Bible Belt

“Do you have a charger I can use?” One of my students asked in class today. 

I’m a pick your battles kind of a teacher, always with a ready supply of pencils and paper and you name it- whatever a student needs to do the job, I think we should provide it. But after all that, and an iPad, too, when a kid consistently can't manage to bring either a charged device or the equipment she needs to charge it? Well, that's just annoying. 

Spoiler alert: I gave her a charger. 

But before I did, I also gave her some grief. "What happened this time?" I asked, a little crossly. 

"Well I was reading in bed last night," she started.

I raised my eyebrows, because that would be very unusual for this child. 

She saw my reaction and continued anyway. "I was reading," she repeated, "I was reading the Bible!"

"No you weren't!" I said.

"I was, my dad made me!" she insisted.

"But your family is Muslim," I cried.

"True," she shook her head, momentarily at a loss. "But--"

"Here's a charger," I said. "Go do your work."

Standing By

I was working in my garden this afternoon when I noticed a wee old man standing in the corner watching me. It's hard to say how long he had been there; I was listening to an audiobook and between it and the work I was rather oblivious to anything else. But there he was, hands clasped behind the back of his faded, baggy overalls, regarding both me and my garden not unkindly. I squeezed my right airpod to pause the book, and stepped over to him. 

"I'm Jim," he introduced himself.

"Tracey," I replied.

"Stacy?" he asked.

"Tracey," I repeated.

"I'm one of the head gardeners here," he told me.

"I know!" I laughed. "I've seen you on Zoom. You're like a celebrity to me, someone I've only seen on TV."

He shrugged modestly. 

What I didn't say was that he was much shorter, and older, and frailer than he seemed on those calls. Far from being impressed or intimidated, I was a little concerned at the heaviness of his breath and the sweat on his brow. We made small talk about weeds and mulch and, when I mentioned that I was a teacher (who would have my garden shipshape once school was out),  kids and education and the world today. Eventually he gestured to the mulch pile and wheel barrow a couple gardens away and said he should return to that task. 

"Nice talkin to you," I said and squeezed my airpod again, but I kept on eye on his progress and noted the many breaks he took. At one point, I reviewed the first aid training that I had been required to take this year for recertification. Then, it seemed unlikely that I would ever need to rescue someone in distress, but this afternoon? It seemed like a good skill to have.

Life Imitates Life

Since Survivor first aired in 2000, Heidi and I have seen every single one of the 42 seasons. Even so, I wouldn't call us super fans so much as super critics. In fact, here's what I wrote about the show back in 2009:

...the mixture of conniving, false alliances, physical strength, and sheer force of will was riveting. I still watch today, although I confess that there comes a point in every season where I declare my hatred for the show and its premise, and I swear I'll never watch again. It's ageist. It's sexist. It's racist. Contestants are forever getting their feelings bruised by others who excuse their hurtful behavior by insisting that it's just a game or that there are a million reasons why they've done what they have. There's no such thing as trust in Survivor. It's not fair. It never turns out the way I want it to. Still, I watch.

For the first two decades of reality TV, most shows seemed to focus on or exploit the worst of humanity, but I have noticed a shift lately. My evidence is purely anecdotal and based only on the two shows that I watch, Survivor and Top Chef, but in the past season, both of those programs have had the most congenial and respectful casts I have ever seen on reality TV. Win or lose, they are thoughtful, introspective, complimentary of the competition, and most of all, grateful for the opportunity and the experience being on the show has offered them. 

My theory is that ever since we actually elected a reality TV personality president, we have been exposed to so much nastiness in our real public discourse, that we don't need to see it on TV, but my hope is that there is a change coming.

Minimart

Before the pandemic, we would regularly drive half an hour or more to shop at our favorite grocery store, Wegmans. But along with a lot of other folks, our shopping habits have changed over the last two years, and now we generally buy our groceries much closer to home now, usually at a store we can walk to. Even so, there was excitement in our household when a couple of weeks ago a new Wegmans opened only 20 minutes from us. 

Today was the day when we made our first visit to that new store. The route was familiar; 22 years ago a huge movie theater opened in the same area, which was then the end of the yellow line of the metro, and for over a decade it was our go to. Over the years that outpost became more desirable and it no longer made sense to have a three acre parking lot for a theater, an office building, and a few restaurants. So that's where they built a 15 story apartment building with a Wegmans on the ground floor. 

Founded in 1916 in Rochester, the chain expanded slowly throughout Western New York. Their first Buffalo location opened in 1977, and it is through Heidi's family that I first became aware of what can only be described as the amazing grocery shopping experience they offer. For most of their history, their stores were big and sprawling, indicative of the inexpensive commercial real estate in those locations. 

When Wegmans first arrived in our area, the stores were in the far outer suburbs, hence the drives we were willing to make. A couple of years ago, Wegmans opened a smaller, store out at Tysons Corner, also on the metro line. The design of that location was scaled back and curated to accommodate a smaller space, but it is not the same shopping experience. 

And that is the layout we found today at the newest Wegmans. Heidi was very disappointed, despite the fact that we can get most of the items on our list, she missed the wide selection that we have come to expect. On our way home, we passed a few neighbors and rolled down the windows to chat. "We were at the new Wegmans," Heidi reported. "It was stinky!"

They looked surprised, especially the guy from Rochester. "So WegMANs wasn't very manly?" asked another of them.

"Definitely not!" Heidi answered.

"More like Wegboys," I said.

Crazy 8s

 Most of my homeroom had other things to do this morning: a couple were absent, others had SOL remediation, running club, math help. I invited the few kids who were left to play cards with me. "What games do you know?" I asked. 

"Uhhh," one student hesitated, "Spoons?"

I had taught a larger group that game a little earlier in the year, but to me, Spoons is the word search of card games-- an empty exercise, lacking any challenge or necessary skills. It is easy to teach, though, and kids love it.

"What about Crazy 8s?" I suggested. "Do you know that one?"

They did not, but the fact that Uno is based on Crazy 8s made it another relatively easy to teach game. We began with a shuffle and a deal, and I watched with interest as kids arranged their cards in several ways both in and out of their hands. "You hold all 8 cards so that only you can see them," I explained, and we were off.

As we played, it became clear that determining suits and face cards was another challenge, as was noticing when they picked up an eight. Even so, we played on. The student to my right was very into the game, but she was too candid in her verbal processing. "Oh no!" she cried when the suit was changed to spades. "I only have two cards left and they're both hearts!"

"I don't think you want to tell us that," the kid on the other side of her said, changing it to diamonds. Still we played on; I modeling the best demeanor and strategy I could, often asking if they had the same number or an 8 in their fistful of cards when they expressed dismay at not having the same suit at their turn.

At last someone, not me, won. "That was fun!" everyone agreed. "Can we play again?" 

Fortunately, the next game was a lot smoother, a little more like the thousands of hands of Crazy 8s I played with my brother and sister and neighbors and cousins and friends when I was growing up.

Z is for Zen of Pressure

"Should I stack these on the back shelf?" a maintenance guy inquired of the librarian as he wheeled in several cases of paper on a hand truck.

"Yes please," she answered.

I was sitting in the library monitoring the few kids who had attended after school study hall when I happened to overhear their exchange.

"Have you ever seen what paper does under a hydraulic press?" he asked her.

"I can't say that I have," she responded.

"It explodes!" he told her.

"I would not have predicted that," she replied.

"There  must be something in it that reacts with the pressure," he explained. "But you should look it up! There's a whole YouTube Hydraulic Press Channel."

She might not have been impressed, but I opened a tab on my browser and typed a search right away. The first video I clicked on was a one hour compilation of greatest smushes. Paper does indeed explode, whether in reams, or books, decks of cards, or even toilet paper. 

The other results were not always predictable: although many items were smashed, only a few were pulverized, and most were extruded through the vent holes at the top of the press plate. The sponges? Were merely flattened, and they sprang back as soon as the pressure was lifted.

What was left of the hour passed quickly; there was something surprisingly mesmerizing about watching a random assortment of things subjected to about 10,000 pounds of force. And although I did not like or subscribe, I was definitely impressed by the press.

Life Lesson: Pressure is unavoidable, stress is optional.

H is for Here We Are Again

I clearly remember where I was in April 1999 when news of the Columbine school shooting reached me. Working after school in the same classroom I still teach in, I was at my desk when a colleague entered in shock and described what was then an unthinkable event. Back then, there were no regular lockdown drills and "active shooter" was a phrase associated with war zones not school zones.

When I am preparing students for the type of drill that is supposed to keep us safe in the event of such an attack, they often ask what the point of sitting quietly under tables in the dark is. "If all the rooms seem empty, then there is no clear target," I tell them before we dutifully turn out the lights and lock the door.

In the dark, I consider the room we're in: near the front of the school, it is constructed of temporary walls made of thin metal panels and glass. Sometimes I imagine putting sliders on the filing cabinets all the way across the room from the door, so I could easily pull them out and shepherd my charges into a corner where we might be more protected by two feet of paper, certainly more hidden than we would be if someone who wished to harm us breached the flimsy barriers. But when the drill is over, those thoughts vanish, too.

Since Columbine, there have been hundreds of school shootings that have left hundreds dead, and despite the fact that I work in a school, I have become numb to the violence and death toll. There are times when I don't even read the coverage of the latest attack. But the news that all of the victims of the school massacre yesterday were kids and teachers in a single classroom gave my stomach a sickening twist, and I had to close my eyes for a moment, wondering if the gunman found them hiding quietly in the dark.

Life Lesson: Lay down your arms, America.

Y is for You Got This

The warm up question the last couple of days has been How are you feeling about the upcoming state reading test? 

The students have been disarmingly honest, especially considering that they are sharing their feelings with the whole class. Many are confident, but an equal number of kids are, in their words, stressed, anxious, nervous, and really worried. 

I do my best to assure them that they are well prepared and to remind them that as long as they do their best, the rest is up to us. Pass or fail, we have them covered for next year. 

One student stated that he was "conflicted" and then proceeded to explain exactly what he meant. I nodded sympathetically, but then laughed. "If you can use conflicted to describe your feelings," I told him, "I'm pretty sure you're going to pass the test!"

Life Lesson: Reading is Fundamental.

X is for X That Out

The end of the school year is always full of disruptions, and this year is no different. A combination of standardized tests and other special activities upset the routines that we have all come to expect. With a group of over one thousand souls, the logistics of such events can be tricky, and the resulting disturbances can be positive, negative, or neutral, depending on how they are managed. 

It is hard to go all in on a proposition that you see as flawed, especially if no one has solicited your input or even worse, your input has been overruled. The plans we have before us for the next three weeks fall into that category for me and several of my colleagues, but there is no such thing as trouble shooting when you aren't in the loop.

Many years ago I unsuccessfully resolved to strike the word "should" from my vocabulary. Today I don't remember my motivation then; the best I can reconstruct is some realization that very few people actually want advice, but it might have been the consistent accusations of bossiness from my brother, too. 

Either way, I realized today that my next 100 day challenge might be some form of eliminating that word from my discourse. 

Life Lesson: Some languages don't even have the concept of *should*. Maybe they are on to something.

F is for Fifty Years Later

"I first started Waltoning about ten years ago when I was in my late 40s," answered the round-faced blonde woman who had a few minutes earlier admitted us to the six-room farm house built in 1915

After she had collected our ten dollar admission fee and given us her introductory spiel, we were free to wander the house. "I had guests here last night," she shrugged. "I have to clean! But do let me know if you have any questions."

It was then that I asked her how she had come to own this house on Schuyler Mountain where Earl Hamner, Jr. and his seven brothers and sisters had grown up. The place was our last stop of three on a relatively bustling crossroads in the middle of not much else. We had already been to the Walton's Mountain Museum and also the general store, but this was the actual house where the family who inspired The Waltons had lived until 1990.

Since it was a mere 20 minutes off the highway, I thought visiting this landmark on our way home from Lynchburg was a no-brainer, and I only questioned my resolve slightly when the waitress at breakfast, a delightful young woman in her early 20s who was friendly enough to ask about our plans for the day, had never heard of our destination (never mind the TV show!) despite the fact it was less than an hour away. The rest of the graduation group was also less than enthusiastic when we shared our plans with them before our farewells. "That sounds like a classic Tracey plan!" one of them actually said. 

"We'll report back and let you know if it's worth the detour!" I replied cheerfully.

And my optimism never flagged until we were inside the museum and looking at photocopied photos of the actors and articles about the show. A 30 minute, poor quality video from the late 90s did nothing for my enthusiasm, and we moved quickly through the iffy replicas of the set (John Boy's room, the living room, the kitchen, the Baldwin sisters' parlor, and Ike's store, which was also the gift shop) stopping briefly at the photos of the real Hamners. Our next stop was a general store with a bored clerk and very little inventory, heavy on tin Christmas ornaments and mason jar accessories. 

My hopes were not high as we climbed the steps onto the front porch of the tiny white national historic landmark, but seeing the actual house that this family of 10 had lived in during the depression and beyond seemed as if it might be a little more meaningful than the other two stops. And it was and it wasn't. The house was surprisingly roomy, given its appearance. There was a big open kitchen, a large living room, 2 bedrooms downstairs (one that had been converted to a full bath, and two upstairs, one for the boys and one for the girls. 

In the end, I didn't regret stopping, but I can't recommend it either. The whole place is as faded as the photos in the museum. The TV show was a cultural phenomenon when it first aired 50 yers ago, but memories of it are dimming as the folks who watched it age. I do believe the site could be reimagined as a history of the depression in rural Virginia, generalizing the experience and capitalizing on the show, but unless a re-visioning happens (and is funded)? I can't see how the place can be around for very much longer.

Life Lesson: Evolve or die.

E is for Extended

We gathered today in Lynchburg for the high school graduation of Heidi's goddaughter. The last time we were in this little city on the James River was nearly 18 years ago, when the same child was born. Shortly after that, her family moved to New Jersey, and over the years we've attended christenings and first communions and other milestone events of hers and older sister's where we have met her grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, and other close family friends. It's been about 10 years since the last celebration, though, and in that time the family has returned to the same private school where her dad  worked when she and her sister were born, and it was from that school that she graduated today. 

How strange it is to spend the day with people that we know and keep up with through our mutual acquaintance but have only met a few times and haven't seen in ten years. Dining on sandwich wraps and cookies, the quality of interaction shifts from superficial to friendly to almost intimate. But then the conversation flags and we stand awkwardly to throw our paper plate in the trash, refill a solo cup with ice tea, and repeat the ritual with another partner until it's time for good byes. There will be the decision to hug or not to hug. "Safe travels!" we will say. "It was so good to see you again."

"Until next time!" they might answer, 

And because it occurs to us that these meetings are most definitely numbered, we nod and lean into that hug.

Life Lesson: Live in fragments no longer. Only connect! ~E.M. Forester

L is for Lynchburg

We are headed out on a pre-summer road trip this evening. A goddaughter is graduating from high school down in Lynchburg, VA, and we are off to cheer her on. The ceremony will be held tomorrow morning at 10:30 out on the lawn of her school. Far from calling for rain, tomorrow's forecast is sunny and 95. 

Of course we hope that the day will heat up slowly, but it is 97 down there right now, so there's a chance that it will be warm and muggy from the get go. Even so and despite leaving the dog behind in the good hands of my brother, I'm looking forward to going somewhere, being somewhere, and seeing somewhere other than this old town. 

We were talking about the upcoming trip with a colleague whose son graduated from college in Lynchburg yesterday. "It is a pretty little town,: she declared, "despite the unfortunate name."

Life Lesson: Sometimes a change of scenery will do you well.

Q is for Quest for Pao de Queijo

One thing that still amazes me about the global economy and online shopping is the ease with which I can obtain specialty ingredients from all over the country and the world. Even in our very cosmopolitan area, there are still some things it is hard to come by, especially without visiting several of the many international markets around. So black garlic, organic beeswax, pizza flour and crushed tomatoes from Italy, celery vinegar, glacéed cherries, and specially processed coffee, and more have all been delivered directly to my door.

My latest acquisition is 2 pounds of sour cassava flour (polvilho azedo). Made from the same root that produces tapioca, which is known variously as cassava, manioc, and yuca, this type of flour is fermented before it is dried. A common usage for polvilho azedo is in a Brazilian quick bread called pão de queijo. Essentially a version of the pate choux and cheese puffs known as gougere, these crisp little bites are often served hot out of the oven for breakfast.

When first I read of the dish on Kitchn,

I had my first pão de queijo at a Brazilian restaurant in Atlanta over five years ago, and I still dream about it. It was crispy outside but amazingly soft and chewy inside, and its cheese flavor was so haunting that I had to eat several more just to fix it in my mind 

the description was irresistible, and I knew I had to make them myself. I had cassava flour in the pantry from a vegetable gnocchi recipe that I've made a few times, but I quickly discovered that although it was possible to substitute the "sweet" variety I had, the fermented version was preferred. Fortunately, a quick internet search revealed that I could order the real stuff from Brazil and have it here in Virginia within a couple of weeks.

So guess what's on the menu tonight?

Life Lesson: It's a small world.

U is for Under a Month

 "This is really fun!" a student said today about the lesson and activities. "We should do things like this more often!"

"You mean in the 4 weeks we have left together?" I asked with a touch of snark.

She shrugged, unimpressed by the brevity of the remainder of the school year. "Yeah!"

Life Lesson: Who's counting?

D is for Do or Die

"I just realized we are all 15 years apart!" one of the teachers in my CLT commented this afternoon. With 2 of us turning 60 in the next 6 weeks or so, age has been a big topic of conversation. 

"I'm looking forward to 60!" my friend Mary proclaimed.

"I am not," I sighed.

"I'm embracing it!" Mary said, "me and all the other people turning 60."

"Like Tom Cruise?" I said. "Jody Foster? Demi Moore?"

"Right," she nodded. "Jim Carrey, Jon Bon Jovi, Sheryl Crow."

"Rosie O'Donnell, Mathew Broderick, Emilio Estevez," I continued.

"Paula Abdul, Ally Sheedy," now Mary was reading from the internet. "It's like the whole Breakfast Club! And Steve Irwin, but he didn't make it."

"He won't turn 60," I agreed.

Our colleagues were doing their own research. "I have Kanye West," Kerry groaned. "But also Tom Brady!"

"Orlando Bloom and Liv Tyler, both elves in The Lord of the Rings," I noted, looking at her year. "And Brittney Murphy, but she didn't make it either."

"I have Ed Sheeran and Da Baby," our fourth coworker, Shaina, reported. "And Emma Roberts, too!"

"This isn't make me feel any better," I said. "It's just reminding me that I'm 15 and 30 years older than all those people, too!"

Life Lesson: Don't complain about growing older, especially considering the alternative.

K is for Kid Stuff

The brain break for my classes today was a 50 yard dash. Between the first set of interviews and the flip flop to the second, I took the kids right out front, lined them up, paced off 50 yards, and let them run. The brain break is always optional-- and I said so today to the students in Crocs and the other in ankle-high boots. "You don't have to run," I advised them, but the Croc-wearing kids secured their back straps and took a starting position and the girl in boots kicked them off to run in her socks. And when they had sprinted the distance, they just lined up again so they could run back.

5 minutes after we had left, we were back in the classroom, and the writers were rocking those interviews.

Life Lesson: Kids just need to run sometimes!

O is for Overdoing It

How glad I was when I pulled my gardening clothes on at 3 this afternoon, leaving behind hours of grading and planning! I hadn't intended to go to the garden until later, but a colleague had texted,  reminding me of her offer of rhubarb and peppers to plant, so off I went. Stopping first at her home to pick up my seedlings, I headed directly to the garden afterward. 

By then the clouds had cleared, and the day was warm and a bit muggy. A slight breeze made the work bearable, but it was a balmy hour and half later that I coiled the hoses, snipped the peonies to bring home to Heidi, and locked the gate behind me. 

Once the flowers were safely arranged in a mason jar, there were still a couple of errands to run and after washing up I went back out to the grocery and garden center. Arriving home after 6, I finished planting the hanging baskets on our deck and started dinner. 

And just now, as the gumbo simmers and I settled wearily into my chair to compose this daily missive, I had the notion that it all might have been a little too much.

Life Lesson: Too much of a good thing is still too much.

P is for Peanuts and Crackerjack

There comes a moment every spring when something-- an outing, a hike, a meal, a movie, something-- evokes summer so trenchantly that my spirit lifts and my heart sings. This year it was Friday night at the ballpark. We are sharing season tickets to the Nats with a few of our neighbors, and last night was the first of our five games. 

All day long we fretted about rain and traffic and the unfamiliarity of the experience, but the sun was shining when we hopped in the car at 6:15, and traffic wasn't too bad, and we parked in a garage right at the stadium, and our seats were good, though the team was not. Watching the sun set and then the moon rise, and being under the lights, and smelling the food, and waving our caps, and getting up to move, and watching all the people, was fun and felt just like summer.

Life lesson: S minus 34 and counting!

W is for Waterless

The texts started as we left school: Courtbridge Geyser! Water main break! The pictures were even more dramatic-- a spume of water gushed 20 feet in the air from the center of the parking lot just outside our windows. When we pulled in, half the loop road that leads around our complex was closed, but the text chain had already informed us that the fountain was shut off and so was the water. 

The expected repair time was many hours, and we were informed that the water would probably be off until morning. How strange it was to be without a ready supply of something we take for granted. Fortunately for us, we had a few things in our favor-- three toilets and a big jug of filtered water in the fridge, but it was still an unsatisfactory evening. And when we went to bed, the work crew was still at it with halogen lights and jack hammers right outside our window, where they remained all night long. 

Rising to the alarm at 5 am, I peered out the window to another geyser spraying over and above our upper balcony. At first I despaired, assuming that this was a sign that the repair did not hold, but then I realized that if the water was on, our water was on, too. So I sprinted through the house flushing toilets and grabbing pitchers to fill. Sadly, before I could collect more than a quart or two, the stream from the faucet slowed to a trickle, and both our water and the fountain outside were gone again.

BUT, at a little before 7, on a whim I flipped on the kitchen faucet, and water flowed freely again. I've always known intellectually how fortunate we are to have all the clean water we want, but looking back on the ordeal and how it felt to be forced to eat leftovers instead of cooking, use hand sanitizer instead of washing, and brush my teeth with a half cup of water, I realized that my gratitude for this resource is not nearly enough.

Life Lesson: You never know how lucky you are to have something until you lose it.

J is for Justice

The question of the day today was What is something about you that would surprise most people? Since we are working on the journalism profile unit where writers must interview another student in the class, I'm trying to ask questions that will help them find a starting place, as well as model appropriate follow-up questions when they share their answers.

It was a successful question; we found out all sorts of interesting and intriguing things about the people we have been working closely with for the last 8 1/2 months. One student with fiery red hair wrote that two things people were often surprised about were that she didn't dye her hair and that she was straight.

"Really?" asked another kid.

"Really," she confirmed. "When I tell people I'm straight, they always ask, 'Are you sure?'"

She laughed, and we did, too. I personally marveled at how different the world is for these kids than it was even just a few years ago. In my sixth grade classes there are 3 kids who identify as transgender and several whose preferred pronouns are they/them.

The next student's surprising fact was that their mother dated a professional basketball player. "I don't know which one," they added.

"You don't know which basketball player or which mom?" asked another student.

See what I mean?

Life Lesson: The arc of history is long, but it bends toward justice. ~Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

S is for Strict

 "I can't make the writing challenge,"  a student reported to me today. "I've missed too many days."

"It's true," I agreed. "There aren't enough days left in the school year. I guess that's both a blessing and a curse."

He nodded. "A blessing because we'll be on summer vacation, and a curse because no prize for me."

"It's also a little sad for me because I have to say good-bye to you guys since you're moving up to seventh grade. I'm going to miss you!"

"Wait!" interjected another student. "You actually like us?"

I laughed, but I could see that the student was sincere and her remark hit home and hurt my heart a little. "Yeah I like you!" I told the class. "You guys are one of the best groups I've ever taught!" 

Although there were a few who were clearly pleased, there were others who seemed skeptical. "Just because I don't let you go off the rails doesn't mean I don't like you," I explained.

"It's actually the opposite," one student agreed.

"It really is," I said.

Life Lesson: Subtext is crucial.

N is for Not so Much

We have just 2 episodes left of the Netflix show Ozark. Even though they drop the series a season (or half) at a time, our definition of binge watching means watching 1 episode a day every day for a week or so. Back in 2017, when the series premiered, there was something thrilling about the dark tale of Marty and Wendy Byrde, a Chicago couple of questionable ethics who get mixed up with a Mexican drug cartel and find themselves laundering money in the Ozarks, but five years on, the suspense and sudden violence are no longer as entertaining as they once were. 

"I don't think I'm the same person I was when we first started watching this show," I said to Heidi after one episode. "The show is still really good, and I want to know how it all turns out, but I'm not really enjoying watching."

She nodded sympathetically, and I thought back over all the events of the last five years. 

Yeah. I'm definitely a different person now.

Life Lesson: Let go of what no longer serves you.

M is for Meeting Options

The homeroom activity for today seemed so promising. 

The counseling staff had recruited volunteers from interesting professions to do half-hour virtual info sessions for all the students. Kids were allowed to read about their options, make a choice, and join the call. 

A particularly appealing aspect to doing career exploration this way was that it was more inclusive; in the past we had one in-person career day for 8th graders only, and seats were limited so kids didn't always get to attend the session they chose. This model opened up the experience to 6th and 7th graders, too, and spread the meetings over three different Mondays to provide more flexibility for students and presenters alike.

Unfortunately, lessons learned the hard way in the early days of virtual learning are already fading away, and the calls were set up so that students had more permissions than they needed. It is still middle school around here, so as soon as certain people realized what they could do, presenters and participants alike were muted, interrupted, and removed from the meetings, and the chats were spammed with irrelevant and inappropriate comments and images. 

Scrambling to recover, the organizers changed the settings and shut down the chat, but it was a little late for that.

Life Lesson: Secure the lobby and only allow selected presenters.

T is for Timeline

I listened to Sea of Tranquility, the latest novel by Emily St. John Mandel, loved it and learned there were characters in it from a previous novel The Glass Hotel. After enjoying that audiobook as well, I downloaded Station Eleven, even though I had already seen the television adaptation. I also listened to Mandel's interview with Ezra Kline on his NYTimes podcast, and they mentioned The Candy House by Jennifer Egan, so I paused Station Eleven and listened to that book. 

Turns out The Candy House is also a sequel of sorts to A Visit from the Goon Squad, which I am listening to now. Truth be told? It's a bit confusing and unsatisfying going in reverse order, but memory and time are themes of all four books. This approach also provides an opportunity to revisit the later books with a new perspective, evoking memory and time on a personal level.

I like that.

Life Lesson: Gμν = 8πG Tμν (Or, time is an illusion that moves relative the observer.)

V is for Vintage

I was listening to American Top 40 as I ran my errands today. An archived episode from this week in 1979, I knew right away it would be the usual mix of little-known records and monster hits from the summer I graduated from high school. Number 40 was a remake of a 1963 Ben E. King single that had also been covered by Tom Jones 8 years earlier, I Who Have Nothing. I had never heard any of the three versions before, and this disco version was pretty terrible. 

Not to worry, though. Entering the countdown at #39 was Old Time Rock and Roll by Bob Seeger. I tried to imagine someone tuning in 43 years ago and hearing that anthem for the first time, but honestly? It was nearly impossible to remember a time when that classic didn't exist.

Life Lesson: Everything old was new once.

B is for Bad News

This year, I have one of my favorite homeroom groups ever. It is a fun combination of of sweet and salty and quirky. They are generally engaged in whatever we are doing, although not always in a positive way. For example when the planned activity was yet another dive into current events, many could not keep their displeasure quiet. 

"What's wrong with knowing about the world?" I asked.

 "Nothing," answered one, "except it's always bad news!"

"Let's look more carefully," I suggested, scrolling through the recommended websites.

"Russia, Ukraine, climate change, inflation," she intoned, reading the headlines.

"You're right," I agreed and typed good news today into the search bar. I got a hit on the Good News Network and clicked over with curiosity. Baby Eagle Rescued, No Mow Lawn, Giant Jellyfish, Widow Finds Late Husband's Ring Under Apple Tree.

"Yeah," someone else sighed. "Not a lot better."

"Why don't we play LRC," I suggested.

"For candy?" they clarified.

"You bet!" I answered.

Life Lesson: When hit with bad news, pivot.

G is for Gap Year

In yet another example of "things they missed because school was not in person for a year" the sixth graders showed somewhat appalling behavior at the preview of the school play today. Even though we reminded them of the expectation of respectful audience behavior, it seems that our definition of respectful is rather divergent from theirs. 

To be fair, for the most part they were expressing their appreciation for the writing, acting, and singing, of their fellow students, but the way in which they did it, cheering and whistling and chanting the name of certain actors, was totally unexpected and actually disrupted the production. Plus, once they got started with such loud and long reactions, their behavior became even more interactive, like they were yelling at the TV or computer screen at home. 

It is true that occasions public collective viewing have declined sharply during the pandemic years, and these kids could be forgiven for not knowing the social expectations for such events. We adults, too, might also be forgiven for not anticipating the scope of necessary pre-attendance instructions; we assumed they knew how to act, and we were wrong. 

The experience is emblematic of what it's been like to teach this year: there are so many gaps and holes that we are not aware of until someone falls in.

Life Lesson: Expect the unexpected.

A is for At Leisure

After working at my desk until nearly 5, I was eager to get home, lace up my sneakers and take a walk. My preference is always to walk somewhere for something, and this evening it was a quick trip to the grocery store. Heidi was still changing and getting her clothes ready for tomorrow when I sang out a cheerful see you later and headed out the door. 

I stuffed my list in my side pocket and my AirPods into my ears and climbed the steps out of our complex and over the hill to the grocery just a little under a mile away. There I quickly gathered the items on my list, scanned, bagged, paid, and exited the store on my return trip. It was only waiting at the light to cross King Street that I realized I did not have my house keys, so I texted Heidi and hoped for the best. 

But the door was locked when I got home;  Heidi was running, her watch and phone too busy tracking her activity to receive my texts. Our neighbors with the spare key were not home either, so I took a seat on the milk box and began to type this entry on my phone. A couple of paragraphs in I was startled by our neighbor rounding the corner to climb the stoop. 

She was startled too. "I did not expect to see you there!" she laughed. "I was just coming over to borrow some printer paper." 

When I explained my predicament, she went to fetch the key. Opening the front door at last, I found Tibby and Milo waiting, more wide eyed than usual. "Why didn't you come in?" I could imagine them asking me. 

"I was locked out!" I told them, and then went to fetch some paper.

Life Lesson: Make the best of any situation.

I is for It Comes Around

Back when we were self-centered children, I can remember my brother or sister or me asking a rather bratty question: "We have Mothers Day and Fathers Day," I'm sure we noted, "so how come there's no Kids Day?"

"Every day is kids day," my parents answered, one or both, and we begrudgingly left it at that.

I thought about those days this morning when one of my homeroom students made a similar inquiry. "We principal appreciation week and counselor appreciation week and teacher appreciation week," she sighed. "So when's student appreciation week?"

I resisted the urge to answer her just as my parents had answered us, but I did shrug and say, "Everything we do here at school is for you and your education. If we didn't appreciate you, I guess we wouldn't be here."

To which she scoffed, clearly unconvinced.

Life Lesson: When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned in seven years." ~Mark Twain.

R is for Renewable Resources

After working in my garden last weekend, I came home and soaked the last of the beans I grew last season. Then I made a soup with them, adding the final jar of last summer's tomatoes and the end of the sweet paprika I made from the peppers that grew next to the tomatoes and beans. 

As I washed up the empty jars and put them away to use again, I had no regrets about finishing off those treasured ingredients, knowing that the next harvest is only a few months away.

Life Lesson: Be both the ant and the grasshopper.

C is for Cause for Celebration

After a month poetry, we returned to slice of life this weekend until we transition to the May alphabiography challenge, and it was with interest that I caught up this morning with the 25 or so kids who are still in it to win it. We have a three day weekend to mark Eid-al fitr, the holiday at the end of Ramadan, and as much as I love any excuse to extend the weekend, it was genuinely cool to read the excitement that several kids had when writing about the upcoming celebration. 

Eid Mubarak!

Life Lesson: Celebrate celebration!