupted instruction), middle school did pretty well, earning a solid 3.3 average. In the plus column was seeing friends, nice teachers, moving independently through the building, longer lunch, and a really big library. Drawbacks were a confusing schedule, a big building, having to carry heavy backpacks, and the predictable repetition of early instruction.

And despite my directions, some kids came up with their own rating system. "It's bread!" wrote one. 

"What's your scale?" I asked, confused. "The food pyramid?"

"I love bread!" she replied, "and school is great so far.

One of her classmates agreed, refusing to give any other rating than Wunderbar! "It's German," he confided.

"Ja, Ich weiß," I told him. "Ich weiß."

And So I Will

When I first started teaching, the preservice week was four days, Monday through Thursday, then there were four days off before the students began on the Tuesday after Labor Day. Then, it was nearly impossible for me to enjoy the time off because I was so anxious about the time on coming up. All I really anted was to go to school.

After a while, schedules changed, and I did, too, and a long weekend was a long weekend, but this year? Although I sure do appreciate the extended holiday weekend we are coming off of, especially because five days in a row is a luxury usually reserved for the big three: Thanksgiving, Winter, and Spring Break, here in Year 29 I'm feeling a little return-to-school anxiety.

Fortunately, I learned the best cure for that in Year 1:

Get your ass back to school.

Runner Up

I gasped as two dark figures dashed furtively across the trail not 50 feet ahead of us. We were taking advantage of this fine fall day by walking the several miles of wooded trails at Teddy Roosevelt Island, just across the river from our nation's capital. In the many years we have been visiting this national memorial, we have seen egrets and herons and turtles and deer and even a beaver and eagle or two, but never 

a wild turkey!

Until today.

Buon Appetito

 "Did you get squash blossoms?" our neighbor asked when we rejoined our group at the farmer's market.

"Yep!" I answered.

"I did too," she told me, "but they were definitely an impulse buy. How are you going to make them?"

"Stuffed and fried," I said. "What about you?"

"With ricotta?" she asked.

I nodded.

"That's what I was thinking, too" she replied, "but..." She shrugged. "The last time I bought them they went bad."

"Frying them can be involved,' I said, "but they're good on pizza or sautéed with pasta, too."

"But frying them seems really appealing," she sighed.

This evening, as I was stirring together ricotta, locatelli, burrata, and fresh basil, I asked Heidi to text our neighbor and let her know that I had filling and hot oil ready if she wanted to bring over her blossoms, because making 12 is no harder than making six. 

Sabado Gigante

Maybe the limos should have been my first clue. After all, a line of 6 stretch humvees and a luxury mini bus is a little unusual on a quiet city street at three o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. 

On this beautiful day, we decided to park at the new aquatic center and walk the trail along the railroad tracks and the river beyond. The path took us into one of the many urban neighborhoods of our county, the one which was renamed National Landing when Amazon announced that its HQ2 would be built there. But the park, a shady 1.5 acres with a cool, multi-level water feature, some colorful Adirondack chairs, and a giant chess board, still bears its original Crystal City name. 

Word in the press is that the place, as nice as it is, will receive an upgrade like everything in that area, but today the sun, the shade, the paths, and the fountains were all the perfect location for at least 10 Quinceañera photo shoots. As we approached the park a team of three photographers and videographers recorded a white limo parking curbside. Doors opened and a young girl in a midnight blue dress with hoops and crinoline piled out with her court of 6 damas, dressed in slightly fewer frills in a lighter shade of blue, and 6 chambelanes, dressed in dark suits with powder blue waistcoats. A little girl and boy dressed like their older counter parts completed the court. Parents and grandparents climbed out of the limo next, and the entire entourage proceeded to the fountains stopping and posing as they went. 

Almost every corner of the park was occupied by a similar group, some in pink, some in yellow, some also in blue, all attended by cadres of photographers. The activity was too interesting to pass by; we found a couple of empty Adirondack chairs at the far corner of the park, and took a break to watch. After a half or so, the action showed no signs of slowing: each time a limo left, another eased into its parking space, and 20 more celebrants replaced the court that had departed. So we took our leave, and headed back to the car, enchanted by the tradition.

Yeah, Right

On the back side of Hurricane Ida, which delivered 24 hours of steamy winds and torrential rain to our area before walloping the Northeast, the prediction is nearly a week of early autumn weather, crisp and golden, with cool mornings and warm, sunny afternoons. Rather than complain of whiplash, or otherwise rue the days as they pass, I prefer to take each as it comes and find the pleasure in it. 

But secretly? I still have my favorites.

One Tech, Two Tech, Old Tech, New Tech

A few years ago, when a student needed to call his parent, I invited him to use the phone on my desk. "Dial 9" I casually told him as I handed over the receiver, and then stepped away to help another student. 

A few minutes later I looked over and saw him helplessly standing there.

"How does this work?" he asked me. 

I showed him how to hold it to his ear and then pointed out the number pad and pushed the hook switch. "Do you hear a noise?" I asked. "That's the dial tone," I told him when he nodded. "Now push the 9 button, and when you hear that sound again, dial your mom's number."

I thought of that child today when one of the new sixth graders brought me her iPad. "I think I broke the screen protector," she reported sheepishly.

But the flimsy piece of plastic that covered her iPad was all in one piece and holding the countless shards of her shattered screen in place. "Lucky for you sixth graders are getting new iPads next week!" I told her. She and her classmates have had their devices since second grade, and the school upgrades them as a matter of practice when the students enter middle school. I handed her a lap top, showed her how to navigate to the activity we were working on, and then stepped away to help another student.

A few minutes later I looked over and saw her fingers hovering helplessly over the keyboard.

"How does this work?" she asked me.

You Didn't Really Have to Be There

"That's what she said!" a student blurted across the room yesterday when one of his classmates said that something was "painful".

I asked the jokester to step outside so we could discuss his brand of humor. Our conversation did not take long: I knew just what to say to move him from feigned innocence to admitting his mistake and promising to avoid such shenanigans in the future, and we were both back in the classroom before many people even noticed we were gone.

But I must admit, I sure did not miss that part of teaching middle school when we were virtual.