The New Year Calls

After reviewing my 23 for 23 list, I have concluded that 2023 was a mixed success: I  accomplished 12 of the 23 goals, and I also completed many (but not 12) "holiday" months, including Dry January, Sugar-free February, Meatless March, No Amazon April, Social-media-free May, No Buy July, and Jolly Rancher-less December. 

Somehow I do not feel more improved, but I'm still satisfied. I have no regrets, and never fear: My 24 for 24 list is already written, and tomorrow kicks off "Aloha January" where I practice ukulele for at least 10 minutes a day until the 31st.

Lat's go!

First World Problem

Still not feeling quite 100%, I decided to take a shortcut and rather than fight other holiday shoppers, order the groceries I need for the next couple of marquis days— New Years Eve, which is also our anniversary, and New Years Day when any family in town comes over to share our traditional lucky meal. 

On my list were some lobster tails for our usual anniversary dinner, along with chicken, ham, corn, rice, and some pantry staples. I’m usually pretty conscientious about checking the ‘no substitution’ box, but I needed some milk to get started with my preparations, and so I went through item-by-item to designate my instructions. 

I obviously missed something, though, because this morning I got a message that my order was out for delivery with one substitution. A couple of taps on my phone revealed that somebody thought it was a good idea to substitute smoked salmon for the lobster. I was appalled and irritated, but there wasn’t much I could do but keep clicking through to request a refund. 

When the order arrived, I was relieved that I had only one package of smoked salmon instead of the four that the notification suggested, but it was still aggravating to have to go out anyway.

Out with the Old

“I’m going through my closet,” my brother told me when I called this afternoon.

“That’s so funny,” I replied, “we’re going through a bunch of stuff, too. We’re going to make a donation run a little later.”

After we hung up I took the dog out and ran into a couple of our neighbors. “What have you guys been up to?” I asked.

“We’re cleaning out the storage unit and moving everything to a cheaper place,” AJ informed me, a bag of old binders over his shoulder as he headed for the trash.

“Wanna see pictures?” his wife, Lauren, pulled out her phone. “We went through everything and got rid of  a ton of stuff before we moved and organized the rest. Current situation right here.” She showed me an image of a very neatly arranged space. “It even has labels!” she reported proudly.

“That’s so funny,” I answered for the second time today and told them about our planned trip to the thrift shop. I also agreed to take along a box of books they had and donate them as well.

The turn lane into the parking lot was backed up for a couple of light cycles, and when we got to the donation site there was a line of cars ahead of us unloading their cast-offs. “It seems like everybody has the same idea,” Heidi said.

That’s for sure!

We're Game

"Riley asked us if anyone was getting you games for Christmas," Emily told me, "but since we already had the bike helmet, I said no."

"I did look at a lot of games for you before that, though," my brother added. "So either way, you would have had some new games."

We were talking at the table after enjoying the delicious Christmas feast that Bill had prepared, having earlier played a couple of fun rounds of Cascadia, one of the games that Riley got me for Christmas. And while there wasn't time later in the evening to break out my other new game, Hardback, we made plans to play the very next day.

Which we did. Today we wiled away three hours just scratching the surface of that rather complex deck-building/word game, while others came and went and napped and woke. Right near the end of the game, the sun broke through the pervasive overcast skies of the last few days, and we all blinked at the reminder that there was indeed a world elsewhere.

Let it All Go

Sometime this afternoon it occurred to me that I actually have a job and I may have to do some work before I return to it next Tuesday. So preoccupied have I been with holiday travel and celebration that I have not thought about school once since I walked out the door a week ago.

Now that's a break.

Pop Pop Pop

Days of indulgent eating finally caught up with me last night when my brother offered me a cookie and I realized I literally could not eat it without hurling. Unfortunately, my condition did not improve overnight, and this morning it felt as if every single thing I had eaten in the last three days was still in there, which it probably was based on my recollection of recent restroom activity. 

Generally, I don't even get a little indigestion, so I wasn't sure how to address the nausea, cramping, and headache, and the light of the screen hurt my eyes when I tried to do some research. I was a sorry sack of, well, you-know-what, until I finally barfed and then took an even more extreme measure to get my digestion flowing again. 

Tonight I'm feeling slightly recovered and have high hopes I'll be feeling fine and ready for some holiday moderation tomorrow.

So True

 Stocking gifts from my sister-in-law:

On to the Next Thing!

We needed to make a quick Target run today, and boy was it depressing. 

The place was a mess: the holiday wrapping and decoration department ransacked, empty refrigerators where once there was egg nog, cookie dough, and peppermint mocha, and a traffic jam of carts full of items to be reshelved.

No one was making any effort to remedy the disarray. Instead all available employees seemed to be making room for the storage and organization push that follows the winter holidays, as well as preparing the Valentines Day displays. On Christmas Eve, Christmas was already over.

Until next October.

Team Player

I try to be go-along-get-along, but there are some times where it’s really hard. “You’re father and I never had to wait for a table when we went with the silver-hairs,” Heidi’s mom told us as we were trying to figure out how best to avoid the Friday night fish-fry crowd.

“What’s time was that?” Heidi asked.

“Three, three-thirty,” her mom replied.

“That’s a little too early for me,” I blurted out. “I don’t think I’ll be ready for dinner then.”

“Well I don’t want to wait in line for forty-five minutes,” Heidi’s brother said, which was fair, and we ended up pushing the fish fry to tonight.

Which has unfortunately turned into another story of inflexibility and compromise, but I’ll set it aside and get ready for my early-bird special.

Just Plain Old

“I never really went in for antiques,” Heidi’s mom told us tonight at dinner. We were making plans for tomorrow, and Heidi and I were telling her about a local craft store that had an antique place connected to it.

“I’m not really interested in true antiques or even furniture,” I explained. “To be honest, at this point, I just love seeing stuff from my childhood.”

“I don’t think of that as antique at all,” Louise shrugged.

I raised my 61-year-old eyebrows at my 77-year-old mother-in-law. “Can we agree on vintage?”

Neverending Story

Our conversation on the eight-hour road trip to Buffalo today was fun and far-ranging, as always. We talked about music, books, kids at school, politics, history, Christmas, dogs, and more, waxing both practical and philosophical. 

We were playing name that tune somewhere in Pennsylvania and Brittany Spears was singing about the only thing she wanted for Christmas (this year), when I turned to Heidi.

"You know what I think?" I asked. Without waiting for her reply, I continued. "All Hallmark Christmas movies have kind of sad endings."

"How so?" she asked in return.

"They're all about the build-up to Christmas," I explained, "but Christmas is always over when they end. It's kind of sad."

She nodded.

"I do think they're aware of it, though," I added. "I've noticed that lately a few of them end with a little one-year later scene. I think they do that on purpose to remind you that Christmas comes every year, and it will be here again before you know it."

"Could be," she agreed.

"I'm sure of it," I said, and hit scan on both the radio and the conversation. 

All I Want for Christmas

With the holiday season upon us, I asked the sixth graders this week if they would rather choose their gifts or be surprised.  In this age of fancy electronic gift lists with convenient links to the gifts of choice, I expected my concrete operationalists to be all about the choice, but I got a surprise of my own when the numbers came in 3 to 1 for being surprised.

And even though Heidi told me the research shows that people almost always imagine a good surprise and that in reality, surprises are more satisfying for the gift giver than the gift receiver, the data warmed my heart.

One for You and You and You

"Every step of this writing piece is a mini-lesson!" my co-teacher sighed this afternoon. We had just spent an hour and a half repeating a unit's worth of class instruction to the 21 individual students in the class, and we were tired and a little aggravated. Generally, it seems like that is where these sixth graders are. They were second graders when schools shut down for COVID and third graders when we started virtually the next fall, and so they were on the verge of independent learning in school but required a lot of hand-holding and supervision at home.

And so here we are: many of these kids have learned that there is no need to listen to whole-class instruction, because before too long an adult will come and explain it to them personally. And that is pretty much what we did.

So now the question is, how to break the cycle?

Stay tuned.

Stop the Train

"That's Zach," Heidi said and stepped over to the family who was checking out with the cashier next to ours.

I looked at the awkward teen and cocked my head. I had seen him staring at himself in a mirror when we first entered the store. Did it seem a little off? Sure, but kids do weird stuff all the time, and I often have a front-row seat. Did I recognize him? Nope, and chalking it up to weird teenage behavior, I promptly forgot.

But now, there he was, the child who had been in my homeroom six years ago, the same boy whose picture I keep framed behind my desk, the kid who challenged us all with his scripting and impulsivity and moody oppostionalism. He was like the purest version of any tween, unfiltered and raw. To love him, which we did, was proof that we were meant to be middle school teachers.

"Do you remember me?" Heidi was saying. "I'm so happy to see you!"

He rocked toe to heel, toe to heel, unsure of how to react to this unexpected turn of events. "It's your teacher from TJ," his mom told him.

"You're so tall!" Heidi said. "You look great!"

"Yes I do," he agreed.

"Do you remember Ms. S?" Heidi asked him, and he gave me a bit of a side-eye.

"Zachary, Zachary, stop the train!" I said, repeating an old script of his.

He stopped rocking. "Oh my Lord!" he answered in a voice deeper but still full of the same energy I knew.

We laughed and the cashier handed his mom her receipt. "Nice to see you," she smiled as they rolled their cart past us and toward the exit. 

"Bye Zachary," we waved, but he was already gone.

It's Coming to Town

My timing is off.

Starting with our school calendar, which keeps us in school for three days after surrounding districts are already on winter break, and adding to that situation a change in our traditional travel plans, plus the loss of Heidi's dad, and a few other things, and I can barely keep track of the date.

The tree is up, the lights are on, but the ornaments are still stored away. As of this morning, I hadn't baked a single tea cake, my personal favorite, but several other varieties were ready to be exchanged and shared. My shopping? Is mostly done, I think, which is good, because since we're teaching the next three days and then heading to Buffalo on Thursday, I'm not sure when else I would finish.

It seems like only yesterday it was late November after an early Thanksgiving, but weeks ago we couldn't find a tree (until we did!). Despite it all, I don't feel anxious or stressed in the least, a little disoriented maybe, but perfectly calm even so. Because, as the Grinch learned,  Christmas will come, even without ribbons and tags, packages, boxes, and bags.

Not that I intend to find out, though!

The Way it Crumbles

"I was looking at the Cooky Book this afternoon, " Heidi told my brother as they chatted at dinner. "Do you know it?"

Bill's eyebrows shot up and a dreamy little smile crossed his face. "Do you mean THE Cooky Book?" he asked.

From my seat down the table, I laughed as Heidi nodded.

"The one where every page is worn because we looked at every picture so many times?" he continued.

"Some of the pages are loose," Heidi confirmed.

I turned to the younger people at the table and explained. "Our mom used to give us that cookbook on rainy days."

"Oh, so you could choose the cookies you wanted to make?" my nephew's wife asked.

My brother and I shook our heads. "We didn't actually make the cookies," I said, and to be honest,  I never even considered that to have been an option, then or in the 50+ years since. "We just looked at the pictures." 

"We don't really think about it, but baking is expensive," my sister-in-law said. "Your family probably couldn't afford just to make cookies because it was raining."

And she was likely right, but I never really thought about it until now. Even so, we sure did love to look at that Cooky Book, and I can’t say I ever felt deprived. 

I Do Have a Job Y'Know

"What are you doing here?" one of my students asked as I walked down the hall toward the library. "You're not in your room?" She seemed genuinely confused, but I laughed as I breezed by. 

"I have a meeting," I explained.

And I had completely forgotten the interaction when the next day I passed through the after-school program in the cafeteria on my way to a basketball game. "What are you doing here?" another of my students asked. Then her face brightened. "Are you here to see me?"

Again I laughed. "I'm on my way to the game," I told her. "Why don't you come?"

And then yesterday, when a few kids were using my room for their Asr prayers during my planning time, I chose to give them some space and take a walk around the building. "What are you doing here?" asked a colleague as I strode down the hall. "It's not often that you leave your area."

Clearly, I need to get out more.

If only I didn't have so much work.

Every Time a Bell Rings

I'm in between books, having just finished Heaven and Earth Grocery Store, and so I was looking for a podcast to listen to while I cook. In the mood for a little holiday flavor, I happened across one called George Bailey Was Never Born. I was all in to hear the backstory of one of my favorite Christmas movies, dark as it may be, and at first, the show really delivered, explaining how the film went from obscurity to one of the most well-known and well-loved movies of all time. 

But near the end of the first episode, following an overview of all the pop-culture references made to the movie in the 80s, there was a line drawn from Mr. Potter to Biff Tannen, casino owner and powerful bad guy in Back to the Future II. From there it was just a hop, skip, and a jump to Donald Trump, casino owner and powerful bad guy in the real world today. And when the narrator reminded us "dear listeners" that we live in a world where George Bailey was never born, I literally gasped.

Fortunately? The podcast promises to be about more than just the movie, offering future episodes about what we can do to fight the rise of Potterville, Biff's Pleasure Paradise, and other evils. 

I will definitely stay tuned.

Zoinks!

I confiscated an iPad from a student who was playing games in homeroom after the bell rang. "You know better!" I told him as I placed his device out of reach. "What do you have to say?"

In reply, he made a strange noise. 

"What was that?" I asked.

"Just gulping," he said.

Not Today

"Where do you think he is?" asked a gruff voice to my right. I was sitting near the end of the long rows of chairs at the DMV, watching Heidi negotiate the paperwork for her Real ID.

"I don't know. Go ask." a woman's voice behind me answered. 

I didn't want to crane my neck and look at either of them, but the drama had me hooked. 

"Ooooooh! There's ketchup!" a little kid chimed in and I could smell fast food being unwrapped.

"I think he's sitting in the car," said the man, and when I glanced over he was peering out the plate glass door.

"Isn't that the guy?" asked his companion.

"Yup," he answered.

"Eat a french fry," she told the child. "Go ask," she repeated to the man.

I watched the tall, grey-haired guy in a flannel hoodie shuffle up to the service window next to Heidi.

"How was it?" he asked. 

I couldn't hear the reply of the uniformed man behind the safety glass.

"He's my grandson," the other man explained.

I saw him nodding and when he turned to return to the rows of chairs he was not smiling. "He said that there was a problem. When he told him to come to a full stop and turn left, he didn't do it," the man reported to the lady behind me.

"Well," she said, "he must be upset. Let's go."

And the three of them pushed their way out into the dark December late afternoon. Heidi was smiling for her picture, but I was feeling a little sad for the kid in the car.

To God's Ears

The local weather folk have been making noises about an extra-snowy winter this year. Something about the combination of El Nino and some polar situation has made it likely that our snow draught may soon end. As for myself, I usually only pay attention when wintery weather is imminent, otherwise, wishful thinking can just break your heart.

Even so, my two new students who have only recently moved to the US from Nigeria and Kenya were very excited this morning in first period. The slushy dusting of wet snow that coated our cars and yards overnight was the first these girls had ever seen, and they were not disappointed.

"Hopefully you'll get to see even more this winter," my co-teacher told them.

"Yeah," said another student at their table, "A LOT more."

Last Minute Contributions

We met some neighbors down at a new pub last evening, enjoying good company, Buffalo cauliflower bites, and giant arcade games. Noon today found us on our way to a Hannukah party, with more great food, dreidle games, and menorah lighting. A little while later we were on our way for chili and football at yet another get-together with friends.

I'm pretty sure we practically doubled our social life for the year in the last 24 hours!

One Tree

We were a little dismayed yesterday afternoon when we stopped after school at a local nursery to pick out our Christmas tree. Every single medium tree was sold out, leaving enormous Douglas firs, which ran between two and five hundred dollars, and a variety of small trees. "What about that one?" Heidi pointed at a white pine. "It would be different."

"It looks like Cousin It to me," I scoffed and a few minutes later we left with a plan to try again today. 

Once at home, I thought it might be fun to go for a bit of a drive and maybe even cut down a tree at a farm, but my research revealed that we had missed that opportunity. Despite the fact that it was not even a double-digit December date, every website I checked said that they were closed for the season. They did wish me a happy holiday, though.

This morning we decided to start with the relatively bargain-priced trees at a nearby big box store. Trolling their nursery, we were once again disappointed to see that the trees in our size range were slim pickings. I was about to give up, when I spotted a few trees leaning on a wall apart from the rest. A sign identified them as $180 Douglas firs, but the one on the end looked a bit out of place. Sure enough, when we tilted it toward us to take a look, it was a 50-buck Frasier fir of just the right size.

God bless us, every one.

Morality Tale

So we were talking about leadership as it relates to the short folk tale "The Empty Pot" in class today. 

The story revolves around an aging emperor who sends out seeds to every child in the kingdom announcing that whoever grows the best plant will be his successor. A young boy named Ping is known for his green thumb, but try as he might, he can't get any of the seeds to sprout. 

Over the next few months Ping frets and cries, and on the day of the judging he is tempted to stay home, but his father advises him to go anyway, confident in the fact that he did his best. At the palace, Ping is embarrassed to see all the beautiful plants the other young folk have brought, but the emperor is drawn to his empty pot. It turns out all the seeds were sterile, and Ping becomes the successor because he was the only one honest and brave enough to bring his best effort.

Any claim for an argument essay must be debatable, and so I usually play devil's advocate and make the case that Ping really isn't suited for the throne. Many students gasp when they first hear my thesis, but they warm up to it when I point out that he is a crybaby and generally too timid to be an emperor. "Plus," I always say, "who thinks a leader should always be honest? The emperor himself deceives everyone when he sends those seeds out. Can there be such a thing as being too honest?" I shrug

Today that little cheater from my homeroom was in my class. "Yes!" he nodded his head vigorously in agreement. "Look at Trump! He definitely knows a good leader doesn't have to be honest."

When Did That Happen?

"Are you the oldest teacher in the school?" one of my students asked the other day when we were talking about how long I had been teaching here.

"No!" I scoffed.

"Then who is?" asked the cheeky kid.

"That's not my news to share," I informed him, but then I started thinking. Exactly how many of my colleagues are older than I am? 

Turns out, not many. There are just four out of a staff of nearly 100: three who are a couple years older and one who is a month older. I'm not sure why I was so surprised, but I was. I know a lot of people have come and gone in the 30 years I have been here, and it only makes sense that I would be one of the senior staff members both in years of service and age, but somehow that last data point got past me.

Like I've said before, when all the kids stay the same age, it's hard to imagine that you're not a little bit ageless as well.

Chutzpah

We had a modified schedule today for early release and the winter concert, so I had a little time to play some games with my homeroom students. 

Although I've been playing games with kids for practically my entire life, I was still a little appalled at the blatant attempts to cheat by the student on my left. I caught him several times taking advantage of the fact that everyone at the table besides me was learning the game and slipping extra cards into his hand or onto the discard pile. Every time I called him out, he just shrugged and laughed and waited until my attention was elsewhere so that he could try again. Nothing would make him stop, short of kicking him out of the game.

But that's okay-- because now I know I must keep a closer eye on that one.

My Little Carnival

"Can I shoot some baskets?"

"Can I roll the dice?"

"Can I throw some darts?"

"Can I guess a card?"

A dozen voices whirled around me as a group of 6th, 7th, and 8th graders stopped by after the dismissal bell to try their luck and win a Jolly Rancher.

"Sure!" was my answer to one and all, "but the limit is 2 pieces of candy."

In less than five minutes they were gone. "That was fun," I said to myself.

"Thank you, Ms. S!" answered a voice from the hall as I returned to my work.

Cookies Win

I was double-booked after school today when both the girls' mentor group and the committee examining the feasibility of maintaining teams in our middle school were meeting. I like cookies, and I enjoy being a mentor to one of our sixth graders, but I dropped off my lemon squares and made my apologies to my mentee, and headed off to the committee.

Splitting a grade level into several interdisciplinary teams is one of the foundations of the middle school model. Both research and my personal experience over the last three decades have shown that a smaller group of educators who share a single team can better support the students we all know and teach. Academic intervention, behavior management, activity planning, and school-home communication are all more effective and consistent with a team. Kids in sixth grade in particular make the transition to middle school much more smoothly when they are assisted by a common cadre of teachers,

Even so, the team model is threatened at our school by district requirements for intensified and inclusion classes which make staffing and scheduling a challenge, so hell yeah I skipped the cookies. Unfortunately, less than half of the volunteer committee showed up, and we were unable to make much progress on our goal of gathering information, problem-solving, and offering a recommendation. Several of the no-shows were actually at the mentor meeting, which I'm afraid does not bode well for teams.

Uncomplicated

I recently updated the operating system on my smartwatch, and,  as I always do, I eagerly checked to see what new watch faces were available. Clicking around in the watch app, I soon landed on a cute little snoopy face and I tapped to add it to my favorites.

It was really just a gesture, though, because, for the last many years, my watch face has been the analog time superimposed on my activity rings. Seeing my progress at a glance has become second nature, if not always as motivating as it used to be, and I wasn't inclined to make any changes. The "complications" or other widgets I kept on the face were the timer, the weather, in the upper corners, and the exercise tracker on the bottom, and I liked having those apps literally at my fingertips.

But when I put my watch on for the first time after updating, Snoopy skated across the face with Woodstock fluttering behind. That's cute, I thought, and swiped to return to my old standby, which for some reason didn't happen. When I looked again, Snoopy took off from the minute hand with helicopter ears, which made me giggle a little. 

I looked to see how to add other widgets to the Snoopy face, but soon found I could not. Flipping my wrist to examine my watch, I observed Beagle Scout Snoopy jump off the hour hand with five little Woodstocks behind him, and I was charmed enough to keep the face for a while.

Over the last week, I've enjoyed dozens of animations that change with the time, the weather, and the season, and so far every one tickles me whenever I check the time. I've discovered I don't need to be ready to set a timer at any moment, or instantly know the details of my activity or the temperature outside, or even track my exercise with a single tap. Just watching Snoopy fish from the minute hand and catch Woodstock is enough.

For now.

Olden Days

"What does this mean?" a student asked, pointing to the story he was reading. 

I looked at the text, I slammed down the phone, it read.

"Why would anyone slam their phone?" wondered the student. "Wouldn't it break?"

"I can understand your confusion," I laughed, "but he's talking about a landline." I walked over and picked up the receiver on my classroom phone. "You know how to hang this up, right?"

He looked at me in confusion. 

"She means, end the call," another student supplied.

"Right," I agreed putting the receiver down. "This is called hanging up, and sometimes when people were mad or excited they would slam down the receiver." I picked up the handset and demonstrated.

"Ooooooh," said the first student. "I guess that makes sense?" 

"That was a good question," I assured him.

He went back to reading, and I shook my head. It had recently occurred to me that I am 50 years older than the people I spend most of my time with, and boy! Was that half-century showing!

You Oughta Be an Editor

As I mentioned earlier in the week, there actually were several typos in many of the stories I hastily converted from PDF to text last week, and today I put a bounty on them. Explaining the situation, I told the students that any reader who could find a mistake in a story could have a piece of candy if they knew how to correct it, too.

Oh my!

I have never seen such a close reading of any text! Not only did they read the stories carefully for meaning, they went back a few times to make sure they hadn't left any candy on the table. 

When the assistant principal stopped by to observe for a few minutes I explained what was going on. "To be honest," I told her, "I'm thinking about purposely adding typos to everything from now on!"

Still Got It

I'm always surprised when I bring back a brain break from years past, and it doesn't go as I thought it would. Perhaps it is to be expected; I know from experience that I must tweak my lessons and units from year to year to accommodate the different learners I have, so why should other activities be any different?

Today, I dug out the chopsticks and superballs for the brain break, and it just wasn't quite as much fun as it was last year. The kids still had a good time, and it was an effective movement break, but it was a little flat. 

I stood holding a super ball in a pair of chopsticks and pondering the situation as my last class settled back to work. When the ball slipped from my grip, I automatically grabbed for it with the chopsticks, and to my surprise and delight, plucked the ball out of the air.

"Whoa! Did you see that?" one kid gasped. "Can you do it again?"

"Maybe," I laughed, "I used to be able to do it all the time."

"When?" asked someone.

"In graduate school," I shrugged, "about 40 years ago!"

"Can I record you?" said the first student.

"Go ahead," I agreed, and it took a few tries, but I managed to catch it again. "Let's see the video," I said.

The student pulled it up and scrolled forward to the point right before I successfully caught the ball. "Whoa!" she said again. "Do you see the look on your face?"

It was pure delight.

As it Should Be

"There's a typo in this story," one of my students complained today.

"Show me," I asked him because I knew it was entirely possible. I had spent a tedious couple of hours over the weekend converting PDFs to text so that they would work with the read-aloud function of our learning management system. This particular student was someone I knew would benefit from both hearing and seeing the text of the story as he read.

He pointed to a word on the page and said, "I think this must be spelled wrong. I've never seen it before."

The word was 'ought', and I nodded at him. "I can see where you might not know that word; we don't really use it that often, but it means 'should'."

"I learned a new word today!" he marveled.

"It's a good one," I agreed. "You should know it."

"Do you mean I ought know it?" he laughed.

"Yes!" I answered. "We would say, 'You ought to know it.'"

"Well, now I do," he assured me, and went back to the story.

Do I Know You?

A substitute walked into my room yesterday morning. "I'm here for your co-teacher," she said in a friendly and confident voice.

"Great," I answered, "but she has a homeroom of her own, so I won't see you until 8:30."

"Riiiight," she replied, "but I will see you soon!"

I was impressed again by her manner when she returned for first period. She was so helpful and engaged, both with the kids and my instruction.She also seemed very at home with me and the class. When it was time for her to go to her next period, I thanked her warmly. "Best sub ever!" I laughed, only half joking.

"I don't have a login," she told me as she picked up her bag, "so I couldn't get the announcements to work for homeroom this morning."

I nodded sympathetically.

"Was Annika on?" she asked. 

That's when it clicked! She seemed familiar, because she was the parent of a former student who is now in 8th grade. "No, she wasn't," I told her, "which is a shame, because I do love seeing the kids, especially after they leave my class."

"It's fun for me to see her when I'm here," she agreed, and I was able to nod with understanding. When she was gone, I wondered if she brought her daughter up so that I would know who she was. If so, I was grateful for her tactful approach.

Just a Sliver

"Pie or ice cream?" I asked as a simple warm-up question in keeping with the season this morning. 

The question was also a throwback to 2006 when a colleague and I started our first online writing community. In those pre-social media days, we were not prepared for how popular the discussion threads would be. Nor did we expect the robust debates that our sixth graders would have over issues such as pie or ice cream. 

Kids were on our LMS discussion board almost 24 hours a day writing back and forth to each other. They used the basic introductions of themselves as sort of home pages, posting messages and updates as replies to the original assignment. We spent hours every week moderating thousands of posts. In retrospect, if we could have capitalized on the idea, it's not that farfetched to think we might be billionaires.

But today, I was not prepared for the stomping that pie got. "What are you? Eleven?" I finally asked when the tally was somewhere around 34-5 in favor of ice cream.

"Yes!" they roared.

From then on, I began to privately view the results as a maturity test; those who preferred pie were obviously more advanced than those who blindly gravitated toward the very simple pleasure of frozen dairy. 

Which I do not dislike-- to the contrary, I love ice cream!

It's just not

pie.

Fireside

The cats were a little cranky with us when we got home yesterday. And who can blame them? We had been gone 17 of the last 23 days. We do have a good cat sitter, but although that eases our minds when we are away, it doesn't seem to make the cats any less standoffish when we return to them.

Fortunately, Heidi knows them well, and when they were tip-toeing about last night, unwilling to be the lap kitties they usually are, she suggested that I build a fire. And that did the trick! They fairly ran to the living room to join us and bask in the warmth of both flames and family.

Indeed, something there is about burning wood that kindles everyone's primordial desire to come together around the flame and let it fend off whatever darkness we may be feeling.

Thick and Flat

"Pennsylvania?" asked the woman next to me in line at McDonalds this morning. We were in a tiny North Carolina town fueling up for our road trip home from the beach.

I thought she meant the grape jelly I had just requested to go with Heidi's sausage biscuit, so I shook my head and pointed at the wife. "Nope, Buffalo, NY."

"Oh," the other woman sighed, "your voice sounded a lot like my aunt's, and she's from Pennsylvania." Her own voice had a thick Carolina drawl.

I shrugged and smiled, unwilling to take the time to correct our miscommunication. "Have a good one," I told her as I grabbed the bag and headed back to the car. 

Later as we drove north, I pondered her question and just what she might have heard in my voice that suggested Pennsylvania. Like most people, I consider my speech to be completely unaccented. Having lived in many different places probably supports the illusion, since I am unable to point to a single place that I am "from." A few years ago, I took a quiz in the NYTimes that was supposed to detect how my speech reveals where I am from, but the results were inconclusive.

Interestingly enough, I did spend some formative years right across the Delaware River from Pennsylvania, but I don't hear either Philly or South Jersey in my voice, probably because we didn't spend enough time there.

Even so, some things stick from those days. Yesterday when we were at lunch, the sodas we ordered came flat. For my seltzer, it wasn't a big deal, but my brother's cola was another story. "It tastes like, what was the name of that stuff people used to serve in New Jersey?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," I grimaced, "that cola-flavored syrup that they used to mix with water? I hated that stuff!"

"Me, too," he agreed, and we spent the next few minutes searching our memories and our phones for the name of it. 

Takaboost, or now, simply Boost!, was and is a hyper-local phenomenon, manufactured and primarily consumed in Burlington County, New Jersey, where we lived at the time. According to the press, it is either A flat, thick,weird-tasting soda you'll only find in New Jersey or This NJ-made drink tastes like flat Coke and we can't get enough of it.

Right! Just add wooter.

The Right Fit

As we are inclined to do when on vacation, Emily and I speculated about what life might be like if we lived here on Topsail Island as we walked down the beach this morning. "You could be a turtle monitor," she suggested to me, "and walk the beach every morning looking for turtle tracks. That seems like something you would like."

I nodded in agreement. "I could also look for shell letters every day, and keep them sorted into 26 piles for future spelling projects," I laughed, stooping to examine a zigzaggy piece of coral. 

"You could have a little Etsy shop and take orders for custom signs," she said. "And maybe even branch out to other collections: woodlands, fields, you know."

"That would be fun! Maybe I could source my materials from specific locations, too. Then I could travel!" I replied, turning the coral over in my hand thoughtfully. "Does this look like an S to you?" I asked.

"Maybe," Emily answered skeptically, "if you turn it the right way? It all depends on the context."

"That's very true," I agreed and tossed it aside as we continued on in companionable silence, each scanning the sand for our own sort of treasure.

Shell Games

While the weather here, for the most part, has been lovely, especially for November, as much time as we have spent walking the beach we have found the beachcombing to be a bit underwhelming. Although on the first morning, I found a whole sea biscuit and we did find those two shark teeth, the rest of our finds have been broken shells, bits of coral, and quartz stones. 

Rarely one content to simply walk, however, I set myself a project: to find broken shells, stones, and coral in the shapes of the letters of my name. That occupied one walk the other day, and I was pleased with the results, even if my brother did say it looks more like Tracky than Tracey.

This morning when we woke to blue skies and warm sunshine after the all-day deluge of yesterday, we decided to skip the parade and head for the beach instead. Today my project was more ambitious and fitting for the holiday; I searched for the letters to spell Thanksgiving. And a couple of hours later, with the help of everyone, I had a pocket full of options and optimism. 

Call it confirmation bias, but once again I was plenty satisfied with my efforts (especially after turning that e into a k), even after Treat posted Happy Planksgiving! to our family chat.

UPDATE: As if cooking and puzzling were not enough, we have also been tweaking the message this afternoon.

Fancy

"I'll have the "Fancy Grilled Cheese"," Heidi said as she scanned the menu at the sandwich shop. "I don't know what it is, but how could any grilled cheese be bad?"

A little while later we sat at an outdoor picnic table and unwrapped our sandwiches. Heidi examined hers skeptically. "Is this rye bread?" she asked before taking a bite. Her nose wrinkled and she set her sandwich down. "It is rye bread and there is also bacon and relish." She sighed. "I guess this is the grilled cheese that proved me wrong."

On the way back to the beach house we passed a place advertising fancy sushi. "Let's not," Heidi said.

They Have Those Here?

"I saw a postcard in that gift shop yesterday that showed how to identify shark teeth," Emily mentioned as we were walking down the beach this morning. The tide had just turned and we were examining the scatter of mostly broken shells and shiny quartz drops. "I wonder if that means they have them here."

"I keep seeing things that seem like they could be," I noted, "but they just turn out to be shell hinges or some other fragment."

Just then Bill leaned down and plucked a small black triangle from the sand. "Here's a real one!" he said. 

And then a few steps down the beach something shiny and black caught my eye. It was another shark tooth! 

"I guess that answers that," Emily said.

Gesundheit

Is sneezing a symptom of COVID? I wondered as I achooed for the fourth time in a row. 

Alone in my room, I wiped my snotty nose and squirted some hand sanitizer on my palm before grabbing my phone to research the question. A quick Google informed me that, yes, sneezing has been recently added to the documented symptoms of COVID-19, but only for people who have been vaccinated. 

Yet another strange twist in the pathology of this ever-so-disruptive virus.

Family Support

Sitting in the car waiting for Heidi to finish the grocery shopping, I watched a huge pickup truck slowly back into a parking space a little ways down from me. The driver maneuvered the big vehicle slowly but accurately until I heard the crank of an emergency brake and the engine shut down. Out of the truck tumbled two tall young men, a burly guy who was likely their dad, and a smiling woman I took as their mom. 

"Great parking job, Kaia!" one of them practically rejoiced.

"You sure got it in there," the dad agreed.

I craned my neck to see a teenage girl emerging from the driver's seat, grinning proudly.

One of her brothers high-fived her, and her mom gave her a hug. "Nice parking job!" she told Kaia.

And then the five of them happily headed into the grocery store.

Double Deep

I've had a lot of strange dreams in my life, but last night was a first: in my dreams I kept falling asleep! 

It was that type of nodding off where when the people around you ask if you're sleeping, you blearily snap to, insisting that you. are. AWAKE! 

But I wasn't awake, even when I was awake.

'Nuff Said

What are the qualities of a good babysitter? was the warm-up question in preparation of reading a short story where the sitter makes questionable choices. I encouraged the students to think both as the one being cared for and the one who takes care of younger kids.

Responsible was the number one answer, along with fun and nice, but when one boy wrote brave, I had to ask. "Why does a babysitter have to be brave?"

He puffed out his chest. "They do if they want to take care of me," he explained.

Sylvia

This evening as I picked up a few things at Target, I turned when I heard my name. 

I often see students and former students when I'm out and about, but it's rare that they either 1) notice me (the solipsism of childhood) or 2) actually approach me on their own, and so my interactions with them are often limited to a wave or an awkward conversation. 

Tonight was an exception, though. The student who spotted me came right over and initiated a conversation. "Are you here for more Jolly Ranchers?" she asked, and what followed was a perfectly appropriate interaction between two people who know each other and run into each other unexpectedly.

I shouldn't have been surprised though. When I asked all the students what they had been up to in the time that I was away for Heidi's dad's funeral, she posted, "I went to Ikea and crocheted."

"You are an old soul," I laughed. "That sounds like a very nice weekend."

Capitlizing on His Strengths

The warm-up question was What superpower would you like and how could you use it to help the world?

At 8 a.m. my homeroom students were so bleary that many could not think of a thing, or so they claimed. "All right," I told them skeptically, "but everyone needs an answer before the bell rings, otherwise you can come at lunch and we can brainstorm ideas together."

The implicit threat got them talking a little, all except A. who was busy eating his breakfast long after the time to finish it had passed. As he lifted the spoonful of cereal to his mouth, we made eye contact, and I raised my eyebrows to remind him to eat quietly, a conversation we have had many times this year.

When class was almost over, I started asking about superpowers. Some chose telekinesis, others invisibility, and still others super strength or super speed. As A. got up to throw his tray away, I asked him what superpower he wanted.

"Oh," he answered, "I'd want to be a super slurper." 

I laughed out loud at such an unexpected idea, but one of the girls who sits at the same table with him sighed. "Oh A," she said, "that is the last thing you need!"

Archaic

The suffix was -wise and the example word was clockwise in the vocabulary lesson I taught today.

"Do you know what that word means?" I asked the class, and most of the kids nodded. They understood that the hands on an analog clock go around in a certain direction, and so "clockwise" meant rotating to the right. They understood this, even though many of them were unable to actually tell the time using an analog clock. 

"It's too hard," explained one student. "I have to look at the numbers and the lines and count them."

"Yeah," one of her classmates agreed. "It takes a long time to figure it out."

I glanced at the clock and noted the time; it was automatic for me. "I guess knowing how to tell analog time is like speaking another language," I offered. "The more fluent you are, the easier it is to read. Then one day you don't even have to think about it anymore."

"But I can just look at my phone," the first student shrugged, and I wondered how long clockwise would stay in our language.

The Heart Grows Fonder

Usually going back to school after several days away stresses me out, and I toss and turn fitfully the night before my return. That was not the case last night, though. I slept quite soundly, confident that I was prepared for my reentry, despite having to tweak my lessons from past years. And the day went very well-- I was happy to see the kids, and they seemed pleased to have me back. Plus, the feedback from the substitutes was all positive; something unheard of, especially in recent years. I felt more comfortable in the job than I have so far this year, which is weird but certainly not unwelcome.

Sweet Home

Bread is rising.
Greens are blanched.
Garlic is roasted.
Peppers are drying.
Beans are soaked.
Tests are graded.
Lessons are planned.
Fire is started.

And there is still a lot more to catch up on, but it sure is good to be home.

Calling In

We breezed home from Buffalo in record time today. In fact, we were about 5 miles from home before the idea of heavy traffic or a delay even occurred to me. "Hey!" I turned to Heidi, "Can you believe it? The roads have been--"

Just then the map app blinked and blue turned to yellow as I hit the brakes for the first time in our whole trip.

But we still made it back in under 7 hours!

One Final Event

For loved ones, the details and demands of planning any funeral are likely to be emotionally exhausting. But a full-on traditional, Buffalo-style Catholic funeral is even more so, if possible.

In the past week, we have planned and attended three sessions of open-casket visiting hours, a full funeral mass, a procession to the cemetery, a graveside service, and finally, a memorial celebration for 30 people at Heidi's dad's favorite restaurant tonight. 

And, as much as everyone is looking forward to returning to their everyday lives, getting some rest, and beginning to navigate a new normal without Gary, when everything is all over? It's really over. 

And that will be hard.

Hatters Gonna Hat, Part 2

Coincidentally the only hat I brought with me to Buffalo has a similar origin story to the one I wrote about yesterday, which my mother-in-law gave to me. When my high school friend, Amy, was in town back in the spring, she too presented me with a handmade cap. “I thought you would like this,” she explained, and I did. 

“I made it for myself,” she continued, “but I hated it.”

I laughed and placed it on my head so that she could snap a photo. Afterwards, it sat out by itself, because all the winter gear had already been stored away for the season. And when I packed for this trip, the cold weather stuff was still in the attic, but for the gloves in the jacket pockets and my hand-me-down hat from Amy, so I put it on and headed north.

And I know that even though they didn’t start out that way, both hats were clearly meant for me.

Hatters Gonna Hat

"Did you see the hat I made you?" Heidi's mom asked when I had been here a day. 

I had seen the floppy green knit beanie, and I had tried it on, too. It was soft and comfortable, and I would have worn it, but for the warm-ish weather. 

"Yes! Thank you," I replied. "I love it!"

"Well good," she nodded, "because it looked terrible on me!"

The Show Must Go On

“Don’t you get bereavement time?” Heidi’s mother asked incredulously as Heidi scrambled to finish sub plans and grades for her 4 different preps and 5 classes in between appointments with the funeral director and the cemetery and after 2 days of visiting hours at the funeral home.

“Well, we get personal leave,” Heidi explained, “but the work is still there. The kids keep coming to school, whether we are there or not.”

But really, her mom should have understood, after being married to the chief of umpires. For Heidi’s dad, there was no such thing as a real summer vacation for 39 years. Every where he went, especially after the advent of mobile phones, he would be on call and responsible for making sure some of the 10,000 games he assigned a year were staffed. And if it was raining in Buffalo? We knew about it wherever we happened to be in the country.

Extended Family

I was at a bit of a loss at the wake for Heidi's dad yesterday. Heidi stood by her mom receiving those who had come to pay their respects, while her brother greeted people at the door and roved the room talking to mourners he knew and recognized. There were plenty of comfortable chairs for me, and I did say hello to an uncle and a couple cousins, but it was Heidi's mom's sister and her family who came to my rescue. 

Kathy waved me over to sit in the chairs with them, and we chatted amiably and watched the slide presentation over and over. We also giggled every time a certain photo rolled past. Somehow a glamour shot of her had gotten mixed in with the family pictures that were scanned for the presentation, so every 10 minutes or so, in between all the pictures of Gary, we saw a soft-focus picture of Kathy from 30 years ago all done up and dressed in red feathers and sequins. 

At the end of the evening, I thanked her for keeping me company. "That's okay," she told me. "What are aunts for?"

Brain Work

Since I arrived up here in Buffalo, I have been feeling anxious about keeping up with my schoolwork and responsibilities; it's not an easy thing for a teacher to be away for a week and a half, no matter what the situation.

They say that dreaming is a tool that the brain uses to regulate emotions, address fears, and consolidate memories. Whether or not that's true, my subconscious is working overtime up here.

Last night I dreamed I was on a field trip, but it was strange in the way that dreams are. Things were lost, I got my feet all wet when I stepped into a bog, and kids turned into kittens who wanted to run away. After I woke up and cleared my head, the second half of the night I dreamed of prefixes and test questions, un- means not, mis- means wrong, dis- means do not, super- means over and above.

It was unrestful, disconcerting, misdirected, and super-stressful. 

And those kittens!

Darkness Savings Time

It's easy to lose track of days and time when there is a death in the family. All week long we've been asking each other what day it is.

"Think about it," I said to Heidi who knows what day, "the last "normal" day was Tuesday, and that was Halloween, which is not very normal at all."

But when I opened my computer just a while ago and got that calendar reminder that Daylight Savings Time ends early tomorrow morning, I was floored to realize I had completely forgotten one of my favorite days of the year, the one with 25 hours.

Edit Yourself

As word gets out about Gary’s death, messages of condolences are coming in. Most are lovely, along the lines of this one: Oh what a loss! My heart is broken. Love to you and your family.

But then there are the ones you have to scratch your head over, like this one: Wow! What a shocker. Condolences on your loss, but he was very sedentary.

When We Come to It

It's not in my nature to fret about the future. I'm of the mind that worrying can't prevent misfortune, but it can cause unnecessary stress. And so, although I wasn't surprised by the news early yesterday morning that Heidi's dad had passed away suddenly, I was temporarily at a loss as to what comes next. Oh, there are some must-dos, but so many more could-dos or might-dos as we approach the future without him. 

In the near term? We got Heidi up to Buffalo by noon yesterday, arranged for coverage of commitments and care for our cats, and Lucy and I am off to join the family in a little while. 

I got a deck of animal spirit oracle cards for my birthday, and it's helpful sometimes to draw one of them and lean into the guidance it offers. Today I pulled Brown Bear Spirit and the advice it gives is to take a moment before acting or making any big decisions. As the bear hibernates to prepare for a new year, so this is a time to sit back in contemplation of all that could unfold and leave action for another day.

Right, Mate

I was giving a kid the blues about drinking soda in class today. She thought I wouldn't notice because it was a clear beverage in a clear bottle, but the hiss and the bubbles gave her away. 

"Why do we have that rule?" another student wanted to know.

"We're a water-only school," I explained. "We care about your health!"

"What about tea?" he asked. "That can be healthy."

"Nope," I shook my head. "'Fraid not."

"But you can't be a gentleman if you don't drink tea," he told me.

And for that comment? I had no rejoinder.

Merry Man Boy

"Are you Robin Hood?"I asked a colleague as I passed him on the way into school. He stood with a dapper hat and feather, a sage green shirt with. crisscross tied opening at the throat, and brown pants. There was no bow and arrow, but weapons aren't allowed as part of any costume.

"Peter Pan," he told me. "I'm surprised," he laughed. "You're the first one who hasn't recognized me!"

"Well, where are your tights?" I asked, skeptically.

"I'm grown up Peter," he answered.

"Well, Pete," I said, "You're a dead ringer for Robin Hood."

The Sugar Bugs

A couple of colleagues who are dads of young children stopped by my room during planning time. After we exchanged information about upcoming meetings and field trips, the conversation turned to child-rearing and this new generation we are teaching. 

"I'm not going to say if it's good or bad," one of them stated, "but these kids are different, and it's going to show. Things are going to be different in the next 20 years."

"How so?" I asked him. 

"For one thing, they've never heard the phrase or I'll give you something to cry about," he said. "Now when there's a tantrum we say, Use your words." 

I nodded. "That's a loss. What a great turn of phrase! And kids will never know that gasping choking feeling of trying to stop crying so you wouldn't get spanked." I joked.

"And the word No?" he continued. "They don't know it. It's never No you can't have another gummy. Instead, we say, You don't want the sugar bugs to get you. Too many sugar bugs and you won't grow up big and healthy."

"Sugar bugs?" I laughed. "That's a new one to me.

"Oh, it's everywhere," he said. "These kids are the sugar bug generation."

"I like it!" I replied.  "It's catchy, and I think we can make it stick!"

Does it Show?

45 minutes before the wedding ceremony I was standing on a chair in my suit helping Nadika zip-tie some gorgeous floral arrangements to the trellis. The PVC material of the arbor was bulkier than she had expected, and we were combining the floral zip ties to get them around the frame when one of the officiants approached me. "Are you the venue coordinator?" she asked.

I laughed. "Nope, I'm just one of the guests who happens to know the florist!"

She was surprised. "You look so in charge," she explained.

"Just helpful," I told her, "but I do like to be in charge. Maybe that's what you were responding to!"

Watch Out Terry!

Many years ago, at a time when I kept careful track of students’ independent reading choices and progress, I was going through the weekly routine of a check-in and mini-conference. On those days I would record what each kid was reading, what page they were on, and ask a couple of comprehension questions in the form of a conversation about their book. The method was effective, whether I had read the book myself or not, and I learned a lot about adolescent literature, both current and classic. It also helped that the students were required to have their books with them.

One day, I asked a student what she was reading, and she told me the title of the book was Watch Out Terry! a book I had never heard of. This particular girl was not always a committed reader, and I had reason to doubt her truthfulness. I asked a few questions about plot and character, and her convoluted replies did nothing to reassure me.

“I never heard of that book,” I finally told her. “Does it even exist?”

She looked at me appraisingly and accepted the challenge. “Yes,” she insisted. “I was reading it this morning.”

“Can I see it?” I asked.

“I don’t have it,” she replied in a dismissive tone, as if I was crazy for asking.

“Where is it?” I rejoined with a bit of an edge in my voice, because truthfully, she was pushing my buttons.

“In my locker,” she shrugged.

“Let’s go get it,” I said.

Impressively, her eyes widened only the tiniest bit, and she stood right up and said okay.

Of course it wasn’t in her locker, or anywhere else, because the book did not exist. The fact that she lied so brazenly made me mad, though, and I wrote up the incident in detail, and she received some consequences from the assistant principal. Yeah. I showed her.

A month or two later that particular student ended up being identified as emotionally disabled, and she was put in Heidi’s class, a program with the highest level of support for kids who needed it.

Whenever I remember this incident now, it always makes me think of how much I have changed. If the same thing happened again, there is no way I would take a kid to their locker just to prove that I knew they were lying. It’s a dumb waste of time that can be avoided by building relationships with students so that they don’t feel like they need to lie to you, and showing a little grace when they do.

Compressed Schedule

We are going out of town for a wedding tomorrow, and even though we will be back on Sunday, such an event puts a serious cramp in our weekend errand routine. 

To compensate a bit, I stayed at school until 4 trying to get a jump on next week, then I dashed through the deserted hallways and out into the warm, second summer afternoon. In my car I headed off to pick up an order I’d placed and find a storage bin to organize a few things. Next I stopped at Target for some staples and cleaning supplies, before going to find a nail salon to get my toe nails done for the sparkly sandals that go with my outfit. 

And that’s where I am now— multitasking, writing my daily post and enjoying a spa pedi. I suppose there could be worse ways to spend a Friday afternoon. 

The House Usually Wins

I had a check-for-understanding quiz game as part of my lesson for today. Such an activity is usually pretty fun and popular, and I always add a little extra incentive by promising a piece of candy to the winners. Today, because it was newly-introduced material, I had the students work in teams with a single device so that they could talk and use their notes to answer the questions. 

Sometimes in these quiz games, if a player or team gets too far behind, they give up and disengage from the activity, which is understandable and a flaw in this particular version of the gamification of learning. To compensate, I often challenge the group to answer a certain number of questions with 100 percent accuracy, that is everybody must answer the question correctly to get credit toward their collective goal.

Today's game started off easy, and my challenge was easy, too. The class quickly answered 6 questions perfectly, earning each person a piece of candy. But then I upped the ante by offering double or nothing. A majority of the teams had to accept my challenge for it to go, and it was fascinating to hear the kids debate the classic dilemma of a bird in the hand versus two in the bush. 

In both cases today, the classes accepted my challenge but failed to bring home the victory. Of course, I knew the last questions were harder, but even though they lost, they were all in right up until the last, and they even listened carefully to my explanation and clarification between questions, which as far as I was concerned?

Was win-win.

Expert Advice

 Monday was the first day of spirit week and the wardrobe challenge was for teachers to dress like kids and kids to dress like teachers. "Are you going to do it?" asked one of my students on Friday, at the end of her conference.

"I think so?" I said. "I guess I could just wear my Adidas stuff."

"That's what I was going to wear!" she said. "To dress like you."

"I don't know then," I shrugged.

'You should dress like me," she suggested, "and I'll dress like you."

"What would I wear?" I asked.

She gave me a big duh look and swept her hand up and down. "Leggings, Crocs, and a T-shirt," she said.

"I can do that!" I agreed.

And I did, but it was cold Monday morning, so I dug out an oversized school sweatshirt I've had for 20 years and pulled that on. When I got to school, my student nodded in approval, and I thanked her for her advice. Later in the day, a few kids on the yearbook came in to take my picture. 

"Wow! You really are dressed like a kid!" one of them, a former student, exclaimed. 

"Thanks!" I said and laughed because I remembered that leggings, Crocs, and a sweatshirt were always always her go-to outfit. 

The Driver I Am

Recently we've made quite a few excursions to the part of our area that lies just to the west of the Beltway. As the crow flies? It is bit more than 7 miles, but when I use my map app and it does what it does-- taking into consideration traffic and such, the recommended route is always to head south and away from our destination, and then follow the Beltway back around. It is double the distance but usually saves more than a few minutes.

And yet? I can rarely bear to go that way, especially when I think of the longer route and consider the faster, more aggressive traffic. Most often I choose to drive through town, taking my chances on the four-lane roads and their stoplights. Oh, don't get me wrong! Both tracks have their drawbacks, but I guess if I have to get jammed up (and it seems like these days, I always do), then I choose the option with more options.

Convenience at What Cost?

Maybe I shouldn't have.

But when a month or so ago I noticed the biometric scanner as I stood in line at the grocery store, I played along and, as the cashier scanned my purchases, I scanned my hand. 

"I haven't actually seen anyone do that yet," she told me in a neutral tone which I read as a mixture of impressed and dubious. "They just installed those this morning."

I laughed and completed my purchase the old-fashioned way, tapping my smartwatch on the reader, and then went on my way.

Heidi was with me yesterday when I returned to the store for the first time since then. "What are you doing?" she asked as I raised and lowered my palm over the small rectangle at the end of the belt.

"Paying for the groceries, I think," I answered, and just then a small chime let me know I was correct. The cashier did not react at all as she handed us our bags, and I assumed the novelty of the system had worn off among the employees.

On the escalator back to the garage, I remembered that I had run back to the car when we first got there because I'd forgotten my phone and its magnetic wallet, and I considered a day when all anyone would need to shop was the swirls on their skin. 

It was kind of cool, but a little terrifying, too.

Character Development

A student came by my room after school the other day, visibly upset. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he explained that he had misunderstood the information about an after-school meeting: it had ended at 3, but his mom wasn't coming to pick him up until 4. "And the wifi in this stupid school sucks" he added, "so I can't even call her on my watch."

"I'm sorry that happened to you," I told him. "You can use this phone to call, though." I pointed to the landline on my desk. 

He sniffled a little and lifted the receiver, and he was almost recovered until he heard his mom's voice when she answered. Then he collapsed into tears again as he explained the mix-up to her. After a few moments, he hung up. "My dad is coming to get me," he reported, his head down.

"Oh, good," I said. "And don't worry, stuff like this happens a lot," I explained. "There's so much going on here, both during the day and after school; it's easy to get confused about the details."

He wiped his face on his sleeve.

"And it seems like it all worked out, right?" I finished.

He nodded and headed out to catch his ride.

The next day I was teaching a lesson on character analysis. One of the videos we show has a vignette about a student who gets very upset over a minor misunderstanding. In the story, after the student leaves the room crying, the teacher tries to keep the class on track, and says, "It looks like Delores is having a bad day."

"And doesn't the teacher handle it beautifully?" I laughed ironically when we were going back over the details of the plot, acknowledging that she seems a bit heartless.

"What would you do?" a student asked.

"I understand where the teacher was coming from," I said, "because I always feel a little anxious when someone is upset. But I would do my best to be empathetic and helpful."

"Has that ever happened?" another student asked, and I raised my eyebrows because it was the same boy from the day before.

"Sure," I replied, tilting my head to examine his face. He seemed guileless. 

"When?" he asked, clearly looking for a good story.

"Well," I started, "just yesterday somebody came in after school, and they were pretty upset."

His face reddened a little. "I bet you were really nice," he said.

"Thanks," I answered. "I tried to be."

Outer Child

A friend texted last night to see if we were going to the farmer's market today so that he and his wife and their little boy might meet us there. At 10 a.m. on a beautiful October Saturday, the place was hopping, and the five of us chatted amiably and slowly explored the market. As we strolled, four-year-old Charlie loved everything, especially the mini donuts, pumpkins, and free samples of apples and cider. 

"It's great that he's having such a good time!" Heidi said. "It kind of reminds me of how awesome it is here."

"Kids are good for that," his mom agreed. "They notice so much and they really appreciate it."

"That's right!" his dad laughed. "Charlie can make just walking down the sidewalk fun!"

A Little Help

Weeks ago I saw an announcement that two of my favorite authors, Ann Patchett and Kate DiCamillo would be appearing together at the Library of Congress. Tickets were free, but reservations were required, so I jumped online and made mine. 

What I didn't realize at the time was that this event would be the night before student-led conferences, a day that still ties me up in knots, even after so many years. When I left school yesterday at 5:00, I knew that the trouble and traffic I might encounter on my way from here to there was daunting enough that, with regret, I decided to skip the appearance.

And I was still sorry to have missed the conversation this morning when I checked my email during a break in conferences. Imagine my delight, then, when one of the newsletters I subscribe to had a link to the recording of the evening. 

I got to spend most of my free time today listening to the two authors banter and offer advice and counsel on reading, writing, and living. It was fun to hang out with a couple of funny, talented and wise ladies, and it made the day just that much easier.

SOS

What's that metaphor about turning an ocean liner?

President Obama used it in 2016 to explain a truth about governing a big democratic society. "You turn the wheel slowly, and the big ship pivots." His point was that change has to be incremental and far-sighted so that in time, a slight change, with forward momentum, will result in a very different destination than holding the course. His secondary point was that veering too sharply could upset or even capsize such a large ship.

I thought of that metaphor yesterday when a few people at our school tried to organize all 1000+ of us into a human display of the word Unity, for National Anti-Bullying Day. The concept is admirable and cool, but the execution was chaotic. The first news of this event was sent after school the day before, ensuring that many staff members would not know anything about it until the morning of the activity. 

The whole thing was hastily planned and poorly coordinated, resulting in 1,000 folks standing around outside, unclear of what we should be doing. My group was literally told to move six feet to the left by one person, and not 2 minutes later, six feet to the right by another person, while a third person waved wildly for us to stand still.

The whole thing was a mess, which resulted in the loss of 45 minutes of instructional time (from first period only) and illustrated what most sensible folks might presume: you can't be spontaneous when you're dealing with 1,000 middle school students, especially if you don't loop their teachers in first.

Sorry We're Open

Today on the morning announcements a colleague promised that the families of any student who needed to have their photo taken on Picture Make Up and Retake Day would be notified by "close of business" tomorrow. The turn of phrase seemed so out of place for a school that it made me laugh out loud. 

I thought about the concept of COB again a little while ago, as I sat here at home grading essays, posting class announcements, reviewing conference slides, and catching up on other paperwork with impending deadlines. It was after 6:30 when I finally closed all my school-related windows and turned my attention to other things. I'm not an exception at all when it comes to teacher work hours, so I had to wonder: 

Just what time is that notification going out?

Popping the Question

It's the season of fundraisers, and in the last week, I have personally been approached by Boy Scouts, cheerleaders, band musicians, and/or their parents, all with the offer of popcorn. Although the product is relatively new, the solicitation is not: over the years I have purchased dozens of rolls of wrapping paper, bushels of grapefruit and oranges, yards of pine swag, and dozens of donuts. 

Tonight the young scout who solicited for his troop had several varieties of popcorn and other snacks. His mom is a friend and a former neighbor, and we have known this kid since his birth (which I wrote about here.) I had to admire his sales pitch. 

"Would you like to buy some popcorn?" he started. "Well," he shrugged, "it's really more of a donation, and the popcorn is a thank you. The prices are pretty high."

I laughed at his honesty. "Sure," I said. "What do I have to do?"

"First," he answered, "do you have any money? Because you're going to have to pay for your order."

Aaaah Waaah

It's Monday morning, and everyone is feeling a bit sluggish in homeroom, but still? There are things to be done. 

So I make a management decision (one of the 1,500 the average teacher makes per day-- think on that a moment) to move our class circle discussion outside. Now, in my experience (this was just the most recent of the 8 million or more decisions I have statistically made in my career), most kidsmin school love to go outside, and at first, this group of 17 did not break that mold. 

However, once we get out there, that chill in the air balanced by the morning sun shining right in their eyes has several students reconsidering this turn of events. Sitting on the cold pavement and answering such questions as, "When was the last time you learned something hard? How did I make you feel?" only adds to their displeasure.

Oh, I know enough not to give in to silly complaints from tweens right away, but I also know enough to cut an activity short when it's not working. "That's it!" I tell them brightly when we finish the second to last questions, biting my tongue not to add, "You big, fat babies!" 

And as we all stand up and head back to the dreary comfort of the building, I turn once more to face that golden October sun and fill my lungs with the crisp morning air, before swiping my badge to open the door.

Fair Trade

Heidi's phone buzzed at 10 am. "Lauren wants to know if we're going to the farmers market," she reported. It's an informal Sunday morning tradition for the three of us to walk up there with the dogs and get our fruit, veggies, and eggs for the week.

I sighed. "I'm tempted, but I have so much school stuff to do. I also have bread in the oven, so I wouldn't even be able to go for another half hour." 

Reluctantly, I decided to pass. "Will you ask her to pick up some spinach for us, if she goes?" I requested.

The response was quick. "LOL! I was going to ask you the same-- I'm too busy too!" She added that she might be able to talk her fiance, AJ,  into going, but she wasn't hopeful.

About an hour later the doorbell rang and when I answered, AJ stood there with a big bag spinach. "Thanks!" I told him. "Hang on a sec-- I have a loaf of bread for you and Lauren." 

A minute later, I handed over the still-warm sourdough boule. "How much do I owe you for the spinach?" I asked.

"Just the bread," he answered. "Gotta love our barter economy! Who needs cash around here?"

Parable of the Pumpkins

I saw four people and a dog as I exited the grocery store late this afternoon. The two young men were hefting huge pumpkins for the approval of an older and a younger woman, and I assumed that they were choosing one to take home and carve. I had another errand to run in the shopping center, and you can imagine the rise of my eyebrows as I headed home a few minutes later and saw them walking with four enormous pumpkins and the dog. 

They had divvied the load with the youngest guy carrying two, one in each arm, and the other guy and the young woman with their arms wrapped around one; the senior member of their group had the dog. They were laughing, but when I stopped at a stop sign, I noticed them stop, too. When I drove past, one of the pumpkins was rolling in the grass and another was set on the sidewalk. 

I watched them redistribute their cargo: the same guy had two of the pumpkins, but now he carried one under his arm and another by the stem. I was captivated by their progress as they lumbered forward, and when I had stop again at an intersection, I watched in my sideview mirror as the one-pumpkin dude took the leash so that the older woman could relieve the other guy of the smaller (but still huge!) pumpkins. 

I debated making a U-turn and going back to offer a ride to one or two of them and relieving them of their burdens, but when the light changed, they were still laughing and smiling, and, understanding that this was their journey, I made my turn and left them to make their own way.

YZA

We were talking generations in one of my classes today. I mentioned that Gen Z often uses emojis in ways that older folks might misinterpret. For example, a skull means something is so funny you are dying of laughter. 

One kid was having none of it; maybe she didn't like an adult talking about the things she and her friends took for granted. "This is so cringe," she sighed and rolled her eyes. "We're not even Gen Z anyway. We're Alpha."

"Nah uh," one of her friends corrected her. "2012 is the last year of Gen Z. That's when your birthday was."

"I know what it's like to be born at the end of a generation and not feel like it's really you, though," I agreed. "Technically, I'm--" I stopped, imagining the Boomer comments I might hear should I continue. "Well," I finished,  "let's just say I'm at the end of one and I feel more like the next one."

They let my comment go; they weren't really interested in me and my experience, and we had things to learn. Later, it occurred to me that as of this year, I have taught all the Millenials and all the Zs. 

So if I'm still teaching next year, it will be Generation 3 for me!

2031

I noticed that one of the students was taking an inordinately long time to go to the restroom, so I told my co-teachers I was going to check on the situation. I strode purposefully to the door of the boys' bathroom and called his name. "Are you in there?"

There was a pause, and then he answered, "Just wiping."

I know I rolled my eyes. "Well, hurry up!" I replied. "You are missing the whole class!"

If it sounds like I wasn't surprised by such unexpected behavior, you are reading correctly, because anecdotally? I find this class of sixth graders to be more immature than any other in recent memory, but perhaps it is understandably so. 

As we get further and further from the pandemic, the impact it has had on kids as students have become less predictable, although the trends make sense.

The first kids to come back full-time are in 8th grade now, and their eagerness to return coupled with the newness of middle school made them a willing group. With the exception of a few students entrenched in the I'll just turn my camera off and pretend I didn't hear you approach, most of those kids were easy to guide in terms of behavior and expectations.

The next year, the class was a bit squirrely, a trait I attribute to the fact that their elementary schools cut them a lot of slack as they returned, now the oldest kids in the school. We saw it happen in our school, too, the year before. The eighth graders came back with their own ideas about how and when they would learn, and they were comfortable enough in our school to push back on restrictions. Likewise, staff had a lot of sympathy for them as they transitioned from learning alone to learning as part of a school, and so they were a little wild. Even so, our sixth graders last year were in a new enough situation that they were open to adapting to the culture we created for them.

This year the students we have were in second grade when we went out for COVID, and they learned at home for up to a year and a half. They were too young to do so independently, however, and so this group probably had a lot of parent involvement in their education, and only a couple of years to grow beyond that level of support.

And what will the next class of kids offer? Not sure, but I did recently have a conversation with a colleague where I pointed out to him that in the fall of 2027 the students who enter sixth grade will not have been affected academically at all by this pandemic, and his response was, "What year will it be when we get the first kids who weren't even born yet?"

The Eye Roll

The scenario: A professional development session on bias

The key information provided: Be aware of the "third person effect" where people tend to perceive that mass media messages have a greater effect on others than on themselves, based on personal biases.

The exercise: Contribute descriptors that come to mind when picturing a "North American, multi-million dollar lottery winner" considering residence, race, gender, socio-economic status, and education.

The outcome: The results of our group matched those of all the other schools already surveyed; the prevalent answers that the 100 or so of us provided mirrored those of the 4,000 people before us. 

The upshot: A common assumption* exists about this particular case, and one might infer, about others, as well.

The white male: Raises his hand and when called on announces, "I didn't answer that way. I put I don't know for every question."

*a rural, white male, lower middle class, high school education.

Told You So

 To kick off the argument writing unit, the question of the day was Do you like to argue and debate or would you rather walk away from a disagreement?

Predictably, the split was pretty even in my first two sections, with several of the young writers making the point that context and content were important. 

When my last block of the day roared in, as they often do, bickering and talking smack, I looked appraisingly at the group. Then I gave the directions and went to my desk to send the attendance. 

When it was time to share everyone's thoughts, I called for the class's attention. "I haven't looked at your answers," I told them, "but I have a pretty good idea that we have a bunch of arguers in here!"

"I think you're wrong!" somebody called out.

"There's one," I laughed.

And in the end? It was 19-3 in favor of a good debate, or standing up for themselves, or making sure other people knew when they were wrong, or winning, or just being right as usual.

Fiasco

I knew nothing good could be happening inside when I saw a colleague in tears coming out of the door where I had just dropped Heidi. 

In an effort to address the outcry that followed the decision to make all employees switch insurance plans, the central office of our school system offered the opportunity for staff to meet with representatives from the new company and have their transition questions answered. The event was scheduled today, during our professional learning time from 8-5 at one of the high schools. 

In another colossal failure of planning, however, there were only three representatives from the company present, who could get through about 18 people an hour. Mind you, this change affected nearly 6,000 people, and over half of them are in a position where they must find an entirely new medical team and navigate different coverage for prescription and medical devices. Not surprisingly, they have questions.

Nearly 1,000 people showed up, and an hour into the session, wait times were estimated to be 3-4 hours, with at least 75% of those attending unlikely to see anyone at all. Compounding the situation is the fact that none of us can contact the new company ourselves until our start of coverage date, January 1, 2024.

Members of the HR team were overheard to express their dismay, not at the obvious poor planning, but at how ridiculous it was that so many people had questions. "Didn't they read their email?" sniped one.

As for Heidi, she waited in line to sign her name documenting her attendance. At 11:30 am she was given the number 7A, uncertain as to where it fell in a numerical sequence where they were just calling numbers 70-80 to come up and meet the representatives, and other employees she knew had numbers in the 500s. Then she gave up and we went home.

It's Official

I saw the first Christmas commercial of the season last night. Even though it was for spending the holidays at Disney and it aired on the Hallmark Channel?

It still counts.

Happy Holidays, y'all!

Borderline

"Excuse me!" a woman hailed me from the other side of the chainlink fence that surrounds our community garden. Our plot is on the perimeter, and so the sidewalk and street are right there. Most of the time passing pedestrians ignore me as I work in the garden, although I do get an occasional greeting or wave, but as the season progresses and the herbs and flowers grow up along the fenceline there is a bit more privacy. But yesterday, I had just finished clipping the dry stalks of some sunflowers and zinnias, and there was a clear view of me and my garden.

"Yes?" I replied politely, standing up from where I had been gleaning the last of the sun gold cherry tomatoes.

"How does this place work?" she asked. "Do any of you ever sell your vegetables?"

I explained that it was a community garden where we grew produce for our own use. "We do donate extra to the food pantry," I finished.

"But no one sells anything?" she repeated.

I shook my head apologetically.

"But those tomatoes! That basil!" she pointed at the plot next to mine.

"She has some beautiful stuff," I agreed.

"What about you? What do you have growing?" She looked over my shoulder.

"All I have left are some hot peppers and the tail end of the tomatoes," I said.

"We love hot peppers!" she told me. "We eat those more than anything else!"

I laughed at her brazen hint and shrugged. "Well I've got extra," I assured her and went to the potting bench for a bag. 

I picked a half dozen heirloom paprika peppers and was on my way to hand them over when she called, "What about a few tomatoes?"

I nodded and pointed to the gate where I could hand her the bag.

"Thank you so much!" she said sincerely.

"You're welcome," I answered, and walked back to my garden shaking my head.

RIP Name Drop

For a couple of years, The New Yorker Magazine had an online puzzle that I kind of loved. Name Drop was published every weekday and readers had 100 seconds and six clues to identify a mystery person, someone from the arts, history, or politics. The fewer clues it took to guess the person, the more points awarded, and there was also a witty bit of praise (Congratulations, George and Amal would be impressed!) or reproach (Just think if today were opposite day, you’d have the highest possible score.), depending on one’s results. 

Here’s an example: 

Clue 6: My album “Van Lear Rose” (2204), which I released at the age of seventy-two, was produced by the White Stripe’s Jack White, who was forty-four years my junior.  

Clue 5: In a feminist anthem that was reportedly banned by dozens of radio stations in the seventies, I sing, “This old maternity dress I’ve got is going in the garbage/ The clothes I’m wearing from now on won’t take up so much yardage.”  

Clue 4: I was close friends with Patsy Cline before her untimely death; I named one of my daughters after her, and, in 1977, I released the tribute album “I Remember Patsy.”  

Clue 3: My sister, Crystal Gayle and I performed a duet medley with the Boston Pops Orchestra in 1989, which included portions of my songs “We’ve Come a Long Way, Baby” and “You Ain’t Woman Enough (to Take My Man).  

Clue 2: Sissy Spacek won an Oscar for playing me in a 1980 bio-pic which shares its name with a 1970 hit in which I sing about my humble upbringing in Kentucky, in “a cabin on a hill in Butcher Holler.”  

Clue 1: I was a country singer whose hits included “Don’t Come Home A-Drinkin’ (with Lovin’ on Your Mind),” “The Pill,” and my signature song, “Coal Miner’s Daughter.” 

Not to brag, or maybe to brag a little bit, but I nailed that one on question 6, to which the game replied, “Congratulations you are officially the smartest person who ever lived.” 

In addition to the challenge of the trivia quiz, not surprisingly, I often learned new things about these folks, and sometimes I even learned about people I was not familiar with. The game also revealed my cultural and generational bias; more often than not the subjects I could not identify were people of color, especially young people of color. Even so, it felt good to own up to that shortcoming and work in the smallest of ways to overcome it. 

Clue 6: The street formerly known as Congress Parkway, which runs from the Jane M. Byrne Interchange to Grant Park was renamed for me in 2019.  

Clue 5: After taking over as the editor of the Free Speech and Headlight, I wrote about the murder of my friend, Thomas Moss, a co-owner of the People’s Grocery.  

Clue 4: I often published under the pen name “Iola” and I’m best known by my maiden name, although I married the attorney Ferdinand Barnett, in 1895.  

Clue 3: The journalist Nikole Hannah-Jones, whose display name on Twitter references me, co-founded a center that’s named after me at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill.  

Clue 2: In 202, I was awarded a posthumous Pulitzer Prize for my reporting on lynchings across the U.S., in such publications as “The Red Record” and “Southern Horrors.”  

Clue 1: I was a journalist and activist who led the Alpha Suffrage Club, a pioneering Black women’s organization in Chicago, and I participated in the founding of the N.A.A.C.P. 

The answer? Ida B. Wells, which I could not get either the first time or, shamefully, the next time (today) I took the quiz, considering how important her work and how accomplished she was. 

Suffice it to say, that Name Drop was a fun and edifying part of my day, and so you can imagine my distress, a few weeks ago when I noticed that every time I tapped the link for the new daily quiz I was met with an old puzzle, which I knew because I recognized the clues. It took days of searching before I finally found The New Yorker’s announcement that the last new game had been published on September 8. They had ceased publication without warning or explanation, replacing it with a random generator of old quizzes. 

When confronted with this sad news, I confess to feeling a tiny void in my life, one that I have not been able to fill quite yet. I miss that little dose of biography that gave me the chance to engage with a notable individual and, humbly (sometimes), be inspired.

Terrors of the 21st Century

For the warm-up today, I asked the students what scares them, and I was a little surprised at how delighted most of them were to answer. Unlike other questions, very few said "Nothing" or even "I don't know". There were 27 different responses from 60 or so kids, and whenever anyone walked into the room and looked at the tally on the whiteboard the reaction was the same: Oh! Is this what scares us?

In addition to ghosts and zombies and spiders and snakes, the list included teachers and tests (which was relevant today in class!) and bad grades (which sadly, was also somewhat relevant today after class). There were also answers that kids have given for generations, like creepy people, small spaces, the deep ocean, spooky noises, broken bones, and death, but my favorite answer was the kid who simply posted Bad wifi, because when we read it? 

Everyone shuddered.

Write the Writing You Want to See

The 6th graders have to write an introduction to themselves, so using the guidelines and planning questions we gave them, I composed my own. Enjoy!

Hello! I am Ms. S. and I am really glad to be teaching you this year! Here is a little information about me:

I was born in Washington, D.C., but we moved out to Falls Church when I was one year old. After that my family lived in New Jersey and then Saudi Arabia. I went to high school in Switzerland and college in New York before returning to Virginia. I've taught sixth grade English here at Jefferson since 1993, but it never gets old or boring. 

 I'm the type of person who likes to stay busy, so in my spare time I cook, work in my garden, read, play pickleball, and go hiking. I also do yoga and write every single day, because I think regular practice is important in building skills. During the pandemic I started baking bread, and I still do that once a week. I also have a goldendoodle named Lucy, and I love spending time with her and my two cats. 

 My goal for this year is to combine learning and fun. I like to think that although school is mandatory, it doesn't have to be boring. I hope we can all work together to make our English class the best it can be. Are you with me? Okay! Let's do this!

Friendly Yes, Helpful No

"How are you today?" a smiling young man asked me as I pushed my cart down an aisle of an unfamiliar grocery store.

"Good, thanks," I said and then paused. I looked at my cart, full of everything on the list with the exception of a single item. "Can you tell me where the rice is?"

"No, no, I cannot," he answered, still smiling.

I frowned and shrugged. "Oh, well," I replied, "I guess I'll find it." I trolled around a bit more. Rounding a corner and finally spotting the rice, I saw that the guy was there, too. 

"Here it is!" he said.

"There it is!" I agreed and, my shopping complete, I headed for the checkout.