Unorthodox

We always marvel at how much easier it is to pack to come home than it is to leave. This precept isn't really that surprising: coming home only requires gathering what we have brought and acquired; leaving home often demands careful thought and curation of all the stuff we have to select and bring what we need and what we may want while away.

I found the same to be true for our Christmas Tree, which met an earlier than usual end this year. When we got home from our holiday travels, the branches were too dry and droopy to make it to New Years. And so I spent an hour or so yesterday afternoon carefully lifting the ornaments to minimize needle dropping, appreciating each one before gently replacing it in the bin where it will spend the next 11 and 1/2 months. The job took half as long as it did to put the tree up just a few weeks ago.

The forced cheerfulness of a Hallmark movie was not the right accompaniment for this task. Instead? I chose to watch the first couple episodes of the second season of Evil, the supernatural thriller which Paramount+ describes this way:

Evil is a psychological mystery that examines the origins of evil along the dividing line between science and religion. The series focuses on a skeptical female psychologist who joins a priest-in-training and a contractor as they investigate the Church's backlog of unexplained mysteries, including supposed miracles, demonic possessions, and hauntings. Their job is to assess if there is a logical explanation or if something truly supernatural is at work.

That worked.

Fact Checking

Sometimes when I'm writing for this blog I pause to do a bit of research on my topic. Then, it's a happy convergence of writing to discover what I think, what I know, and what I'd like to know. 

Take yesterday, for example. I knew quite a bit about Great Falls, but I was also writing to tell about something new I had learned, and as I wrote, I looked up "Matildaville" to add to the knowledge I had about that long-ago town. I found out that it was named by Henry Lee for his wife, Matilda. Lee, who was known during the Revolutionary War as Light Horse Harry, was an early invester in the Patowmack Canal, and owned most of the acreage that makes up Great Falls Park today. 

Matilda died in childbirth in 1790, and Lee married again. Legend has it that a few years later, his second wife, Anne, was pronounced dead after a seizure and entombed in the family vault. A few days later a gardener was terrified to hear noises coming from inside the mausoleum. When the doors were opened, they found Mrs. Lee alive. One year later, her youngest son, Robert Edward was born.

Imagine how differently American history may have unfolded if Anne Lee had not been rescued.

Who knew?

(Not me, but now I do.)

Great Park

This warm afternoon in December provided just the latest in countless hikes I have taken on the trails of Great Falls Park, right up the river from our hometown. For a relatively small park, there is quite a diversity of trails. The most popular is the River Trail which traces the edge of Mather Gorge and has been built to accommodate easy walks with scenic views, but other choices include the old Carriage Road, the Ridge Trail, the Canal Path, and my personal favorite, The Matildaville Trail, which we took today. 

That path winds past the ruins of the town that was built in the late 18th century to support the construction of the Potowmack Canal, George Washington's Virginia competitor for the C&O Canal right across the river in Maryland. The canal and the town ultimately failed, but relics of both exist in the woods around the falls to this day. 

Just south of the ruins the trail leads to a pretty meadow ringed by tall and rocky scarps, and then the way ascends steeply to the ridge line that overlooks the gorge. From the top, a hiker has several options: continue either north or south on the Ridge Trail, take a steep path down to the River Trail, or enjoy a gentle sloping walk along the Carriage Road. 

They all have their pleasures, but today as we stood in the winter wood surrounded by bare trees, I finally saw how close together they all run. Each trail was really no more than 50 feet from the next, running mostly parallel to the river. A separation of dramatic geography and three-seasons of foliage is what allows over 15 miles of beautiful and varied hiking in a park of only 1.25 square miles. We chose the Carriage Road, and I walked on with an even greater appreciation for our local treasure.

Under COVID Operation

 "There are no home tests available anywhere around here," a friend informed us when she heard we were coming home early. "maybe you should stop along the way."

She wasn't wrong. Our route from Buffalo to Arlington takes us through some rural and semi-rural towns, and, let's face it, through areas where many folks don't seem to be taking the pandemic as seriously as we, and the like-minded majority in our urban area, do. For example, there is a long stretch in our drive where, if we stop, very few are masked. 

We were less than an hour south of Buffalo when we made our first unsuccessful stop at a Rite Aid. "There is a Walmart nearby," Heidi noted, checking her phone. "Should we stop on our way out of town?"

"Why don't you call them first to see if they have any tests?" I suggested.

I could hear the conversation from the driver's seat. "Yes, we have some," the voice on the line told her. "Come to the pharmacy and we'll call back for them."

Heidi hung up frustrated and confused. "What does that even mean?" she shook her head.

"I guess we'll see when we get there," I answered.

Ten minutes later we were waiting in the prescription line. When it was our turn, Heidi approached the register and said in a low voice, "I was told you had some COVID tests."

The woman behind the counter nodded furtively. "How many do you want?"

"Two?" Heidi said. 

The woman nodded and went to the back and picked up the phone. In a moment, she returned. "They're bringing them, " she said. "Wait over there."

A little while later, Heidi came to find me in the half-price Christmas section. She had two boxes in a white paper bag. "Should we have asked for more?" she said.

"Maybe," I shrugged.

"Hold these," she told me decisively, and went back to the line. A little while later she returned with 2 more boxes. 

We were feeling pretty lucky when we approached the doors to leave the store. The greeter took a look at us and our bags. "Are those COVID tests?" she asked.

"Um, yes?" I answered.

"They're probably going to set the door alarms off, just so you know," she informed us.

"What should we do?" I asked.

"Just keep walking," she said.

And that is what we did.

The Crows Know

When I woke up in Atlanta this morning, my expectations for the day were nothing like it unfolded to be. After a COVID exposure, we are back in Buffalo, isolated in the basement, and heading home two days earlier than planned. 

So that's what my Upheaval card meant.

What Do You Know?

It may have been half an hour, but it was probably less time that had passed since our group had fractured into one hungry duo and one hungry trio looking for lunch (in two different places), another restless pair not yet content to stop walking and start shopping, and some singletons browsing different stores for post-holiday gifts and other fun stuff. As one of the latter, I carried a bright green bag filled with tiny tins of travel trivia and would you rather questions, along with a real paperback book. I imagined myself relaxing on a bench reading in the unseasonably warm weather, but I ran into Emily, and then Courtney and Treat, and so our group began to reassemble. A few sodas and chicken sandwiches later, we were mostly reunited, and it was time to open those tins. Because? Togetherness and trivia— that's how we roll.

Painting Fences

Good things that happened on Christmas Day: Tracey and Heidi's flight didn't get cancelled; it was sunny and 70 degrees in Atlanta; we were able to walk the dogs for several miles; we mastered several games in the afternoon; the solar gnome glowed in the garden at night. 

"and my hair is still purple," said Emily walking by. "So the point is the monsters are soulless beasts that can't produce their own emotions?" said Victor. "No, I said--" but "he locked me out" said Bill. Then Bill said "it would probably be very mindful for you." "So the ants are also soulless beasts?" Victor asked. "I don't eat leftovers," Annabelle said. Bill and I said "the sweaters in plastic bins" in unison. "I don't want to play yet" said Courtney. "I don't think it's really one universe," I told Victor, "but it would make sense," he said, "anyway they include enough easter eggs to encourage it." 

"solar garden gnome stake," said the box.

The new telescope is going to unfold the universe, provided its three hundred single points of failure do not fail. As we spoke it was one hundred thousand miles from Earth preparing for the first of three course-correcting rocket burns. A rocket is a rod-shaped tool associated with fire, the same as a candle or a torch, which may have animated horses and bison at Lascaux seventeen thousand years ago. A monkey is a kind of brown animal with hands which it uses to climb trees. Monkey see, monkey do.

"Hamsters are allergic to guacamole, baby whales also gain 200 pounds a day." said Richard.

I wish I was in Mexico because the water is pretty.

Wearing a borrowed mask, I waited on the cracked sidewalk for my our Christmas dinner. There was no entrance to the restaurant; the front door had been retrofitted with screens, plywood, and plexiglass to create a touchless passthrough. "15 more minutes," the woman said when I gave her my name. Behind me, a cab driver in a knit cap tapped his foot. I sighed, returned to the car.

"It's not ready yet," I groaned.

"Let's ride around and look at Christmas lights," my sister suggested.

And so we did.

(Title credit to Bill)

Reverse Giftology

"How would you like to give me one more Christmas present?" Heidi asked when I answered my phone yesterday afternoon. I was out running errands and she was shopping with her mom.

"I would love to," I replied.

"Thanks, Baby," she said and hung up.

"Do you want to see what you got me, or should I wrap it up for myself, too?" she asked when we met back at the house.

I laughed. "Maybe!" I said. "I guess someone should be surprised when you open it!"

Beware the Cul de Sac

 A tired dog is a good dog! is a precept of my wife, and so, here in Buffalo, where her parents' young dog is energetic, still in tact, and verrrry interested in Lucy, three miles is the daily minimum. The weather has been comparatively mild, 30 degrees or so, but the wind has been the wild card, and gusts have frozen our fingers and noses and ears. The dogs love it though, and I personally enjoy the challenge of finding a three mile circuit through the winding labyrinth of Heidi's parents' subdivision's streets. 

As we walk in the daylight, we examine the holiday light displays in their off-position. Some are promising-- all those lights! Some are intriguing-- how does that pvc arcade over the sidewalk look when fully lit? Some are classic-- those big molded candles, lamp posts, sleighs and reindeer make me want to jump on eBay. And some are simply baffling-- what could they possibly be going for with those unicorns and that inflatable Oogie Boogie?

Oh, we always vow to walk again after dark, but family commitments and fatigue trump those plans almost every time. So this evening, as I drove home alone from the last of my holiday errands in the gathering dusk, I took a quick left instead of my usual right and rolled through the maze of streets to see all the lights. It was well worth the detour, especially when those tiny flakes of snow brushed my windshield. As they danced in the beam of my headlights, I made that last right turn and drove down our street, which, if I may say, was one of the best.

Santa Baby

"What did you get D for Christmas?" I asked Heidi's brother about his longtime partner.

"Nothing yet," he shrugged. "She can't decide what she wants."

"What are the options?" I said.

"Well, I asked her if she wanted me to surprise her, and that was a definite no" he laughed. "We'll probably get something over New Years when I see her."

"What about you?" I asked. "Do you like to be surprised?"

"Absolutely not!" he answered.

"Well, at least you have that common!" I told him.

Bored Games?

A friend gave me an early Christmas present before we left town. She knows how much I love games, and she knows my politics and the game she chose, I Dissent, had a black box emblazoned with a fancy, lace collar, like those that RBG wore during her time on the Supreme Court. I packed the game carefully along with the gifts we were bringing to Buffalo, thinking I might get Heidi's parents and brothers to help us figure out how to play. 

The game itself was a little complicated, involving issue cards, oral arguments, agreeing or disagreeing cards, as well as voting cards numbered 1-3, with inverse points, indicated by gavels along the bottom. 

And although the topics and discussions were interesting, (for example, Is a text as good as a phone call? Are watching movies at home as good as going to the theater?, Is middle school more fun than high school?) we really only got through about 5 rounds before Heidi's dad excused himself, wished us all a goodnight, and went to bed. 

Is this game good enough to play again? I asked. And we all laughed as we put the cards and the timer back in the box.

A-Carolling

A little while after the sunset silhouetted farms and mountains against the blazing western sky, the full moon rose directly ahead of us, like a stunning orange tunnel we would have to drive through. Soon enough, though, it took its place in the sky, brightening to white, and shining on the road as we pulled in for a quick pit stop at the halfway point between home and Buffalo. 

The three of us dispatched our business efficiently: emptying our bladders, filling the tank, refilling our cups with tea and water, and when I hit the ignition button, Christmas music filled the car as the sound system defaulted from podcast to satellite radio. The song, of course, was familiar, but the performance was not. The LED screen displayed the map of our route, and so I turned to Heidi. "Who do you think is singing this?"

She listened intently. 

"Is it Whitney Houston or maybe Mariah Carey?" I guessed.

"I think it's Mariah," she said. 

"It's a little too fussy for Whitney Houston," I agreed, and she hit the radio icon to check our guess. With that? A new game was born! The miles rolled by as we admired all the holiday lights along the way and guessed performer after performer on the songs we knew so well. Of course there were several gimmes, classic versions that we knew within an opening note or two, and there were also some unfamiliar songs by voices we recognized right away. 

"Did he just say 'Ima be under the mistletoe with you shawty'?" I asked Heidi as Justin Bieber sang through the speakers.

"I think he did," she nodded.

And a little while later, right after I correctly guessed that it was Jewel singing Winter Wonderland (even before the yodeling!), I just had to wonder, "How have we never thought of this before?"

The Prettiest Sight You'll See

At last, everything at our house is all ready for Christmas!

Just in time to leave town... wah, wah, wah.

BUT, we get to spend time with beloved family-- and plus? 

It will all be here when we get back.

Pungent

"Did you burp that thing, or what?" Heidi asked when she came down this morning. She was practically holding her nose. "It smells really strong."

She wasn't wrong. My lacto-fermented veggies were somewhere between half-sour and sour, and I was scooping them out of the pickling jar and into smaller containers.

"It is kind of vinegary," I agreed.

"That doesn't bother me," she said, sniffing the air.

"Is it the garlic then?" I asked.

"Maybe" she nodded, "it's still kind of early!"

Old Technology

"What's that thing?" a student pointed at the VCR/TV tuner I use to project our morning announcements on the SMART Board. It sits on top of a bookshelf, and she hadn't noticed it before. "Is it a DVD?"

I realized that most kids today have no idea how to watch any media other than the streaming or broadcast type. "No," I answered, "It plays VHS tapes."

"Are they white?" she asked.

I thought about it. "Not really," I replied, "but I think I have some around here, if you want to see one." I unlocked a filing cabinet in the corner and opened the bottom drawer. Inside were four video cassettes neatly labeled by class period, and dated April '96. "They look like this," I showed her and the other students who were listening to our conversation. "Have you ever seen one before?"

"I think my dad has some of those," another student reported. "Do they have plastic tape you can pull out?"

I nodded, and he laughed. "I pulled a lot out of some when I was little, and he was really mad."

I popped one of the tapes into the VCR and hit play. On the screen a student was presenting a book project about The River by Gary Paulsen. He had created a game based on the story and was explaining the rules and how they related to the plot.

"Where is he?" the kids asked. 

"He's standing right there," I waved to the interior windows. "My room was a little different then, but look, there's the clock across the hall."

I didn't remember the kid in the video at all, which was a little troublesome to me, so I fast-forwarded to see the next student, who I also did not remember. One more fast forward, and I was still lost. For a long time, I could remember every student I ever taught, but now it looks like that memory drive might just be failing. Even so, I set the video on my desk to watch again another day when my brain was a little more focused.

Am I?

Some years? The kids at school don't even know break is coming? They're like, Wait, what? We're off next week? This year is not one of those years. There's a lot of energy in the air and the sixth graders have been nutso all week: more talkative and less productive, and wearing holiday sweaters, socks, pajamas, and hats. But tomorrow will be proof that nothing is permanent; this crazy week will come to an end and we will all go our separate ways to enjoy a couple of weeks away from school. 

Today I asked kids what they were most looking forward to over break. Sleep was a big answer, and games, holiday gifts, family gatherings, and travel were all also well-represented on the list. "What about you?" one student asked. 

"I'm looking forward to all of those things, too," I replied.

"But you're going to miss us, right?" he said, without a trace of irony.

I scanned the room of 11-year-olds hopped up on holiday spirit and raised my eye brows, but when I turned to answer, his attention had already moved on.

Bingo

The folks who planned our staff holiday party this year had a few fun games for us to play in between eating, drinking, and socializing with our friends and colleagues in the outdoor space they booked. Personally, I was engaged in conversation and so missed out on guessing the administrator, but as I moseyed over to Heidi and the teachers she was talking with, someone handed me a Bingo card. "Can you check off any full rows?" she asked.

I scanned the card. "That I have done personally?" I clarified, making sure it wasn't the Bingo where you try to find someone else who fits the square.

"Yes, YOU!" she answered.

Give detention, go to a boy's basketball game, attend a tennis tournament, I read. "Is there a time limit?" I asked. "Like should I have done these things this school year?"

"I'm not sure," she replied. "I don't think so."

"Well," I said. "If time is no object, I've got most of these. But I can honestly say I will never get this one."

"Is it the Tiktok video?" she guessed.

"Nope," I shook my head. "It's Be mistaken for a student."

"I guess I can see that," she agreed.

"Yeah," I nodded, "but it's really okay."

I Just Work Here

For the past couple of years, planning our homeroom activities has been taken out of our hands. The practice is a mixed blessing, designed to both ensure consistency among teachers and to save us the time it would take to plan a daily 30 minute activity, some of the stuff they give us to do kind of misses the mark. I like to think that I can teach the hell out of almost anything, but when I can't?  I just shrug and remind the students that it's not my activity, I'm just the messenger. It was a little like that this morning.

"You guys have a bazillion surveys to do this morning," I told my homeroom.

"Literally?" one kid asked in alarm.

"Well, no" I laughed, "but there are two."

"Two???" another kid said, "I thought there were going to be at least five when you said a bazillion."

"I guess I was thinking cumulatively," I confessed. "It seems like you have to do a  couple of Google forms every day."

The students compliantly clicked the links I had provided, but they soon had a lot of questions. "What does it mean to give a quote?" someone asked. "Do I have to search a quote?"

"Does the person I vote for ever know if they don't win?"

"What the heck! How did I get a zero on that question? I thought it was asking my opinion! How can it be wrong to say I like my homeroom?"

"What if my favorite teacher isn't on this list?"

I did my best to field their inquiries, but obviously, they had a point. If your target audience doesn't understand what you are asking, you're not going to get the information you want. I wanted to roll my eyes at the ineptitude, but I shrugged my shoulders instead.

"It's not as easy as you might think to design a good question form," I told my class. "Teachers might make it look easy, but we have some skills!"

If You Read This

For a couple of years, our CLT has been kicking around the idea of moving our second unit to be our first, but it's hard to make a change like that when being swamped by the extraordinary extra demands of teaching in a pandemic. But as I sat at my desk today, contemplating the 2 week break in our current unit and how to make it work, I thought again how these lessons and activities might be much better suited for earlier in the year. 

Earlier in the day I had serendipitously found a small choose-your-own-adventure book that a student had written for me about ten years ago. Then, the activity right before winter break was called "Gifts of Writing" and the concept was to draw a name of someone in the class and create a piece of writing of any genre for that person. We all filled out little information forms beforehand which were passed along to the writers to use as they created their gifts. We took a class period to have a little celebration and present them to each other. If they had time, students had the option of creating gifts for people outside our class. It was wonderful.

I thought we could do something like that in November and December, or perhaps encourage students to try NaNoWriMo, or enter some writing contests. The title of the unit could be "Writing for a Specific Audience" or something like that. And of course I remembered all the years we participated in the Library of Congress's Letters about Literature contest. The object of that one was to write letters to an authors, either living or dead, to tell them what difference a piece of their writing had made in our lives. It seemed like a natural fit with this nascent unit, so I gave it a search and discovered that it had ended, as a national competition, in 2019.

The news put me back on my heels a moment, and I took some time to process one more loss among the so many of the last couple years. We had moved away from the contest when we adopted the essay unit that we are teaching right now, the one that might be a better fit for earlier in the year. It was the right thing to do, but for that real world audience piece. 

What's missing from my class is that feeling of using writing to connect with a real person or real people, and I think the kids sense it, too. Just last week when I mentioned that the fiction writing project is a children's book and that we were going to try to arrange for them to read their final stories to the kids at the elementary school next store, the students in my class literally cheered.

Word.

Hallmark Moment

I had heard vague reports.

Even so,

I was a little surprised when one of the three sisters, main characters in the (see yesterday's post) Hallmark Christmas movie we had on TV as we finished decorating our tree this morning, was openly gay. Her new romantic interest did not quite receive equal treatment of that of her sister's husband and her other sister's male longtime best friend who becomes her soulmate, but that inequity was almost, almost, offset by the fact that no one even mentioned her sexuality; it was treated as an established character trait, never judged either negative or positive.

And of course, they didn't get it all right. 

But there it was.

And that is something.

Holiday Indulgence

I'm a salty snack kind of a gal, and if I'm not careful, I can down a whole bag of chips or Cheetos or popcorn or Chex mix or, well, you get the picture, in a single sitting. One crunchy, salty bite just leads to another, and it can be awfully hard to stop. I've found the best prevention is abstention, and it's rare that we even have those things in the house. That way, I freely enjoy them whenever they are served elsewhere, like a party or the movie theater.

Oddly, that's the way it also is for me with, of all things, Hallmark movies. Despite (or perhaps because of?) knowing how everything will turn out within the first five minutes, two hours later I'm up for another one! As with salty snacks, a little self-discipline goes a long way with saccharin flix, and indeed, we rarely have the TV on for more than a couple of hours in the evening, and it is never tuned to the Hallmark channel.

Except at Christmas! When it's time to decorate the tree, I always power on the television, flip the channel to Hallmark, and enjoy a little predictable holiday hijinks as I string those lights and find the perfect place for each ornament. 

Maybe this year? I'll make popcorn, too.

Twinsies

 What to do when you and a student have made verrrry similar wardrobe choices?

Laugh and take a picture, of course!

   

Wisdom of Three

“Who dat guy, NiNi?” I asked Heidi this morning on our way to work. 

Heidi didn’t even answer. The phrase was shorthand for us, meaning something like that fellow looks a bit sketchy, if you ask me. The person I was referring to was no threat at all, just a man in a sloppy flannel look shirt with messy hair and a sour look on his face in the 3 seconds it took us to drive past him, but I did notice him, and I had the language to report my reaction thanks to our niece, Annabelle, who originated that expression one morning when she was about three years old. She was watching The Lion King with her nanny, Monique. “Who dat guy, NiNi?” she asked when the villain, Scar, showed up. 

“You know who he is,” Monique told her.

“That’s Dar;" Annabelle affirmed, "he's bad," because narrating the scary parts of the movie helped her to manage her anxiety about them.

Heidi and I often laugh about how many phrases we have appropriated from the children in our lives over the years. “I can and I will,” is a common affirmation for us, coming from the time when 3-year-old Treat had to be moved away from the Christmas cookies he was trying to filch. Sitting in a chair next to a mirrored chifferobe he gave his reflection an angry little pep talk. “I can and I will have those cookies,” he avowed, shaking his fist. 

When Riley was almost three and the center of our attention as the only child in our lives, he shocked us all by padding over to our naughty black cat, Silly. When they were nearly face to face, Riley swung his right leg back as far as he could, winding up to give Silly a big kick, but losing his balance instead and landing on his own diapered butt. “Why did you do that?” we asked in shock.

“I just wanted to kick him over,” Riley explained.

“He can be annoying,” I agreed, and so an expression of irritation entered our vocabulary, and there are definitely times when just kicking something over sounds pretty good.

Once, when Josh was three, we drove up to visit him and his mom. He was excited to see us, and even more excited to show us his new stuffed hamster. As he cuddled it proudly, I heard a rustling in the corner. "What's that?" I asked.

 

"That's my other hamster," Josh said. He shook his head sadly. "She's not a hodin' hamster."

 

"She bites," explained Michelle, Josh's mom. Years later, we would use the description to explain why our rescue cat, Penelope, was so skittish: she just wasn’t a hodin’ kitty, and that would have to do.

Like many three-year-old boys, Richard was truck-obsessed, and he loved all the construction vehicles that were doing work in the neighborhood. One morning we were out on the front porch when a digger rattled down the hill at a pretty good pace for one of them. Richard ran along the railing as it rolled by then came to a jump stop. “That guy is moving,” he cried, pointing both index fingers after it. Later on I put together a little plate of carrots, hummus, cheese, and turkey for him, he paused with admiration. “Well! Isn’t that a healthy lunch!”  Around our place, both of those catchphrases come in handy all the time.

When Kyle was three, he was afraid of our dog Isabel. He had never had the chance to be around dogs, and so he would run away whenever she got anywhere close to him. To help him get used to her, Heidi would hold Kyle on her lap and call Isabel over. “No! No!” he resisted. “Her will get me!” which is the perfect terminology for many imagined threats. And later, when he grew to love our dog, Kyle called her Lisabel, and that  was one of our favorite nicknames for her.

Of course all of these words, so funny and true, were elevated by the light of the three year old speaking them, and so we heard and remembered.

Earning It

In response to the numerous reports from teachers that they were feeling overwhelmed by the countless demands, both expected and unexpected, of returning to full-time school after 18 months interrupted by this global pandemic, our system made the kind gesture of removing requirement from this afternoon, which was planned as a professional learning day following an early release for students. We were free and encouraged to leave our professional concerns behind and exit the building as soon as our students were safely on their way. 

It was a generous gesture for sure, but at our school we chose to schedule the day in an inordinately stressful way involving staff assigned in arguably inequitable ways. I'm afraid our plan took its toll-- as I walked down the hall near the end of the day, I saw a colleague standing in her classroom doorway, clearly exasperated. I have no idea what was going on, but as I passed by we made eye contact. "Wow," she sighed, "they must really want us to appreciate our break this afternoon!"

Assignation

Our morning routine used to be that I walked the dog around 6:30 am every school day. I had a lot of time to think on those 39 minute rambles through the neighborhood and a lot to observe, too, since we walked in every season, regardless of  weather. 

It was those walks that gave this blog its name: all the random thoughts and observations seemed to beg for a home. Since then, much has changed, including, sadly, the dog, and in recent months, Heidi has taken over the morning walk, so that I can fit in 45 minutes of yoga and meditation to begin my day. 

I really appreciate the mindfulness, but this evening when yet another interruption in our usually predictable days had me and the dog taking a nice 30 minute jaunt through the quiet streets around our home, I realized how much I miss that time. 

I guess we’re just going to have to find an extra half hour somewhere— at least every once in a while. 

Out of Bounds

"Would it be inappropriate to ask a teacher about their sexuality?" a student wondered today.

"Well," I said, "it is personal, and it is not a discussion that I am willing to have, so..."

"I shouldn't waste my breath?" the student finished.

"Maybe not," I shrugged.

Outside In

We put our Christmas tree in the stand today. After being bound-up out on the deck for a week, the lovely fir needs to fall for a day or two before being festooned with lights and decorations. That doesn't bother the cats, though. The two of them have taken residence underneath its upturned branches. As in years past, they seem enchanted by the notion of bringing such a big, wild thing indoors. They preen and blink beneath its boughs as if to purr, Why don't we have this all the time? And as the fresh, piney scent floats my way, I'm hard put to find an answer to convince the three of us.

Holiday Mission Accomplished

I was more than a little frustrated after spending 45 minutes stringing outdoor lights on my balcony this afternoon only to discover they didn't work. How did I fail to check them? I had used zip ties to secure them, along with some showering icicles, and so rather than start the whole display again, I used scissors to cut the offending string into a dozen pieces for easy removal. As satisfying as that was, I was even happier when the back-up lights were twice as long and much easier to hang. 

As night fell, I went outside to get the full effect of the handiwork: merry and bright, just as I hoped!

Star of the Essay

"We should have the kids read that story you wrote about babysitting," my friend Mary suggested in our CLT planning meeting today after I confessed to abridging another author's work to make it more accessible to the sixth graders.

"That would be funny," I laughed.

"Is the character of Tracey a good babysitter?" Mary asked.

"That's definitely debatable," I said, "and plus, I would love to read a bunch of essays about... me!"

Background Knowledge

I read a story to my sixth graders today that was called "Rabies" which details the misadventures of sixth grader Jack Henry, an autobiographical character created by Jack Gantos. Like most of Gantos's writing, it is funny in a realistic and self-deprecating way. Jack Gantos was in sixth grade around 1962, though, and it takes a little background knowledge building to help kids relate to his story nearly 60 years after it took place. 

We have to start with rabies itself; many students do not know what it is. This year, when I told them it was caused by a virus, I figured we'd have a little less ground to cover, considering we have been living in a pandemic caused by a virus for the last 18 months. "But rabies is not airborne like COVID," I assured them.

"COVID is in the air?" asked a student in alarm.

"IT can be," I said. "That's why we wear masks."

"I already had it," another student reported, and her comment started a chain reaction. It turned out that over a third of the class had already had a positive case of the virus. Thankfully, the symptoms they reported sounded short-term and very mild, more like a reaction to the vaccine than anything else.

"That's why I don't really care about my mask," one boy admitted candidly. It was true that I often had to remind him to cover his nose.

"But your mask is more to block any virus you might have from getting out," I explained. "My mask protects you, in case I have COVID, and yours protects me. We know now that it is possible to get it again, and maybe spread it."

He pulled his mask up and so did a few other kids. I wondered what else they might not know.

Run the Day or the Day Runs You

I told my very chatty students that they would have to finish the notes before they went to lunch. With that warning, I let them talk, circulated through the room, and answered questions. When the bell rang, I dismissed the kids who had shown me their work, which was only about a third of the class. 

The reaction from the others was mixed. Some rushed to finish, others took their time, and at least one tried to sneak out. A couple were mad, and one told me how very, very hungry she was. "I know!" I agreed, "It's my lunch time, too."

Their miscalculation was understandable: today was one of the "anchor days" we have on five-day weeks to balance the block schedule. With all the fall holidays and other planned interruptions in instruction, the days when kids have all their classes have been sporadic so far this year. 

This particular group usually leaves my room for another class, but on anchor days they go straight to lunch. It was leverage that I grasped immediately, but it took a while for the kids.

"We have to go to science!" I heard one student whisper to another. "Do you think Ms. M will give us lunch detention?"

"This is lunch!" her friend hissed.

"Right!" I confirmed. "You already have lunch detention. Now get those notes done!"