Three Down, Nine to Go

This year I decided to take a month-long holiday or break from 12 different habits so that I may practice them more mindfully when the month is done. So far I've done Dry January and Sugar-free February, and as Meatless March draws to a close, my plans for No-Amazon April are complete: I have skipped all my subscribe and save items, reluctantly sworn off Whole Foods, started listening to audiobooks on the Libro app, and unplugged the Fire TV. I confess to make a few last minute purchases yesterday, but as of this evening I am Amazon-free.

That's why I decided to have steak for dinner!

P.S. Thanks to the folks at Two Writing Teachers and all the writers who participated in their annual March Slice of Life Story Challenge. As always, it's been fun and rewarding writing and reading with all of you. Until next year!

Kind-Hearted Kids

"One of your students is in the office," a teacher reported the other morning. "He seems upset." Not a moment later, said student hurried down the hallway, exploding binder and lunch box in hand.

"What was happening in the office?" I asked.

He took a deep breath through his mask. "I was trying to ask them if they had my sweatshirt in the lost and found but the lady kept asking me to speak up, and when I finally raised my voice loud enough, she yelled at me for shouting at her!" his voice rose as he was telling the story.

"I wonder if your tone of voice was frustrated," I said. 

He shrugged. 

"A loud frustrated voice often sounds like yelling," I pointed out. "Which sweatshirt are you missing? Is it the Minecraft one?"

"Yes!" he said loudly. "It's the one my mother bought for me, but I get made fun of all the time for wearing!"

I nodded.

"But now I'm a bit cold and I really could use that sweatshirt!"

As we went through when he had last seen it, where he thought it might be, where he had already checked, his aggravation level was climbing. "Okay," I said. "Leave your binder here and go put your lunch box in your locker."

With a sigh, he complied. Several students were milling in the hallway waiting for homeroom to begin, and they had clearly overheard the whole conversation. "We need to find that sweatshirt, stat!" I said. 

"I'll check the orchestra room," one kid said and was off.

"I'll check the cafeteria lost and found," said another and turned on her heel to go.

"I'll double check the main office," said a third, "maybe they didn't completely understand him," and then he was gone, too.

The first student was sitting quietly at his table when the two boys returned empty-handed from the office and orchestra. "Thanks anyway," I said when they reported the news. As they turned to go back to their own classes, the girl who had gone down to the cafeteria returned, triumphantly bearing the bright green hoodie.

"Hooray!" we all cheered, for the day was saved.

Hard Bargain

"Let's make a deal!" a student approached me this morning before the bell.

I raised my eyebrow. "What kind of deal?"

"I'll trade you some carrots for a Jolly Rancher," she said. There was swagger in her voice, almost as if she knew it was an offer I couldn't refuse.

"Carrots?" I repeated.

"They are your 100 day challenge," she reminded me. "Have you eaten any today?"

I laughed. It was 7:45 a.m. "Not yet," I confessed, and charmed by the entire exchange, I agreed to the deal. 

I handed her a Jolly Rancher, and in return, she handed me an open, single-serve bag of baby carrots with three left in it.

"Thanks!" she said without a trace of irony and popped the candy in her mouth.

"Thank you," I replied and ate one of the sketchy carrots, convinced it was going to be a good day.

Extracurricular Activity

"I saw you playing pickleball at the rec," one of my students told me yesterday. "Can I play you sometime?"

"Do you play pickleball?" I asked.

"Can you teach me?" he replied.

"And me, too?" asked another.

"When do you want to do that?" I said.

"How about today?"

"Uhhhh," I answered. "I guess so. Why not?"

And that is how I found myself out on the tennis courts after school with a roll of duct tape, my pickleball paddles and balls, and five sixth grade boys. After we taped off the kitchen line, I gave them a basic overview, and we played a rotating doubles game for a bit. Then a couple guys headed over to the next court to practice, while their buddy challenged me to a singles game. 

The boys were good sports and respectful of my time, and the six of us spent a fun hour. "We should do this every Monday!" one of them said as we packed the equipment and pulled up the tape.

"Yeah!" his friend agreed. "We should have a pickleball club! But a secret one, so that we are the only members."

"Or we can just see how it goes," I suggested. "You know where to find me!"

Worth the Trouble

The conversation turned toward cooking today at lunch, as it often does in our group of 50-60-something-year-old women. One of us is vegetarian, my wife is alternately vegan and pescacheegan, and I am coming to the end of a surprisingly challenging meatless March. I told the tale of a field trip that Heidi and I took on Saturday to an outer suburb about 35 minutes from our home, because there was an organic grocery there that was the sole proprietor in our area to carry a newish form of meat-alternative made from mushroom roots. 

Unable to pass on mycelium network based protein, the drive seemed more than worth it on a rainy afternoon, but unfortunately, the product was disappointing.

"Do you like tofu?" my vegetarian friend asked.

"Oh, I love it," I answered.

"Sometimes we just have cubes of tofu tossed in pesto," she said. "It's a great summer meal."

"I've had it that way with a more Asian-style dressing," I replied, "but pesto sounds good!" 

Our conversation in praise of tofu continued on a bit. "I actually used to make my own tofu," I confessed, "but it was a huge pain in the ass." 

Just then, a student, who had somehow found his way back from lunch several minutes earlier than he should have, popped his head in my classroom door. "Can I come in?" he asked obliviously.

"Just a minute," I waved and we began packing up. "I guess homemade tofu has got nothing on that guy!" I laughed.

Teeming

As clever as we thought we were driving across town early this morning to the National Arboretum in order to enjoy being outdoors on this beautiful spring day and yet avoid the crazy cherry blossom congestion, we got our comeuppance as we navigated home at noon. 

A journey that might usually take 20 minutes or so ended up three times as long, partially because of traffic, but also due to driver impatience. I bailed from the back up to get on the last leg of interstate to take us home, hoping I could weave our way through edges of town to hop back on before crossing the river, but I didn't take into account the fact that such a side route would be the route for many cherry blossom visitors. 

In fact, we actually ended up driving right by the Tidal Basin itself, ground zero for blossom watching. As we rolled slowly past, my eyes widened at the sight of so. many. people! walking five or six across and all the way around the 2.1 mile circumference of the Tidal Basin. 

I wondered if perhaps it had been made into a one-way thoroughfare to help move the congestion along, and I was reminded of another spring some years ago in a spot not so far away. Then, we were walking Haines Point just after the peak of the cherry blossoms when, looking down into the water, we saw the silver flash and glimmer of thousands of herring making their run around the peninsula from the Potomac into Washington Channel and back out again. It was a gleaming river within the river, and it was hard to look away and keep walking.

Today, I forced myself to regard the road and finally found the clear way I was looking for all along

Braving the Weather

Of course the rain came right at 9 am just as the spring meeting for our community garden was called to order under bare branches and leaden skies. We had been warned to dress appropriately, and, as the gardeners we were, we complied, gathering in our duck boots and wellies, fleece and flannel, and slickers, with umbrellas at the ready. 

Even so, standing in the ever more drenching downpour, at first clear evidence of how hale and hearty we all were, became uncomfortable and then disheartening. There were grumbles in the ranks behind me, folks missing the virtual meetings of the early pandemic years, and I confess that I had shaken my head, too, and maybe even cussed, as I had headed up to the garden in what was only a light mist then. 

But 30 minutes after we started, we were finished, and the mandatory work session that follows our spring and fall meetings was canceled, with no make-up for any gardeners who braved the rain. Those who stayed warm and dry would be assigned an extra workday, perhaps on a mild summer morning, but we rain-soaked attendees were free to go, our obligation met.

Ancient History

I was listening to a podcast about commercial jingles as I cooked dinner last night. Given the fact that my sixth grade classes recently finished a media literacy unit where they produced their own 60 second commercials, I found the content especially engaging. The show explored how jingles first came to be used for advertising and followed their history up to and through the "golden age" of jingles in the 1970s and 80s. 

After that, jingles faded when many companies explored licensing actual pop songs, in hopes that consumer feelings for the artist would transfer to the product. But while the use of those songs was good for the performers, it turned out that the association to what the companies were selling was just not strong enough. Plus, most licenses were only for a few years, which made establishing a long-term connection even harder.

They also explained how about 10 years ago, ads had to evolve to fit new media; think of those 15 second VRBO and Grammerly spots that air before many YouTube videos. With a shorter format, the time it took to cue up a jingle or song no longer made sense, so many commercials cut their musical signature to a half-dozen notes and a voiceover of the hook.

Given all that history, some of the most recognizable jingles today were actually written over 50 years ago, a couple of them by Barry Manilow. And here's where the producers of the podcast shocked me most:

For those of you who don't know Barry Manilow, they actually said, he was a singer-songwriter who was huge in the 1970s and 80s.

Who!

Is

their 

audience?

Patu

It was pajama day here at school, which is a little redundant for many kids who wear pjs to school all the time. Even so, old traditions die hard, and so when they were planning spirit week, pajama day was on the calendar. 

But as I looked around the hallway this morning, I noticed that the kids do actually have a more nuanced view of what constitutes pajamas than I do. Plaid flannel bottoms, a t-shirt, hoodie, and crocs are no longer even considered real pjs; that outfit qualifies as school clothes. This morning bathrobes, slippers, pajama sets, and cozies were all on display. 

"Can I go freshen up?" asked one of my students after lunch. I looked at him, resplendent in his Baby Yoda onesie with a pointy-ear hood, and considered his request, so odd for a sixth grader to make.

"Freshen up, you may, youngling, " I told him.

Field Trip Calculus

32 kids,
2 teachers,
3 chaperones, and
6 miles 
across the National Mall,
around the Tidal Basin,
through the cherry blossom tourists, and
12 blocks back to the bus--

now that adds up to a [fun] day!

Contagious Enthusiasm

I was dressed out and on my way down to the gym for a little pickleball last Thursday when I passed a friend and colleague in the hall.

"So you're one of them," he teased. 

I knew what he was referring to: our community is wrestling with a turbulent pickleball situation. In an attempt to provide more courts for the fastest growing sport in the country, Parks and Rec offered to convert a few tennis courts outside one of the rec centers. 

On my! By the neighborhood reaction, you would have thought they were recommending a nuclear power plant across the street. Accusations of public nuisance, excessive noise, bullying children, and even public urination were among the slings and arrows targeting the proposal.

"I just play downstairs," I told my friend. "But it is really fun. Have you ever played?"

"Nope," he answered.

"Well," I said, "I dare you to try it. I double dare you!"

He met my eye and raised his brow. "Maybe I will," he conceded. "But not today-- I'm too busy!" And he made a quick left down the hall and away.

I was surprised a little later when he texted. 

When do you play?
                            Every Tuesday and Thursday.
Good to know!

I was even more surprised when he met me at the court this afternoon. After a quick overview of the rules, we played doubles in a three game match. Which we won-- And another pickleballer is born.

The Works

I had a dentist appointment after school today. "You're due for x-rays," the hygenist told me looking at my chart. "Do you want those today?"

"I never knew it was an option not to have them," I answered.

"We can't force you," he laughed. "It's always your choice."

"I know they're uncomfortable for a minute," I mused, "but who goes against the recommendation?"

"You'd be surprised," he said. "In fact, when I asked my client right after lunch, he said, 'No thanks, not today.'"

I was stunned. That level of dental non-compliance had never occurred to me. Sure, maybe skipping flossing every now and then when no one was looking, but to refuse x-rays? And so casually, too? Crazy talk!

"Do you want the safety glasses?" the hygenist asked.

Did I? I wondered.

"Of course!" I answered. "I'll take whatever you're offering!"

Goods and Services

 From October to March on any given weekend day you might see pickup trucks laden with firewood idling in the parking lot of our Northern Virginia condo complex. 

Built in the mid-80s, our clapboard townhouse-style units are classic products of their time. Back then, natural gas prices were at an all-time high, so our community is completely electric. In addition? Each model has a fireplace. Consequently, where other homes have converted their hearths to gas over the last 40 years, ours have remained wood burning.

I am not complaining. Back in 1999 when I was shopping for a home my one must-have was a fireplace, and I have enjoyed mine considerably over the years since. In the coldest months we have a fire every night, but unlike those in single family homes out in the country, we don't have a ready supply of firewood. Nor do we have storage for more than a small rack on our front stoop, so our choices. are to buy pre-packaged bundles at the garden or grocery store, or purchase in small bulk from the people who drive those pickups.

It used to be a first-come arrangement. If our rack was running low, then we would do business with whoever rang our bell. Prices and quality were always negotiable, but the business card was not. "Y'all call me when you need more," they always said, pressing the rectangle of cardstock into our hands. But why call when somebody else would just knock when we needed it?

And that was how it went until about five years ago. One day, a painfully thin woman in a ragged jacket rang the bell, and Heidi answered. At first, it was business as usual, but as she and her cousin, Gay, returned again and again, we forged a bit of a bond with them. And although we have never actually called for more wood, we haven't purchased from anybody else either.

Last weekend when we were out of town, we returned to find our empty wood rack slightly replenished with some dry oak and cedar kindling. Tucked inside the door was a card from G&L Trees and Landscaping. Here's a little bit of wood. I will be back Saturday if you want more. Didn't want you to run out. Lisa, it read.

And when that cold snap came at the end of the week? We sure appreciated the gesture.

It's How You Say It

It was the second day of the Rock, Paper, Scissors tourney (block schedule, don't you know) and the B Day kids were equally enthusiastic as their A Day fellows. The excitement rose as we made it to the quarter finals with a few wild card entries coming from behind.

"This is actually fun for a change," a student caught my eye  to comment. I raised my eyebrows, but he missed the cue and continued. "Can we do things like this more often?"

"Since you ask like that?" I answered. 

He smiled expectantly.

"No," I finished.

"It was worth a try," he laughed.

"I'm glad you're having fun, though," I told him, and we both turned back to the action.

Welcome Back

A former colleague who retired a couple of years ago was in today subbing for the teacher across the hall. "Hi, Liz!" I hailed her as I unlocked my door.

She was standing in her classroom door with the red emergency folder in her hand. "Don't forget there's a tornado drill this morning!" she said cheerfully.

"Oh right!" I answered, appreciative for the reminder.

"Where do I go for that?" asked another team member who overheard our conversation. Because our classrooms are on the second floor, we have to lead our kids to shelter in another room on the ground level. The teacher who asked was new to her classroom this year.

“I’m not sure,” I frowned.

"Dressing room hallway," said Liz, consulting the red folder. "Do you know where that is?"

"Where do I go?" asked Heidi, who was walking down the hall toward her room. "I just want to double check."

"Green Commons," Liz told her, and then she laughed. "Hey wait a minute! Who's the sub here?"

Friendly Conflict

As the sixth grade writers prepare to write and illustrate children's books, today we took a deep dive into conflict. In anticipation of reading The Legend of Rock, Paper, Scissors, by Drew Daywalt, as a mentor text, the warm up question was What do you usually throw in Rock, Paper, Scissors?

"I can't answer that!" one student insisted. "Everyone will know my strategy!"

"Only if you answer honestly," the kid next to him pointed out. "That's a strategy!"

At the end of the day, everyone answered and rock was by far the most popular, followed by scissors, and paper. "I never throw paper!" scoffed a boy in my first period class. "It's useless!"

He went on to win the RPS tournament we had as a brain break. I watched him carefully as he made his way through the brackets to victory. "You weren't kidding," I marveled as we crowned him champion and awarded him with a Jolly Rancher. "You never put out paper once!"

"It's useless," he shrugged.

Up and Down Day

We had an early release anchor day today which resulted in me seeing all five of my sixth grade classes for 23 minutes each. We wrote our slices of life, caught up on a missing assignment or two, and did the chicken dance on the way out the door. All in all? It was a successful teaching day, ending at 10:15 a.m., when the kids headed off to a very early lunch, and my planning, meeting, and professional learning time began.

I wish I could say the second part of my day was as gratifying as the first, but that is a story for another time.

Long Distance Dedication

I was working at my desk when the classroom phone rang during my planning time this afternoon. That line is usually reserved to call kids to the office to pick up forgotten-at-home items or to speak to an administrator or go take their medication in the clinic. Rarely is it for me, although I remember the days when we had no phones in our classrooms. 

Then, messages were left in our mailboxes when we received a call, and we had to go to the office if we wanted to make a call, so it was an exciting day when they pulled phone wires through the ceiling and added wire moulding and jacks to our walls. Even so, long-distance calls were forbidden on the dial-nine-for-an-outside-line system. 

Coincidentally, we got wired internet at the same time, and boy! Did we feel connected. Of course, most of those issues became moot with the advent of cell phones and wifi. But we've kept the old landlines in our classrooms, anyway, and since kids are not allowed to use their personal phones in school, we have to teach them how to pick up the receiver, listen for a dial tone, and push actual buttons to make a call.

Today, though, when the phone rang, it was for me. A secretary in the office asked if she could connect a call from my doctor. "Sure," I told her, but I was puzzled. I hadn't contacted my doctor recently, nor did I have any upcoming appointments. Plus? My doctor has my cell number.

"Hang up, and I'll put the call through," she promised, and I skeptically did so; that particular feature rarely works on these phones, and sure enough, when I picked up on the second ring, all I heard was dead air. 

I hung up again, and the phone rang again. A voice on the other end of the line said, "Tracey? It's me, Amy!"

It was a friend from high school whom I haven't spoken to in at least 15 years, or as long as I've had my cell phone, because she didn't have that number. Calling from Arizona, she had tracked me down at work, and yes, she is a doctor, just not my doctor.

"I just said that so they would put me through," she laughed. "I'm so glad I got you."

The Sweet Smell of Success

I keep a bag of Jolly Ranchers in the bottom drawer of my desk as an extra incentive for the sixth graders as we go about the business of writing and reading. Often kids can earn one of the fruit-flavored hard candies for participating in a brain break or other little challenge that accompanies the lesson. 

Usually I let the winners pick their flavor, and in general that means blue raspberry is always in short supply, followed by watermelon and green apple. Cherry, although my personal favorite, and grape are the last to go, because as kids have explained to me, they taste like medicine. I guess that's probably true; children's remedies have come a ways since my mom dosed us with orangey baby aspirin and Robitussin that burned the back of our throats going down. 

Even so, with enough incentive, most kids will take any flavor. For example, I have been known to offer two-for-one grapes when we get to the bottom of the bag, and those fly out of the room. Recently, they have had the option to guess which flavor is in my hand when I pull it out of the bag. If they are right? They will get another Jolly Rancher of their choice, but if they are wrong, then they have to take whatever it is. Most kids are happy to take a chance, and this routine is both entertaining and good for keeping the supply even for all the flavors.

One of my classes is full of silly characters, and they have become convinced, convinced! That they can smell the flavor in my hand, if only I'll allow their noses close enough. It makes me laugh when they ask, but I don't really think they are any more correct than the 1 in 5 chance they have without smelling. 

This weekend I decided to test the theory personally, and I brought a small bag of Jolly Ranchers to our family gathering at the beach. Six of the eight of us tried a blind sniff-test with unimpressive results. "Let me smell each one by itself," I suggested, "maybe that will educate my nose."

It did not, but I can't say it's impossible. I'm sure there are folks out there with sharper schnozzolas than mine. 

Best Case Scenario

I am on the record about how loathsome I find the advent of DST. Losing an hour, any hour? Is anathema to me, especially considering that I must rise in the 5 a.m. hour in order to begin my work day by 7:20. Getting up any earlier than tht is just an insult to my all too human body.

Even so, this year the dreaded beginning of DST happened to coincide with our annual Oscar weekend away, and I must say that rising at my leisure with the spring sun shining through my window and the sound of the surf just outside made the time change a bit more tolerable. And time was almost irrelevant to the unstructured nature of the day, as the eight of us walked the beach, shopped the outlets, and cooked delicious food for our party.

Tonight, we will happily stay up until the end of the awards, adding circles and exes to our ballots, knowing that we can keep our alarms turned off tomorrow morning. And maybe, just maybe, by the time we get home tomorrow and return to work on Tuesday, the time change will be nothing more than the nuisance of having to reset a few clocks.

Seeing Orange

"What's with all the carrots?" Heidi asked the other day, spotting the shaved, orange rounds quick pickling on the counter. "We sure have had a lot of them lately."

"I have to eat carrots every day until June 8," I reminded her. "It's one of my 100 day challenges."

"What are the rules?" she asked. "Is there a certain amount or preparation?" 

I shrugged. "Not really," I answered. "I'm just playing it by ear. I saw carrots in my broccoli soup the other day, and then there were some in the kimchi I used for fried rice. Those counted."

"How about some carrot cake, then?" she suggested. "Let's enjoy those carrots to the fullest!"

On the Cusp

 We saw more snow falling today than we have all winter! 

A spontaneous road trip to Carlisle, PA took us north through central Maryland  and up through Catoctin and Gettysburg where the soft rain misting through the leaden skies turned first to sleet and then to big, fat flurries melting upon contact with our warm windshield. The car thermometer informed us that it was 36 outside, and at midday in March we knew there was no chance that the snow would stick, so we simply enjoyed the flakes as they swirled us along the rolling road.

Back home this evening it seemed like a perfect idea to draw the curtains against the lengthening day and use the last of the firewood to enjoy one more winter's night.

Sixth Grade Sense

To help with creating a theme for the children's books they are preparing to write and illustrate, I asked my sixth graders to share an important lesson they have learned in their lives. As usual, I was amused and impressed by their wisdom. 

The number one answer was don't steal, and I think there may be more than a kernal of autobiographical inspiration in those backstories, but these 11 and 12 year olds also know that it's important to be kind and accepting, to stand up for yourself, listen to others, do the right thing whenever you can, know who your real friends are, forgive yourself for mistakes, let others have their opinions, and appreciate your family. 

These young writers also understand that it's a good idea to eat healthy, ask for help when you need it, and. Some noted that we should never give others the satisfaction of knowing they've bothered us, we can't always have what we want, and we should go ahead and take care of our responsibilities before playing. Others pointed out that sometimes bad things happen to good people, and there are also times when you just have to be mean. 

There was practical advice as well: look both ways before crossing the street, don't use crutches on the stairs, never look directly into the sun, and never swim alone. Although the student who wrote the last one was torn between two lessons, and what she actually shared was Don't ever go into the pool without a stranger!

Buffalo for Breakfast

I ran into the parent of a former student yesterday. "What year is Amelia now?" I asked.

"A freshman in college!" her mother replied, and the two of us marveled at how quickly the time has passed.

This morning I recalled that conversation, and I thought back to 2015 when Amelia was in my class, mentally cataloging the consistencies and differences between then and now. We did do the 100 Day Writing Challenge, but it was housed on our old LMS, Blackboard, which we no longer have access to. 

For the umpteenth time, I felt a pang of regret for all that lost writing, and I reminisced about the early days of the online writing community that my friend Leah and I created.

The technology is certainly better now than it was in 2006 when we started, but the structure of kids writing and replying to each other is still in place in my class today. I laughed when I remembered one of our earliest assignments, a photograph that Leah found of a cowboy drinking coffee across a kitchen table from an enormous bison who was in turn eating out of a giant tin pan. We called it "Buffalo for Breakfast" and asked the students to imagine what was going on and write about it.

I had woken up a little uncertain about the lesson plan I had prepared for today. My classes are working on writing fiction, and they have been diagramming simple plots of children's books and animated short films to see how they work. I wanted them to be in collaborative groups, and I had planned a jigsaw activity with another short film. But the thought of that guy and his bison changed my mind. Instead, I found that old photo and had the young writers work together to brainstorm the plot of a children's story about it, using the plot diagram to plan instead of analyze.

It ended up being a fun and productive formative activity: the kids were creative and silly, and I was able to see from their work which elements of plot were still a bit confusing (Hello, inciting event and resolution supporting the theme!). So often, as teachers, we move on from assignments and activities when they become a bit dated or stale, but today I remembered that there is a difference between old and vintage, and sometimes it's worth a look back into the archives to retrieve some lost treasures.

Get Ready for the Red Carpet

For years it was an annual tradition for us to go to screenings of the Oscar Shorts with my brother and his family in preparation for our Academy Award Weekend at the beach. Back then, we would make plans to see the animated, live action, and documentary programs either after or before a great meal at one of our city's newest restaurants. 

Those outings always warmed up the gray days of late January and early February and it was fun going into the awards with knowledge of not just the major nominations, but some of the lesser ones, too: it felt like we were real insiders.

This afternoon when I sent out the streaming links to our group for all the animated shorts, I thought of how COVID changed all that. Even so, I figured if we couldn't re-establish our tradition quite yet, at least we might see those films before we head to the coast on Saturday. 

If you're interested? Here are the links:

Ice Merchants

A Seaman's Life Flashes Before His Eyes

An Ostrich Told me the World is Fake...

My Year of Dicks

The Boy, the Mole, the Fox, and his Horse

Be Realistic!

As we kick off our fiction writing unit, I asked my sixth graders what type of fiction they like best and was surprised when roughly 60 percent said that they preferred realistic fiction. At first, I wondered if their choice indicated some generational lack of imagination, but then I thought it might perhaps be a misunderstanding of the sub-genres, so I asked them to name some realistic fiction books that they liked. 

"The One and Only Ivan," one student answered immediately, mentioning the novel by Katherine Applegate.

"That's not realistic fiction," I said. "The animals talk!"

"True," he admitted, "but only to each other. It's not like they talk to any people."

No lack of imagination there!

While it Lasts

"Why did you want to come here?" Heidi asked as we started up the hill on the trail around Accotink Lake.

"One of my students wrote about it for the writing challenge," I explained, "and I remembered it's been a while since we've been here."

The time away from this regional park about 20 minutes from our home had been underlined when we arrived and parked only to find that the four mile circuit hike around the lake was out of the question since the trail over the dam was closed for renovation. The old, oft-flooded path was being replaced by a soaring concrete bridge.

"I don't know how I feel about that thing," I grumbled as we headed off in the opposite direction. Our revised plan was to walk 2 miles around and then turn back for an in and out. 

As we crossed the little sand beach and passed the shuttered boat rental and carousel toward the more woodsy section of the trail, I thought back to the first time I had ever been there. The year was 1975, and my older cousin's husband had brought my brother and sister and I as children to this park to play mini-golf and ride the merry-go-round. He told us that we could go fishing and canoeing on our next visit, but we were from out of town then, and as an adult I now understand how such promises fall by the wayside of busy lives.

It was 30 years before I would return to explore the park again, and since that time it's been a go-to dog walking destination two or three times a year. But, as so many of my friends have noted, COVID has played a lot of tricks on time, and I honestly can't remember the last time we walked beneath the sky-high railroad trestle to begin the familiar route around the lake.

We were surprised by a few other "improvements" along the trail. Along with a few more entrances from the growing neighborhoods bordering the park, much more of the trail had been paved, and we had to step aside more than a dozen times to allow bikes to pass us. Even so, the harsh calls of the gulls and geese, the hollow knocking of woodpeckers at the top of trees, the chirping of the earliest peepers in the warmer waters near the shore, and the sun sinking low over the water as we returned to our car, made for an agreeable afternoon.

Back at home, I was checking the weather on the Washington Post website when my eyes widened and my heart sank to see a link to an article published today: Officials ready to let urban runoff swallow a cherished Virginia lake. Looks like we better enjoy it while we can.

Oh, Baby

Where usually we have the weekends to ourselves puttering, relaxing, and, oh yes, catching up on the crushing workload of teaching, today we had not one, but two, social engagements. Coincidentally? They both involved children between the ages of three and twelve months. 

We started at 11:30 at an Alice in One-derland themed birthday party for one of our favorite little girls. The sun shined through the windows of the airy community center party room as the 40 or so guests gathered to feast on cupcakes and tea sandwiches. Most of us were adults, family and friends there equally to wish the birthday girl well and to congratulate her mom and dad on making it through their first year as parents.

After the cake was cut and we had played a couple of rounds of Giant Jenga with  4-year-old Jenga Genius named Nell, it was time to dash home and prepare our own tea sandwiches for another get-together. This time the group was my brother and sister-in-law and our cousin and her husband in town from Charlotte with their three-month-old daughter, Mary Grace. 

We all took turns dandling the baby, and rocking her, and feeding her when she fussed, waiting for her elusive smile. It was nice to catch up with her folks, but really we were all about the kid. The sun had set and a full moon rose in the warmish March night as we headed home, a little sour milk on our sleeves but a sweetness about us, as well. 

Check the Settings

I was using my own iPad to mirror my screen and lead students through their conference slides when a mom looked at me curiously from the other side of the table. "I'm afraid your iPad dropped the presentation," she said and turned it quickly toward me. 

There I saw my lock screen with a text message notification. I'm having a colonoscopy on Tuesday, it read, and so I won't be able to take Lucy.

"Oh! That's from my dog walker," I laughed, then pulled the slides back up, swiped down, and tapped Do Not Disturb. 

Gosh I wish I'd done that first.

Enrichment

After considering all the suggestions that came in from my students for my 100 day challenge, I finally narrowed it to three, with the advice of my homeroom. I had to go with eating carrots every day, because it's so nutty, and the boy who proposed it was so earnest. "You'll have HD vision!" he promised. 

With that decided, my homeroom students pushed for some sort of daily drawing. "We're the Dolphin Team," they pointed out. "Why don't you draw a dolphin every day? They're pretty hard to draw."

I've learned how right they are over the last 22 years of dolphinhood, and so I accepted that challenge. "Should it be the same dolphin over and over, though?" I asked, but they told me it didn't matter.

My final 100 day dare will be to play a game every day. My homeroom and I have bonded on Fridays over Taco or Burrito, Quicktionary, Bananagrams, and Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza, and my English classes often have a playful brain break in the middle of a block period, so these kids know my love of games first hand. 

I'm confident that I am going to be a better person on June 8-- how could anyone go wrong with 100 days of carrots, drawing, and games?

And So It Begins

As I begin my annual participation in the SOLSC Challenge so kindly hosted by the folks at Two Writing Teachers, my students are embarking on the first leg of their 100 Day Writing Challenge, a sixth grade tradition here at our middle school which stretches from March 1 to June 8. Like me, the first of their three month-long challenges is slice of life writing, (which will be followed by poetry in April and Alphabiographies in May), so over the last few days I gave the young writers some time to warm up and practice the genre before kicking off the challenge proper today. 

Yesterday, as I circulated through the writing workshop answering questions and giving suggestions, I noticed a couple of boys whispering at the corner table. 

"Dude! How do you do it?" asked one urgently. "Do you have to sign up or sign in?"

I immediately suspected some illicit game play on their devices and I stepped over to investigate further. "What are you guys trying to sign up for?" I asked.

"Oh nothing," the first kid said innocently. "He was just helping me with something for another class."

He had closed all the tabs on his browser, but rather than search his history, I turned to the other student. 

"It was ChatbotGPT," he admitted immediately, and I inwardly cringed. I had hoped I could avoid dealing with AI generated work at least for a while, since it's only only sixth grade.

"Did you think you could get it to do your writing for you?" I asked. "Because I'm pretty sure I would be able to tell whether or not you had written it. This writing is supposed to be about you and your life."

"Oh no," he assured me, "I would never do that." He paused and then added. "It would be way too perfect."

I guess we'll see.