Says Who?

 The American education system is failing its students," a sixth grader told me the other day.

"How's that?" I asked.

"It was created over a hundred years ago," he told me rapidly, "and it hasn't changed at all since then. It is preparing students for minimum wage jobs that won't be here in ten years, because robots will do them."

"Better give me your iPad then," I said, "you don't need that to prepare for a non-existent job."

He blinked.

"No really," I said. "Where's your evidence for this claim?"

"Oh, I have lots of evidence," he assured me. "Lots."

"Like what?" I probed.

"The system was created over a hundred years ago, and it hasn't changed," he repeated.

"I know for a fact that it has changed," I told him. "It's changed in the 30 years I've been teaching in it, not to mention the time before that when I was a student myself."

"The jobs we're preparing for won't exist!" he insisted.

"Maybe not," I agreed, "but that's why we're teaching you how to think and problem solve, and to find and evaluate the information you need for that," I told him. "So where is your evidence and what is the source of it?"

But it was a debate I couldn't win, because he was stuck on his premise, so I told him we could discuss it more later. Still, when I saw him next a couple of days later, I just couldn't resist needling him a bit. "Good morning!" I welcomed him brightly to class. "Here I am, ready to fail you another day!"

To his credit, he laughed, and I did, too, especially knowing that our argument unit is coming up next.

Practicing Practice

"These kids!" my friend Mary announced with exasperation this morning before the bell rang. "These kids are going to drive me to retire! I'm not sure what I'm missing, but they're not getting it!"

"I know how you feel," I answered, "I'm feeling it, too. There's just no flow, yet."

Another colleague popped her head in the door. "I'm glad someone else is feeling it, too!" she said. "Everything seems like such a slog, so far."

But notice, dear reader, all the words in red. That is classic growth mindset language. So even in our moments of frustration and impatience, deep in our teacher's hearts, we express confidence that we and the kids, with the right kind of effort and practice, will improve our current situation.

What more can we hope for?

No Sick Day Here

I've lost my voice, but with no fever and a series of negative COVID tests, I've chosen to report to work anyway. Part of the problem is the difficulty and inconvenience of making sub plans with productive activities. Unless I'm here to lead the lesson, it's hard to move very far forward or keep up with the other sixth grade teachers. 

Oh, sure, I know that there are times when taking off is unavoidable, but I'm worried that a positive COVID test, along with the mandatory 5 days out, is inevitable at some point this year, and so I decided to slog through the day. My throat is dry, though, and I had a couple of embarrassing coughing spells when I had to talk too much. For the most part, the kids have been pretty good, but my last class of the day was a little rambunctious. 

"Listen," I said, "I'm losing my voice and I'm losing my patience. One of those we can't do anything about, but the other? You and I have equal control over. What's it going to be?"

Bless their hearts? It wasn't pretty, but we made it to lunch with only a few hoarse redirections from me.

No Confidence

We have adopted a new textbook this school year, and today I made the first assignment from the online version. The learning curve was moderately steep, as neither the students nor I had never used the interface, and I couldn't see what their end looked like until they pulled it up in class. It was relatively intuitive, though, and I was up front with them about how new the tools were. 

Even so, I spent the class circulating through the room, checking in and troubleshooting as best I could. Some of the support I offered was more content-related, and that was fine, too. We were reading the lyric poem, "Life Doesn't Frighten Me" by Maya Angelou, and answering the pre-formulated questions, something I have rarely done in my career. 

I have designed my own lessons based on student needs and interests for 30 years, but this publication is touted for being closely aligned to and supportive of our state standards (and hence the test), so who am I to kvetch? One of the items was phrased in such a way that many students were confused, however, and I found myself clarifying the directions over and over. 

The students were supposed to Annotate: In lines 13–21, Highlight the phrase that is repeated in most of the stanzas. I think the disconnect was that it wasn't clear that they were looking for one phrase in that section that was repeated throughout the poem. As a result, many students spent time trying to find repetition within that particular passage, which wasn't there, beyond the pronoun 'I'. If I had written the question myself, I would have revised it after the first class so that it was less perplexing, but we were stuck with it. 

After I helped one student, he came up to me reproachfully a little while later. "You told me that I was supposed to highlight "Life doesn't frighten me at all"! he said indignantly. "But when I looked at Lucas's, I saw I was wrong. He highlighted 'I' all the way through!"

"Really?" I replied, looking over my glasses with raised eyebrows. "You looked at another student's work after I helped you, and you think his is right and not yours?"

"Uh," he hesitated.

"Why don't you go back and help Lucas correct his," I suggested, shaking my head. 

Out of Practice

That third day of the long weekend turned out to be perfect for an activity we haven't undertaken so much lately. I'm not sure why we haven't been hiking more these days-- there was a time when it was almost an every weekend kind of thing-- but since we got home from Maine in early July, our feet have not neared a trail. Blame the summer heat, but even before June, our walks have been generally paved and in the neighborhood. Before this, I'm pretty sure our last wooded ramble was back in February for Lucy's birthday.

Which is why I made sure to make our group a heart breakfast of eggs and butternut squash hone fries, before loading our packs with hummos and veggies, apple slices, almond butter, pretzels, string cheese, and banana bread, so that we would be well-prepared as we headed south to Prince William Forest.

Even though she was from this area and has spent a huge part of her life outdoors, camping, climbing, skiing, biking, and hiking, my friend had never been to this relatively little-known national park, and I was eager to show it to her. Until probably about 10 years or so ago, I hadn't been there either. Since then, we have explored many of the trails in the 15,000 acre forest, and we have also found that one signature hike, a 6 mile in and out, complete with a dog swimming hole, boardwalk, abandoned pyrite mine, and waterfall, that we love to take with friends.

Today, though, despite the perfect temperature, light breeze, deserted trails, and Elton John sing-along? After not hiking much lately, those were 

six. 

long. 

miles!

It felt good to be back on the trail, though, and I'm hopeful we're going to get out there a little more this fall.

My Friendliest Friend

We were checking out the offerings at our local farmers market when my friend from Colorado pointed to a stall. "What are those?" she asked wide-eyed.

They were mushrooms, several varieties luxuriantly arranged in plain wooden quart containers. Most of the markets in this area have them, and I usually pass by without stopping. "Can we go look?" she asked, and so we stepped beneath the awning and admired them.

"I know nothing about mushrooms like this," my friend told the vendor earnestly. "Do you mind telling me about them?"

The young woman's face lit up and she smiled excitedly. "Not at all!" she answered. 

And that is how we heard the story of how the daughter of farmers started growing mushrooms as a COVID project, expanding into her neighbor's shed when they no longer needed it, adding humidity controls and air conditioning for year-round growing. She told us that she acquired her her mycelium through the mail, and that it arrived suspended in a nutrient-rich liquid which she injected into organic grain, usually spelt or millet, to colonize it, before transferring the spawn to a sawdust substrate, which she got at local lumber mills and sterilized.

She showed us the varieties she had, and explained their flavor, texture, and any medicinal qualities. She gave pointers about how to prepare both the stems and the caps, and she also told us that she had recently acquired some shared commercial kitchen space which she was looking forward to using to create and package mushroom products to sell alongside her fresh mushrooms. 

Her passion and enthusiasm were so positive and engaging that we walked away, after buying a quart each of lion's mane and king oyster, feeling lighter than we had when we stopped. "I never would have talked to her," I told my friend, "but I sure am glad you did!"

Busyday Saturday

We had errands this morning, a baby shower tea at 2, and an appointment with Sir Elton at 8 sharp. Thank goodness it’s a long weekend!

Tile by Tile

This is not the time of year for me to make any decisions about my career.

One month on, it seems like students should be settling in as systems and procedures become familiar, but that is not what is happening. The kids from 7th grade are still coming back, seeking the comfortable routine we worked for 10 months to establish, and the new sixth graders are still dazed and confused by the expectations their predecessors eventually mastered.

But I know the key word is "eventually". I know that last year at this time I was still working hard and waiting for everything to click, and even feeling a little discouraged that those kids didn't get how great the class could be, if only they gave it a chance. If I think about it, I will recollect what a slog the first unit always is, and I will understand that building community and relationships takes time, especially after the initial excitement of a new school year wears off.

And so I must resolve to carry on and make adjustments for the new group when necessary, to be mindful that some of the activities that were awesome last year might not be as good a fit this time around, and to notice the new magic whenever it happens. Like today, my homeroom was playing Bananagrams (which they like, but not quite the same way my last group did), when at the end of the game one student proclaimed that the longest word in the English language was antidisestablishmentarianism.

I laughed. "That used to be true," I assured him, "But it's another word now. My students last year taught me that." I sighed a little inside before I continued brightly. "Look it up! Find out what it is!"

I was encouraging another group to find a book to read when the Bananagrams kids called me over. 

"We're trying to spell pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis with the game tiles, but we don't have enough Cs," one reported.

"But we decided just to flip some tiles over so that you will know the blanks are supposed to be C!" his buddy added.

"What does that even mean?" asked another student.

"You can figure it out," I said and pointed at the row of tiles. "Pneumo means breathing or lungs, and ultra means extremely or a lot. Microscopic means--"

"Small!" a student supplied, and I nodded.

"Silico refers to the element silicon and you know volcano, right?" I looked into several shining eyes. This was exciting to them. "The rest of the word just means it has to do with a medical condition."

"So it means some kind of small, silicon particle that hurts your lungs, right?" one of them deduced.

"Close!" I clapped. "It's the name of the disease that happens when you breathe a particle like that."

Just then the bell rang. They looked at each other, deflated because they weren't quite done spelling.

"Go ahead and finish!" I told them. "I'll write you a pass."

My other class filed in as they plucked Os and Ns and Is and arranged them at the end of the word. Some were very interested in what was happening, and one guy knew the word, spelled it, and gave us a definition.

"Take a picture with your iPad," I encouraged them when they were through, which they did. 

Everyone was smiling as we quickly scooped the tiles into their banana-shaped bag. "That was fun!" one student said as I signed the pass.

"Yeah it was!" I agreed.

Fear Itself

After the test today, the kids were squirmy and rambunctious. It didn't help matters any in my class that we were kicking off a new unit about courage, and so the question of the day was What is something you think is scary?

Of course everyone had lots of ideas and comments, but no one seemed capable of listening to anyone else, so I redirected the group several times in my booming teacher voice, and fine-tuned the attention of several individuals with personal reminders. 

When one kid who had been talking over others the whole time finally got his turn to share, he said, "I'm afraid of small places, and--" he turned to look purposefully at me, "strict teachers."

"If only that were true," I said, "it would be a lot quieter in here!"

As a Bird

My friend, who is in town from Colorado, lives in a small exurban town, and so the numerous shared bikes and scooters and sitting scooters that dot the streets of our much more urban community were all new to her. 

Free from the troubling considerations of how dockless vehicles can become a nuisance or worse, all my friend saw was how much fun they looked, and I in turn realized how jaded I have become in the years since I could barely pass a scooter without unlocking it and taking it for a weeeeeeee ride. 

And so we spent our afternoon scootering all around town, down bike lanes, on paved trails, through parks, and along city streets, pausing to admire views of the airport, the monuments, and the river, and even stopping at the grocery store before scootering home. 

"This is so much fuuuuuun!" my friend shouted more than a few times.

The final leg of our adventure took us up a big hill, and I made it to the top a minute or more before she did.

"A car cut me off," my friend reported. 

"Oh," I laughed, "I was sure you were going to tell me your thumb was sore from coming up such a big hill!"

"I have to admit," she lifted her right hand from the throttle and wiggled the thumb, "it is getting quite a workout!"

Sweet Nothings

Another week, another round of state and local mandated universal testing at school. Since the beginning of the year our middle school students have been required to take a math inventory, a reading growth assessment and inventory, a reading standards assessment, and they have a math standards assessment scheduled for Thursday. 

Since today and Thursday's tests were all-school, we followed a modified schedule with 90 minutes of testing followed by shortened block classes. I'm not sure what I was thinking when I planned my lessons and activities, but it should have been something along the lines of, They will have been sitting silently for hours; don't try to get much done!

Even posting a picture of their favorite candy for a warm up took way longer than it should have, and the pent up energy in the room made what should have been a fun and easy conversation a little nasty and tense. In both sections I had to remind the group that I didn't ask what they thought the best candy was, I asked for their favorites. "Can there really be any debate about that?" I wondered pointedly.

And although they dutifully admitted that all of us are welcome to our opinion, there was still a lot of trash talking, especially the cookies-n-cream bar. "I hate white chocolate!" one kid groaned loudly.

"Who asked you?" I inquired in reply.

They were just being contrary. Because when I offered each a chance to speak on behalf of their favorite, not many chose to say much, besides, The picture speaks for itself.

Maybe so, but not many were listening!

Boys Do Cry

In the three weeks we've been in school, our sixth grade interdisciplinary team's student concerns conversations with the counselor have been predominantly about boys. That in itself is not unusual: boys often demonstrate frustration, anxiety, or other emotional discomfort more outwardly than girls, and so their troubles are easier to spot.

But these boys? Have been crying in class. 

Where in the past we might have seen anger, aggression, and defiance, this year we observe tantrums and tears. But interestingly enough, the parents are a little different too. On the first call home from school, one guy's mom answered, Don't tell me, it's about N's behavior.

And in an email to school, another mom wrote, I want to emphasize that crying and emotional expression is quite normal for him instead of abnormal and worrying to us. He is sensitive and emotes freely.

All righty, then.

Big Kids Have More Fun

Earlier this afternoon while Heidi was clothes shopping, I wandered down the way to the bookstore. "See if you can find something fun for Liv," Heidi suggested. She had offered to babysit again, and she wanted a few fun things at our house. 

I did spend some time looking at the 0-12 month toys; the selection was good, but this first baby has a lot of toys, and her parents pack them up to go. I didn't see anything that was significantly different than what I knew she had. After a little bit, I moved over to browse the toys and games for older kids. There was a lot of good stuff there, and I was enjoying looking at all the options.

Heidi texted me then. Did you find anything? she wondered.

No, I replied, but we are going to have a lot of fun when she is a little bit older!

Uncaffeinated

Lucy wanted to go out first thing this morning, and since she has had bad belly, I thought it would be best to accommodate her. So the minute my feet the bottom step, I clipped on her collar and leash, grabbed a bag, and headed out into the cool and sunny morning. But once we were out there, she showed no interest in anything other than smelling the pavement of the parking lot. 

Who knows what critters roam there at night? Well, I guess Lucy has a good idea, but that is not what we were out there for, and her stubborn pulling toward invisible objectives made me irritable. It wasn't long before we ran into a neighbor with her dog, and then another, both of whom Lucy wanted to jump on before she wrestled their dogs to the ground. 

The second person was very chatty, and I found myself glazing over a bit as she ran through the surgeries, renovations, and repairs that she and her family had faced over the last couple of months. I was finally able to extricate myself from the conversation by reminding her that we would meet again tomorrow at the annual doggie dip, which is always held on the last day of the pool season in our complex. 

And then, Lucy continued to refuse to relieve herself. Instead she yanked me to still more random locations throughout the community, until I finally realized that my aggravation probably had a lot to do with the fact that I hadn't had my coffee yet, and so determined that she could damn well shit later.

Okay Millie

A colleague who is more than a couple decades younger than I stopped by my room at lunch today to touch base about a few weekend social events with one of my lunch buddies (let's call her Jan) who recently celebrated her 50th birthday. You must forgive me for eavesdropping, but I was present for the entire conversation which culminated in a description of a housewarming party for another colleague that the younger was invited to that might possibly conflict with another gathering they were both planning on attending. 

"I don't see myself staying that long," she shook her head. "There's going to be a lot of jenzies there."

She laughed dismissively, and I know I rolled my eyes up and to the right as I tried to use context to decipher that unfamiliar word. What are jenzies and why do we want to avoid them? I thought.

Then I laughed. I knew the hostess of the housewarming, recently 30 herself, had just moved in with her younger boyfriend, and his friends? Were Gen Z. And while I couldn't fully appreciate the nuance of her displeasure, I did find the fact that 30-somethings consider 20-somethings a bit annoying, a good reminder.

But I wonder what the Jenzies think?

Down at the DMV

There was a time, not that long ago, when everyone had to go to the DMV once a year. Before "Renew for 2" and the vast expansion of online services, anyone of modest means with a registered vehicle and/or a driver's license had no other option of renewing than to head to the nearest service center and get in that looooooooong line. 

But what a place for people watching! There was always a generous cross section of your town there-- teenagers taking tests and getting their permits, people picking up plates for a new car, folks moving in from other states who needed a new license, and the rest of us conducting mundane requisite renewals.

Friends, I'm here to report that that world still exists! It is much more organized now, with a check-in counter where you get the forms you need and a service number, and a lot of chairs to sit in while you wait to be called. And at 2 PM on a Thursday, it was a little more like an airport gate in between flights, but down by the old drive-in window, long since closed, there was still a lot of excitement as kids were tested and photographed. And up by me, there was still a lot of confusion, because bureaucracy is a live and well.

In the time it took me to retitle the car we first leased and then purchased, I heard a taxi driver begging for a new license, and I smelled a guy, who practically floated in a cloud of weed, get his license, and I saw a family from New Hampshire get their new Virginia licenses, too. I also heard about a former DMV employee who was issuing refunds in to incarcerated people and having them sent to her own address, and I was reminded that this was the service center where several of the hijackers on 9-11 got their licenses, too.

As she handed me my new plates, the agent reminded me that from now on, I could just renew online. My license expires in six years, though. I wonder what I'll see then?

Old Acquaintance

One of my oldest and dearest friends is flying in to visit next week. Pauly and I have known each other since the second day of 10th grade, when we sat together on one of the charter buses that ferried the whole school to a lush, green alpine valley punctuated by cows, glaciers, and Roman ruins. Not that either of us saw any of that; we were way too occupied with the examination of her braces for stray food bits, interspersed with non-stop conversation.

Of course, we were fast friends after that, mostly thanks to her: even though I am the opposite, Pauly has one of those never-met-a-stranger personalities. I confess, that to the introvert I am, she can be exhausting, but I love her, and even though it's been 46 years, and we have never once lived in the same town since we graduated, our friendship persists to this day. 

It has been a minute since we saw each other though, what with COVID, distance, and life and all. And so, when she texted last spring to see if I was interested in seeing Elton John's final tour? I was in! 

And now? Here she comes. "Do you want anything from Colorado?" she asked when she called to give me her itinerary.

"Just my best friend from high school!" I answered.

The Worst Night of the Year

In all my years of teaching, I have yet to find anyone, either teacher or parent, who enjoys Back to School Night. 

I counted my blessings and then counted them again the last couple of years when the entire event was reorganized to be first asynchronous and then virtual due to the pandemic. But we are back in person with a vengeance, (Social distancing is over, an administrator told me flatly, the other day), and so BSN is on the calendar for tonight, in its original, time-honored, conformation. 

Even as I type, I am dreading bolting my dinner, changing my clothes, returning to school, greeting parents with forced jocularity, and rushing through the same boring information five times, so I can go home late and drag my tired self back to work in the morning for another full day of corralling kids. It is a historic example of how little teacher time is valued.

At the very least? The ordeal should count as a floating half day toward our contract time. A little acknowledgement of and compensation for our inconvenience and overtime would be a step in the right direction.

Welcome to the Club

A few years ago some kids asked me to sponsor an anime club. "We'll run it," they assured me, "we just need a room and a teacher after school." Never a big fan of anime, unless you count the original Speed Racer series, I agreed anyway, assuming that it would be a relatively quiet hour I could spend working while they were watching. 

I couldn't have been more wrong! That anime club was a gathering of loud kids engaging in cosplay and other reenactments of the marginally inappropriate shows they tried to sneak by me. My role involved much more active supervision and contention than I expected, and I ended up with a splitting headache at the end of every meeting. 

Thankfully, COVID put an end to that club; by the time we were back at school in person for extracurriculars, the founders had moved on the high school, and another teacher agreed to sponsor the new anime club, which always seems much more tame whenever I happen past.

Today a couple of boys asked me if I would sponsor a new club, a Dungeons and Dragons Club. I confess that I have never played D&D, not even once, but I did grow up in the 70s, attend college in the 80s, and I have seen Stranger Things. I'm intrigued.

How bad could it be?

Trilingual

At dinner the other night, Heidi was regaling our neighbors with a tale of another 90s phenomena becoming a current, retro trend. The 20-something daughters of one of our colleagues are all into the idea that there are five love languages, popularized in the 1992 book by Gary Chapman. 

"Dad's love language is physical touch," they tell their mom, gleefully. "What are you going to do about it?"

"Mine is words of affirmation," she responds. "What's he going to do about that?"

Our group was of mixed ages. Some of them were in their 20s and 30s themselves when the notion first gained popularity, but others were not even in their teens then.

"I don't even know what they all are," admitted one woman. "I think I remember my dad talking about it, though. Is there a spending time one?"

"That might fit your dad," her husband pressed her playfully, "but what do you you think you are?"

She looked around at the people she had just hosted for dinner, the baby monitor with her daughter's slumbering image, and the man who was teasing her. "I just like to make sure everybody is taken care of."

"Acts of Service!" the group said in unison.

"I still think she likes to receive gifts," her husband shook his head.

"Who doesn't?" she scoffed, and we all had to agree.

SMH

What I saw:

A man on a bike stopped in the crosswalk staring at the driver of the car he was preventing from moving, even as the light changed. He waved other bikers past, holding his position until the light changed again.

What I heard:

F*ck you! F*ck you! Eat sh#t and die! as the biker finally pushed off and wobbled on his way.

What I thought:

Where has all this anger come from?

What I did:

Turned and walked away.

How I felt:

Angry at the man, furious, really. 

What I understood:

Emotions are contagious. I need to be mindful of what I'm spreading.

No Need to Go into Details

One of the new sixth graders was acting up a bit, so I invited him to my desk for a private conversation. His behavior was so ridiculous that I thought it best to invoke his former schooling to begin. "What elementary school did you go to?" I started.

"Who was your teacher?" I asked when named a school down the road, one where one of my neighbors happens to teach.

Sure enough, my neighbor was indeed his fifth grade teacher.

"Well," I shook my head, "I actually know her. She lives right down the street from me."

His eyes widened a bit and I continued. "What should I say when I see her and tell her that you are in my class now? Can I tell her you are following all the rules and doing what you should?"

He looked down at his feet. "Or should I tell her about how you are behaving today?" I regarded him seriously. 

He lifted his head and shrugged. "Just tell her I said, hi," he answered with a cheeky grin.

I do admit, I laughed.

Choppers

When we were kids, my mom took us to the dentist every six months, without fail, and going to Dr. Jacobs was never bad. We read Highlights magazine in the waiting room and picked out a lollipop after our exam. (Yes! A lollipop! I guess he wanted to secure repeat customers.) And I remember my mom praising the flouride in our water for ensuring our heathy teeth, almost like it was a talisman warding off whatever happened to my dad, who had full dentures by the age of 27.

At any rate, maybe I'm a weirdo, but I still kind of like going to the dentist. I'm sure it helps that I don't have sensitive teeth, in fact I've literally never experienced pain while at the dentist, but I also really appreciate a system that efficiently schedules me every six months, and over the years, I have only missed one regular appointment, and that was because I was out of town for my mother's funeral. 

Even so, I am not immune to the pressure that health professionals seem to naturally apply. The practice I go to touts their sensitivity in their slogan, We cater to cowards,  and the employees are clearly advised to never shame the patients for their hygiene practices. An attentive patient, however, can probably read between the lines when described as having "sensitive gums" after confessing that she does not floss regularly.

And it is indeed flossing that is my weak spot when it comes to dental care. I like to think that it's because I still have my wisdom teeth, and that makes it exceptionally tough to thread my teeth with that length of waxed string, but it could be laziness, too. After running that electric toothbrush over my pearly whites for 2 minutes, I'm ready for bed.

But regular readers may remember, that last March, when my students embarked on their annual 100 day writing challenge, I challenged myself to floss for 100 days. Ever the creature of habit, I succeeded in my challenge, and have continued it, so I was especially eager to go to the dentist today. I wanted to see if Danny, my regular hygienist, would notice any difference.

To be honest? I didn't really think it would make a big difference, but the minute he looked in my mouth, he was even more positive than usual. And when the dentist came in to do his 2 minute check? He gave me the thumbs up. "Keep doing what you're doing," he said over his shoulder as he tossed his exam gloves into the waste bin. "Enjoy the fall and the holidays, and we'll see you next spring!"

Signs Point to Ridiculous

Because we have block schedule, my lesson is the same for two days.

So, what were some of the favorite animals today, you might wonder? Meal worms and tardigrades.

Yeah, this year is going to be a doozy.

How Much Is that Mole Rat in the Window?

The opening activity in English class today was to post a picture of your favorite animal. There is a method to my madness, of course, and today I wanted the sixth graders to figure out how to post images in our Learning Management System, and to remind them that the name of every animal is also a noun. It was also pretty wonderful to begin each class by looking at animals. The fox was a popular choice, as were lions, cheetahs, pandas (red and regular), and of course cats and dogs. 

Seeing what kids choose to share with the whole class can also be very revealing. Most seek out stunning or cute images of the animals they love, but there are always a handful of iconoclasts and contrarians. For most questions, I can usually count on at least one person to ask What if I don't have one? but I don't ever remember such a comment when discussing favorite animals, until today. 

Then there was the guy who posted several screen grabs of non-existent creatures from various anime shows. There were also a few ugly monkeys, and a couple of sloths that really gave me the creeps, and one naked mole rat.

"Is that really your favorite?" I asked the guy who was snickering about his picture with a friend. 

"Oh yes!" he assured me. "Look at those teeth." He pointed at two grotesquely long incisors that ran half the length of the hairless rodent. "They wiggle!"

"Do you have a pet naked mole rat?" I asked.

"I wish!" he answered, and continued the litany of fun facts. "They only have like, twenty-four hairs on their whole body!"

"I don't know why your parents won't get you one," I joked. "They obviously don't shed!"

Until Next Year, Summer

Even though teachers went back to school nearly 3 weeks ago, and kids have already had a four-day week themselves, there's still something about Labor Day weekend that signals the end of summer. It's no matter that the weather was hot, and the pool was open, and we had four days off: there was a shift sometime a little after noon today, right around the time the clouds rolled in. 

And now? I'm sitting at my lap top doing school work.

Cue the rain.

Small World

We spent the evening with some neighbors, hanging out on the back patio and enjoying a classic end-of-summer cookout. The six of us know each other from here, and although we all hail from different parts of the country, in addition to Idaho and Florida and wherever you might say I am from, the other three are from Upstate NY: Buffalo, Rochester, and Utica.

"My dad was from a small town just south of Utica," I said. "Little Falls."

"I know it well," nodded the guy from Utica.

"My sister-in-law is from there," said the gal from Rochester.

On Tap

A couple of years ago I bought a home brewing kit with visions of making my own IPA. When I first got it home, I eagerly opened the box, but was quickly discouraged by what I considered to be an overly complicated set of directions. I repacked the gallon jug, tubing, and plastic airlock, along with the pre-measured packets of grain and hops, and put the kit away for another day. 

When he came to help in the garden yesterday, Treat brought me some hops that he had foraged on his recent trip to Canada and Maine. Hops have many applications, ice cream, chicken marinade, lemonade, and pickles to mention a few, but of course they are most widely known as a flavoring for beer. What else could I do, but dig that kit out again?

In our family, whenever we get a new game, we get Treat to read the directions. He has a gift for quickly grasping the overall concept and then explaining it to us, fielding questions, and consulting the rules when necessary, so that we can get to the game and play. Yesterday, I handed Treat the beer box. "It's too complicated!" I complained. "You have to help me with the directions! Then we can use some of the hops in our very own beer."

"I'm happy to look at it," Treat replied agreeably. "How hard can it be?"

He read the back of the box out loud first. It didn't sound as complex as I remembered. Then he opened the box and admired the equipment, smoothing the printed directions out on the coffee table. "There are 3 steps," he said in his authoritative game master voice, "the mash, the sparge, and the wort."

"See?" I interrupted. "What even is sparge? A noun or a verb?"

"It looks like it can be either," he noted. 

We looked it up on our phones. To sparge means to sprinkle with hot water, especially in brewing.

"Once you sparge the mash, you have your wort," Treat continued.

"No!" I laughed. "Why don't you just take the kit home and teach me how to do it later?"

And bless his heart, that is what he did.

Butternut Bounty

Treat helped me in the garden today and in return, I not only gave him all the butternut squash he wanted (which was only one) I also served him a three course lunch that consisted of butternut squash soup with homemade sourdough bread, butternut squash quesadillas with homemade tortillas and salsa made with homegrown tomatoes and peppers, and finally, butternut squash bread with currants, coriander, and orange. 

What did he do to earn such remuneration? 

Well, among other things, he pulled out the butternut squash vines!

But don't worry! We still have 15 butternut squash to go.

Come Back!

This is the time of year when I most miss my former students. The new kids are sweet, but still? Strangers, and the kids from last year are a little lost as they adjust to their new teachers and schedules. So, we kind of gravitate toward each other.

Today, a couple of of seventh graders stopped by on their way to lunch. At that time, my sixth graders are just going through their starting routine-- posting their answers to the daily question and getting ready to go through the replies, but I enthusiastically invited them in.

"Guys!" I interrupted the class. "We have a couple of visitors from seventh grade! They were in your situation one year ago-- do you have any questions for them?"

The room was silent for a few beats. I heard one sixth grader turn to another and say, "They look so old!"

I was surprised that, when the class finally warmed up, all of their questions were about seventh grade. The older kids answered gamely; to them this was a logical line of inquiry.

"Okay, one more," I announced a few minutes in. "These kids have to go to lunch! Don't you want to know anything about this year?" I suggested. 

The student I had overheard raised his hand. "How can we make sure we don't look really old next year?" He smirked at the guy next to him.

The seventh graders didn't miss a beat. "Skin care," One of them shook her head.

"It's never too early," agreed her friend.

The exchange made me miss them even more.